Lords of the North

by Laut, Agnes C

  "Friend, of course," and I braced myself to give the package a hoist.

  "Hudson's Bay, or Nor'-Wester?" pursued the settler, determined to take no help from the hated enemy.

  "Nor'-Wester, but what does that matter? A friend all the same! Yo heave! Up with it!"

  "Neffer!" roared the man in a towering passion, and he gave me a push that sent me knocking into the crowd on the landing. Involuntarily, I threw out my arm to save a fall and caught a woman's outstretched hand. It was Frances Sutherland's and I thrilled with the message she could not speak.

  "I beg your pardon, Mistress Sutherland," said I, as soon as I could find speech, and I stepped back tingling with embarrassment and delight.

  "A civil-tongued young man, indeed," remarked the father, sarcastically, with a severe scrutiny of my retreating person. "A civil-tongued young man to know your name so readily, Frances! Pray, who is he?"

  "Oh! Some Nor'-Wester," answered Frances, the white cheeks blushing red, and she stepped quickly forward to the gang-plank. "Some Nor'-Wester, I suppose!" she repeated unconcernedly, but the flush had suffused her neck and was not unnoticed by the father's keen eyes.

  Then they seated themselves at the prow beside the Nor'-Wester appointed to accompany the boat; and I saw that Louis Laplante was sitting directly opposite Frances Sutherland, with his eyes fixed on her face in a bold gaze, that instantly quenched any kindness I may have felt towards him. How I regretted my thoughtlessness in not having forestalled myself in the Sutherlands' barge. The next best thing was to go along with Grant, who was preparing to ride on the river bank and escort the company beyond all danger.

  "You coming too?" asked Grant sharply, as I joined him.

  "If you don't mind."

  "Think two are necessary?"

  "Not when one of the two is Grant," I answered, which pleased him, "but as my heart goes down the lake with those barges——"

  "Hut-tutt—man," interrupted Grant. "War's bad enough without love; but come if you like."

  As the boats sheered off from the wharf, Grant and I rode along the river trail. I saw Frances looking after me with surprise, and I think she must have known my purpose, though she did not respond when I signalled to her.

  "Stop that!" commanded Grant peremptorily. "You did that very slyly, Rufus, but if they see you, there'll be all sorts of suspicion about collusion."

  The river path ran into the bush, winding in and out of woods, so we caught only occasional glimpses of the boats; but I fancied her eyes were ever towards the bank where we rode, and I could distinctly see that the Frenchman's face was buried in his arms above one of the squarish packets opposite the Sutherlands.

  "Is it the same lass," asked Grant, after we had been riding for more than an hour, "is it the same lass that was disguised as an Indian girl at Fort Gibraltar?"

  His question astonished me. I thought her disguise too complete even for his sharp penetration; but I was learning that nothing escaped the warden's notice. Indeed, I have found it not unusual for young people at a certain stage of their careers to imagine all the rest of the world blind.

  "The same," I answered, wondering much.

  "You took her back to Fort Douglas. Did you hear anything special in the fort that night?"

  "Nothing but that McDonell was likely to surrender. How did you know I was there?"

  "Spies," he answered laconically. "The old voyageurs don't change masters often for nothing. If you hadn't been stuck off in the Mandane country, you'd have learned a bit of our methods. Her father used to favor the Nor'-Westers. What has changed him?"

  "Seven Oaks changed him," I returned tersely.

  "Aye! Aye! That was terrible," and his face darkened. "Terrible! Terrible! It will change many," and the rest of his talk was full of gloomy portents and forebodings of blame likely to fall upon him for the massacre; but I think history has cleared and justified Grant's part in that awful work. Suddenly he turned to me.

  "There's pleasure in this ride for you. There's none for me. Will ye follow the boats alone and see that no harm comes to them?"

  "Certainly," said I, and the warden wheeled his horse and galloped back towards Fort Douglas.

