Lords of the North

by Agnes C. Laut

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD

  The _Bois-Brules_ and Indian marauders, who gathered to our camp, weredrunk with the most intoxicating of all stimulants--human blood. Thisflush of victory excited the redskins' vanity to a boastful frenzy.There was wild talk of wiping the pale-face out of existence; and if aweaker man than Grant had been at the head of the forces, not a white inthe settlement would have escaped massacre. In spite of the bitternessto which the slaughter at Seven Oaks gave rise, I think all fair-mindedpeople have acknowledged that the settlers owed their lives to thewarden's efforts.

  That night pandemonium itself could not have presented a more hideousscene than our encampment. The lust of blood is abhorrent enough incivilized races, but in Indian tribes, whose unrestrained, hard lifeabnormally develops the instincts of the tiger, it is a thing that maynot be portrayed. Let us not, with the depreciatory hypocrisy,characteristic of our age, befool ourselves into any belief thatbarbaric practices were more humane than customs which are the flower ofcivilized centuries. Let us be truthful. Scientific cruelty may do itsworst with intricate armaments; but the blood-thirst of the Indianassumed the ghastly earnest of victors drinking the warm life-blood ofdying enemies and of torturers laving hands in a stream yet hot frompulsing hearts.

  Decked out in red-stained trophies with scalps dangling from theirwaists, the natives darted about like blood-whetted beasts; and thehalf-breeds were little better, except that they thirsted more for bootythan life. There was loud vaunting over the triumph, the ignorant rabbleimagining their warriors heroes of a great battle, instead of themurderous plunderers they were. Pierre, the rhymester, according to hiswont, broke out in jubilant celebration of the half-breeds' feat:[A]

  Ho-ho! List you now to a tale of truth Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, proudly sing, Of the _Bois-Brules_, whose deeds dismay The hearts of the soldiers serving the king!

  Swift o'er the plain rode our warriors brave To meet the gay voyageurs come from the sea. Out came the bold band that had pillaged our land, And we taught them the plain is the home of the free.

  We were passing along to the landing-place, Three hostile whites we bound on the trail. The enemy came with a shout of acclaim, We flung back their taunts with the shriek of a gale.

  "They have come to attack us," our people cry. Our cohorts spread out in a crescent horn, Their path we bar in a steel scimitar, And their empty threats we flout with scorn.

  They halt in the face of a dauntless foe, They spit out their venom of baffled rage! Honor, our breath to the very death! So we proffer them peace, or a battle-gage.

  The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!" 'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow! Our men break from line, for the battle-wine Of a fighting race has a fiery glow.

  The governor thought himself mighty in power. The shock of his strength--Ha-ha!--should be known From the land of the sea to the prairie free And all free men should be overthrown![B]

  But naked and dead on the plain lies he, Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote Greedily feast on the great and the least, Without respect for a lord of note.

  The governor thought himself mighty in power. He thought to enslave the _Bois-Brules_, "Ha-ha," laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock. "Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay."

  Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note? Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees? What spirits wail to the prairie gale? Who tells his woes to the evening breeze?

  Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not. We fought with them till none remained. The coyote knew, and his hungry crew Licked clean the grass where the turf was stained.

  Ho-ho! List you all to my tale of truth. 'Tis I, Pierre, the rhymester, this glory tell Of freedom saved and brave hands laved In the blood of tyrants who fought and fell!

  The whole scene was repugnant beyond endurance. My ears were so filledwith the death cries heard in the afternoon, I had no relish forPierre's crude recital of what seemed to him a glorious conquest. Icould not rid my mind of that dying boy's sad face. Many half-breedswere preparing to pillage the settlement. Intending to protect theSutherland home and seek the dead lad's body, I borrowed a fresh horseand left the tumult of the camp.

  I made a detour of the battle-field in order to reach the Sutherlandhomestead before night. I might have saved myself the trouble; for everymovable object--to the doors and window sashes--had been taken from thelittle house, whether by father and daughter before going to the fort,or by the marauders, I did not know.

  It was unsafe to return by the wooded river trail after dark and Istruck directly to the clearing and followed the path parallel to thebush. When I reached Seven Oaks, I was first apprised of my whereaboutsby my horse pricking forward his ears and sniffing the air uncannily. Itightened rein and touched him with the spur, but he snorted and jumpedsideways with a suddenness that almost unseated me, then came to astand, shaking as if with chill. Something skulked across the trail andgained cover in the woods. With a reassuring pat, I urged my horse backtowards the road, for the prairie was pitted with badger and gopherholes; but the beast reared, baulked and absolutely refused to be eitherdriven, or coaxed.

  "Wise when men are fools!" said I, dismounting. Bringing the reins overhis head, I tried to pull him forward; but he planted all fours andjerked back, almost dragging me off my feet.

  "Are you possessed?" I exclaimed, for if ever horror were plainlyexpressed by an animal, it was by that horse. Legs rigid, head bentdown, eyes starting forward and nostrils blowing in and out, he was apicture of terror.

  Something wriggled in the thicket. The horse rose on his hind legs,wrenched the rein from my hand and scampered across the plain. I sent ashot into the bush. There was a snarl and a scurrying through theunderbrush.

  "Pretty bold wolf! Never saw a broncho act that way over a coyotebefore!"

