by Various
VIII
HOW MARC WAS MADE CAPTAIN
A Rescue from the "Lords of the Woods" in 1695
One evening in the winter of 1694-95 a dozen young men were loungingaround the fire in the big room of the storehouse at St. Maxime, a smallsettlement on the St. Lawrence River. The door opened and two othersentered, brushing the snow from their leggings and moccasins.
"What luck with your traps?" cried one of the loungers.
"An otter and eight beaver," answered Noel Duroc, as he tossed a pack ofpelts into the corner. He was a tall, straight young Frenchman, whosegay and careless nature looked out frankly through a pair of laughingblack eyes. "But come, Madame Bouvier," he cried to the store-keeper'swife, "give us something to eat; hot, and plenty of it--eh, Philippe! Ifyou want news, there's more than news of traps--it's of the Iroquois.'Tis said they're ready for a raid to the north--to make glad the heartsof their good friends the Algonquins and the French. So our old bear ofa seigneur may do some hugging. But to-night he has other things tothink of. Marc is home--came up along the river from Quebec to-day."
"Is he as much of a monk as 'twas said he would be?" asked Jean Bourdo."You know the old seigneur swears he will have no monk's scholar aroundhim--though he were twice his nephew."
"We have just seen Marc, and, trust me, he is the same jolly lad he wastwo years ago. You can make no grave-faced monk of him! But the oldseigneur thinks him surely spoiled. 'Twere better Marc had not seen themonastery--not that I lack as a churchman; what would we do at St.Maxime were it not for our good Father Auguste, who taught us when wewere boys, and keeps us straight now that we are men?--for if he hadstayed here he would doubtless be our captain--a post worth having, nowthat the Iroquois are like to visit us."
"Who will be our captain?" asked Jean Bourdo.
"The seigneur has sent to Quebec for an officer--one that's lately fromFrance, and that's been well trained in the King's army. The old manknows how much we sympathize with Marc, and so, being surly as a bear,he will have none of us."
"It may be a costly mistake, this putting of an Old-World soldier overus," said Jean. "'Tis true we have small knowledge of the science of waras taught in old France; but we can fight in the woods, and know how tobeat the Iroquois at their own game, and I'll warrant that's more thanthis fine soldier can do! 'Tis a pity that Marc--a lad brought up in thewoods, whom we all like and would gladly follow--should be kept backjust because madame his mother sent him to school to the monks. But theold seigneur will have his way, even when 'tis to his harm!"
"So he will; and if Marc is to lead us, the seigneur must be made tothink that it is his own doing. Come, Philippe," continued Noel, turningto the man who had come in with him, "you are older than the rest, andhave a wiser head; think of some way of bending the seigneur to ourpurpose."
They talked till far into the night, and when they separated the youngFrenchmen had the cheerful and impatient air of men (or boys, for sothey would now be counted) who had planned an undertaking and were in ahurry to carry it out.
* * * * *
In the afternoon of the next day old Antoine de la Carre, seigneur ofthe score of log-houses and the vast tract of woodland belonging to theroyal settlement of St. Maxime, marshalled his fighting force. In frontof the storehouse was an open space, from which the snow was kept clear,and here the soldiers of St. Maxime were drawn up in line. There wereabout forty of them all told, half of their number being young men,voyageurs, and _coureurs des bois_; the others were older, heads offamilies who devoted themselves to the more peaceful occupations offishing and farming.
"I have news," said Antoine de la Carre, "that the Iroquois are moving,so it behooves us to make ready for them. You older men shall act as areserve; the younger ones I will organize into a company always to beunder arms and ready to repel attack. Noel Duroc, I appoint youlieutenant, to have charge till the officer who is to be your captaincomes from Quebec. Be active in your duty, and see that you leavenothing undone that is for the good of the settlement."
"We'll do what we think is best for the settlement, and he'll find usactive enough--that's certain!" whispered Jean Bourdo, nudging hisneighbor.
In the ranks of the younger men was a tall, dark-haired lad who had thesame bold features that belonged to the old seigneur. All observed him,for it was Marc Larocque's first appearance after his two years' stay inQuebec. He met his uncle's sour looks with unflinching, smiling eyes,and the settlers whispered among themselves that the old seigneur wouldfind it no easy matter to ignore his nephew--he had the De la Carrespirit, in spite of the monks and their book-learning.
That evening was a gloomy one in the house of Antoine de la Carre. Theold man sat in silence, drinking deep draughts of red French wine;across the room was his sister, the widow Larocque, teaching theircatechism to two little maids. He knew she thought him unfair to herson, who, by right of birth and his own qualities, had reason to expecta place of authority at St. Maxime, and this knowledge made the oldseigneur more than usually irritable. When the children had finishedreading their tasks and left the room he broke out:
"Ha, Madeleine, you look so solemn, doubtless, because of your dearMarc! Well, why did you send him to the monks to have a scholar made outof him? You know how I despise these long-faced readers of musty books,yet you must thwart me in this way. I'll not forgive you nor him. I hadno fault to find in the old days--then he was a good lad enough, and atrue De la Carre. But I tell you now, as I told you two years ago whenyou talked of sending him to Quebec, that I'll have no bookman for anephew. So you've only yourself to blame if he be set aside. But youwere always obstinate."
"Ah, almost as obstinate as you, Antoine. But I'll not trouble aboutMarc; if you'll not help him, there are others that will. In thesestirring times a boy like him is not forgotten."
After a pause he burst out again: "What folly it was! Has a lad here, inour rugged New France, any need of court manners and monk's learning? Ifyou had sent him to learn war it would have been different. But to amonastery! When a boy in old France, I was made to read Latin and diginto musty manuscripts till they nearly made a philosopher of me. But Ihad the good sense to turn soldier, and since then I've had no likingfor monks and their learning. Madeleine, you knew all this, and remembernow--"
He was interrupted by a crash. The door was burst open and half a dozenIndians sprang into the room. Before Antoine could draw his dagger theyhad leaped upon him, seized his arms, and smothered his shouts. MadameLarocque was quickly and securely bound hand and foot and gagged.
The Iroquois--for by their paint and dress the old man thought hiscaptors to belong to the dreaded tribes of the Five Nations--workednoiselessly and swiftly; in less than five minutes from the bursting inof the door they led out Antoine de la Carre, his hands tied behind hisback, and a piece of leather so fastened over his mouth that he couldmake no sound. The guards that should have been watching were nowhere tobe seen, and the Indians, with their prisoner, quickly scaled thestockade, crept across a cleared space to the woods, hurried to theriver, and were soon on the smooth, wind-swept ice and moving rapidlywestward. "Where were those young rascals of my company when I neededthem?--drinking in the storehouse or dancing in one of the cabins, mostlike!" growled old Antoine to himself.
He was as strong as an old bear, but his joints were stiffened with age,and he had difficulty in keeping up with the rapid pace of the Indians."What sinews these Iroquois have!" he thought, as he struggled on. "NoAlgonquin could hold his own with them; they run as well as our ownyoung _coureurs des bois_!"
When it became evident that he could go no farther, they stopped theirjourney along the ice and, turning into the forest, went about a quarterof a mile from the river's bank. Here they found a dense evergreenthicket and prepared to make their camp. A fire was built, and somestrips of dried meat they carried were heated and eaten; then theystretched themselves on evergreen boughs which had been piled on thesnow near the fire. A tall young Indian, who seemed to be t
he leader ofthe little band, now turned to Antoine de la Carre and, much to hissurprise, spoke to him in French.
"Old man, eat and warm yourself. We have far to go, and you are not yetto die."
Antoine obeyed, and after he had managed to swallow some of the toughmeat he felt better. "How do you, that are of the Iroquois, who tradewith the English and Dutch, come to speak French?" he asked of the youngIndian.
"A French girl was brought a captive to our tribe; my father, who was agreat warrior, took her for his squaw, and she was my mother. She taughtme the language of the French, and taught me also to listen to the wordsof the black-robed Jesuits who used to come south to teach the Iroquois.My mother loved my father, and bade me fight the enemies of his people,and so I am here. But I wish the Jesuit teachers would come among theIroquois as they used to do. I liked to hear them talk in that strangetongue they called the Latin."
"Did you?" said Antoine, glad to make friends with the young Iroquois."When young I was taught by the monks, and know some Latin."
"That is well," returned the Indian, with much satisfaction. "I too wasa pupil of the monks, and always listened to them gladly. Stand up andrepeat to us some of the Latin you learned. When the good Jesuit wouldtalk in that tongue to my mother and to me, the words came like music,and then he would tell us the meaning--it told of adventures and battlesand great warriors. Repeat to us this musical tongue."
Antoine de la Carre would rather have fought a bull moose single-handed;but here was no choice, and he stood up and did his best. That was notvery well; for his voice was as hoarse as a swamp-raven's, and it wasmany years since he had looked in a book.
The Iroquois lying around on the evergreen boughs were greatly amused athis efforts, laughing at his hoarse voice and at his stammering over theLatin words.
"You do not do it as well as did the Jesuit," exclaimed the half-breed."Be careful, Frenchman! Remember, I am no dull log of a Montagnais--I aman Iroquois, a lord of the woods, and will have no trifling!"
Antoine stammered on, getting more angry each moment; for to a proud oldsoldier like him nothing was worse than appearing ridiculous. But thiswas a matter of life and death, and he suppressed his feelings. "'Tiswell my young scamps of _coureurs des bois_ cannot see me now," hethought. "They'd never stop laughing!"