  I might as well find the body of the English lad before trying to catchmy horse, so I walked on. Suddenly, in the silver-white of a starry sky,I saw what had terrified the animal. Close to the shrubbery lay thestark form of a white man, knees drawn upwards and arms spread out likethe bars of a cross. Was that the lad I had known? I rushed towards thecorpse--but as quickly turned away. From downright lack of courage, Icould not look at it; for the body was mutilated beyond semblance tohumanity. Would that I had strength and skill to paint that dead figureas it was! Then would those, who glory in the shedding of blood, gloryto their shame; and the pageant of war be stripped of all its falsetoggery revealing carnage and slaughter in their revolting nakedness.

  I could not look back to know if that were the lad, but ran aimlesslytowards the scene of the Seven Oaks fray. As I approached, there was agreat flapping of wings. Up rose buzzards, scolding in angry discord atmy interruption. A pack of wolves skulked a few feet off and eyed meimpatiently, boldly waiting to return when I left. The impudence of thebrutes enraged me and I let go half a dozen charges, which sent them toa more respectful distance. Here were more bodies like the first. Icounted eight within a stone's throw, and there were twice as manybetween Seven Oaks and the fort. Where they lay, I could tell very well;for hawks wheeled with harsh cries overhead and there was a vaguemovement of wolfish shapes along the ground.

  What possessed me to hover about that dreadful scene, I cannot imagine,unless the fear of those creatures returning; but I did not carry athing with which I could bury the dead. Involuntarily, I sought outRogers and Governor Semple; for I had seen the death of each. It waswhen seeking these, that I thought I distinguished the faintest motionof one figure still clothed and lying apart from the others.

  The sight riveted me to the spot.

  Surely it was a mistake! The form could not have moved! It must havebeen some error of vision, or trick of the shadowy starlight; but Icould not take my eyes from the prostrate
form. Again the bodymoved--distinctly moved--beyond possibility of fancy, the chest heavingup and sinking like a man struggling but unable to rise. With theghastly dead and the ravening wolves all about, the movement of thatwounded man was strangely terrifying and my knees knocked with fear, asI ran to his aid.

  The man was an Indian, but his face I could not see; for one handstaunched a wound in his head and the other gripped a knife with whichhe had been defending himself. My first thought was that he must be aNor'-Wester, or his body would not have escaped the common fate; but ifa Nor'-Wester, why had he been left on the field? So I concluded he wasone of the camp-followers, who had joined our forces for plunder andcome to a merited end. Still he was a man; and I stooped to examine himwith a view to getting him on my horse and taking him back to the camp.

  At first he was unconscious of my presence. Gently I tried to remove theleft hand from his forehead, but at the touch, out struck the righthand in vicious thrusts of the hunting-knife, one blind cut barelymissing my arm.

  "Hold, man!" I cried, "I'm no foe, but a friend!" and I caught the rightarm tightly.

  At the sound of my voice, the left hand swung out revealing a frightfulgash; and the next thing I knew, his left arm had encircled my neck likethe coil of a strangler, five fingers were digging into the flesh of mythroat and Le Grand Diable was making frantic efforts to free his righthand and plunge that dagger into me. The shock of the discovery threw meoff guard, and for a moment there was a struggle, but only for a moment.Then the wounded man fell back, writhing in pain, his face contortedwith agony and hate. I do not think he could see me. He must have beenblind from that wound. I stood back, but his knife still cut the air.

  "Le Grand Diable! Fool!" I said, "I will not harm you! I give you thewhite man's word, I will not hurt you!"

  The right arm fell limp and still. Had I, by some strange irony, beenled to this spot that I might witness the death of my foe? Was this theend of that long career of evil?

  "Le Grand Diable!" I cried, going a pace nearer, which seemed to bringback the ebbing life. "Le Grand Diable! You cannot stay here among thewolves. Tell me whereto find Miriam and I'll take you back to the camp!Tell me and no one shall harm you! I will save you!"

  The thin lips moved. He was saying, or trying to say, something.

  "Speak louder!" and I bent over him. "Speak the truth and I take you tothe camp!"

  The lips were still moving, but I could not hear a sound.

  "Speak louder!" I shouted. "Where is Miriam? Where is the white woman?"I put my ear to his lips, fearful that life might slip away before Icould hear.

  There was a snarl through the glistening set teeth. The prostrate bodygave an upward lurch. With one swift, treacherous thrust, he drove hisknife into my coat-sleeve, grazing my forearm. The effort cost him hislife. He sank down with a groan. The sightless, bloodshot eyes opened.Le Grand Diable would never more feign death.

  I jerked the knife from my coat, hurled it from me, sprang up and fledfrom the field as if it had been infected with a pest, or I pursued bygends. Never looking back and with superstitious dread of the deadIndian's evil spirit, I tore on and on till, breath-spent and exhausted,I threw myself down with the North-West camp-fires in sight.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [A] It should scarcely be necessary for the author to state that theseare the sentiments of the Indian poet expressing the views of the savagetowards the white man, and not the white man towards the savage. Thepoem is as close a translation of the original ballad sung by Pierre inMetis dialect the night of the massacre, as could be given. The Indiannature is more in harmony with the hawk and the coyote than with thewhite man; hence the references. Other thoughts embodied in this crudelay are taken directly from the refrains of the trappers chanted at thattime.

  [B] Governor Semple unadvisedly boasted that the shock of his powerwould be felt from Montreal to Athabasca.