"Look more cheerful, Frenchman!" said the tall half-breed, getting tohis feet. "What if you are to die to-morrow; surely death has no terrorsfor so great a scholar and philosopher! And come, when you are talkingto warriors of the Iroquois take off your cap!" Antoine wore his blackvelvet house-cap, and as the Iroquois spoke he stepped forward andplucked it from the old man's head.
Antoine had been able to keep down his anger at their laughing, but thiswas too much for his small stock of patience, which already was sorelytried. He was desperate and reckless, for death was fairly certain underany circumstances, and it might as well come to-night as later.
"Insolent--take that!" he exclaimed, and he struck out savagely.
The tall half-breed, hit squarely between the eyes, went down as ifbefore the blow of a sledge-hammer.
Several of the Indians sprang to their feet and seized the old man. Thehalf-breed got up slowly, half stunned. Antoine waited for his tomahawkto strike the death-blow, but the half-breed did not raise his arm tostrike. "Old man," he said, "if I were like these other braves you wouldeven now be dead; but, as I told you, I am a convert, and the Jesuitteaches that one must not be too quick in anger--especially with the oldand foolish. You shall live, at least till to-morrow; give thanks thatI, like yourself, am a monk-taught man!"
Soon afterwards the Iroquois arranged themselves to sleep, one of theirnumber being left as a sentinel and guard over their prisoner. Antoine'shands and ankles were bound, and by the half-breed's orders he was laidon the boughs near the fire. One by one the Indians, save the guard,fell asleep; but the old Frenchman was too nervous and excited. Finallyhis attention was arrested by an object that was slowly and noiselesslystealing out from the evergreen thicket. It crept straight towards theIndian sentinel, who lay gazing up at the stars that shone through thetree-tops. Of a sudden there was a quick, stealthy movement and thegleam of a knife: the sentinel's head sank back, and he lay stretchedout, still and motionless.
"A skilful thrust!" thought Antoine. "I never saw a man die so easily."
The man with the knife crept towards him, and in a moment Antoine feltthat the thongs about his ankles and wrists were cut. The man beckonedand stole away; Antoine followed, and then they silently made their wayinto the thicket--leaving the Indians sleeping in the white starlight,the sentinel looking most peaceful of all.
THE THONGS WERE CUT]
"Do you know me, my uncle?" whispered Marc Larocque. "I tracked youthrough the snow. Follow me swiftly and quietly."
Back they hurried to the river, and then began the journey over the icedown to St. Maxime.
"I thought the Iroquois strong and fleet, Marc, but I see that none ofthem is a match for you! You are a brave fellow, in spite of the monks,and never shall I forget what you have done this night. But I wish youhad thrust your knife into the heart of the leader of the Iroquois, aninsolent fellow who pulled my cap from my head and laughed at me.However, I gave him a good buffet between the eyes!"
Soon the old man began to lag behind, and Marc had to grasp his arm tohelp him; so they ran on through the white winter's night. With ghostlywings the great snowy owl flapped across their path, and the wolf packhalted for a moment to watch them pass, and then turned away to huntagain for some stray deer or wounded moose.
It was almost dawn when they reached the stockade at St. Maxime. OldAntoine was exhausted, and had hardly strength enough to say to Marc:"Send a messenger to Quebec to tell the French officer he need not come.I have found a captain here."
Marc took him to the seigneury, and he fell into a heavy sleep, fromwhich he did not wake till afternoon. The soldiers were then at theirdaily drill, and after he had eaten, the old man went out where theywere. Tall Lieutenant Noel Duroc was drilling them. Antoine de la Carregave them all a severe scolding for their carelessness the night before.
"If it were not for my brave nephew," he said, "I would surely have beenmurdered by the Iroquois. Marc, step out from the ranks. I make youcaptain!"
A shout went up from all the men, but old Antoine silenced it with agesture. He was looking at Noel Duroc. "Lieutenant, your face is blackand blue; how were you hurt? You were not so yesterday!"
"Last night, seigneur, an old bear gave me a buffet--and a good roundblow it was!"
Antoine looked at him hard. "Lieutenant, you had best let old bearsalone!" Then he turned quickly to his nephew. "Marc, has that messengeryet started for Quebec who was to stop the French officer?"
"He left soon after daybreak this morning."
"Ah! you were not slow in sending him." The old man paused, and Noel,who was watching him closely, thought he saw his mouth twitch under thegray beard. "But never mind; it may be for the best. You shall becaptain, my nephew, and you, Noel Duroc, shall be lieutenant, though Ithink you both rascals. However, no bookman could run as Marc did thismorning; and so I know he is not wholly spoiled by the monks."
"Bravo!" cried Noel Duroc, throwing up his cap. "Bravo! Here is a rightgood seigneur who knows what is best for his people; and a kind uncle;and--I'll pledge my word--a great scholar and philosopher too!"