  For an hour after he left, the trail was among the woods, and when I finally reached a clearing and could see the boats, there was cause enough for regret that the warden had gone. A great outcry came from the Sutherlands' boat and Louis Laplante was on his feet gesticulating excitedly and talking in loud tones to the rowers.

  "Hullo, there!" I shouted, riding to the very water's edge and flourishing my pistol. "Stop your nonsense, there! What's wrong?"

  "There's a French papist demands to have speech wi' ye," called Mr. Sutherland.

  "Bring him ashore," I returned.

  The boat headed about and approached the bank. Then the rowers ceased pulling; for the water was shallow, and we were within speaking distance.

  "Now, Louis, what do you mean by this nonsense?" I began.

  In answer, the Frenchman leaped out of the boat and waded ashore.

  "Let them go on," he said, scrambling up the cliff in a staggering, faint fashion.

  "If you meant to stay at the fort, why didn't you decide sooner?" I demanded roughly.

  "I didn't." This doggedly and with downcast eyes.

  "Then you go down the lake with the rest and no skulking!"

  "Gillespie," answered Louis in a low tone, "there's strength of an ox in you, but not the wit. Let them go on! Simpleton, I tell you of Miriam."

  His words recalled the real reason of my presence in the north country; for my quest had indeed been eclipsed by the fearful events of the past week. I signalled the rowers to go without him, waved a last farewell to Frances Sutherland, and turned to see Louis Laplante throw himself on the grass and cry like a schoolboy. Dismounting I knelt beside him.

  "Cheer up, old boy," said I, with the usual vacuity of thought and stupidity of expression at such times. "Cheer up! Seven Oaks has knocked you out. I knew you shouldn't make this trip till you were strong again. Why, man, you have enough cuts to undo the pluck of a giant-killer!"

  Louis was not paying the slightest attention to me. He was mumbling to himself and I wondered if he were in a fever.

  "The priest, the Irish priest in the fort, he say to me: 'Wicked fellow, you be tortured forever and ever in the furnace, if you not undo what you did in the gorge!' What care Louis Laplante for the fire? Pah! What care Louis for wounds and cuts and threats? Pah! The fire not half so hot as the hell inside! The cuts not half so sharp as the thinks that prick and sting and lash from morn'g to night, night to morn'g! Pah! Something inside say: 'Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, a dog! A cur! Toad! Reptile!' Then I try stand up straight and give the lie, but it say: 'Pah! Louis Laplante!' The Irish priest, he say, 'You repent!' What care Louis for repents? Pah! But her eyes, they look and look and look like two steel-gray stars! Sometime they caress and he want to pray! Sometime they stab and he shiver; but they always shine like stars of heaven and the priest, he say, 'You be shut out of heaven!' If the angel all have stars, steel glittering stars, for eyes, heaven worth for trying! The priest, he say, 'You go to abode of torture!' Torture! Pah! More torture than 'nough here. Angels with stars in their heads, more better. But the stars stab through—through—through——"

  "Bother the stars," said I to myself. "What of Miriam?" I asked, interrupting his penitential confidences.

  His references to steel-gray eyes and stars and angels somehow put me in no good mood, for a reason with which most men, but few women, will sympathize.

  "Stupid ox!" He spat out the words with unspeakable impatience at my obtuseness. "What of Miriam! Why the priest and the starry eyes and the something inside, they all say, 'Go and get Miriam! Where's the white woman? You lied! You let her go! Get her—get her—get her!' What of Miriam? Pah!"

  After that angry outburst, the fountains of his sorrow seemed to dry up and he became more the old, nonchalant Louis whom I knew.

  "Whe
re is Miriam?" I asked.

  He ignored my question and went on reasoning with himself.

  "No more peace—no more quiet—no more sing and rollick till he get Miriam!"

  Was the fellow really delirious? The boats were disappearing from view. I could wait no longer.

  "Louis," said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quick! I can't wait longer."

  "You know I lie to you in the gorge?" and he looked straight at me.

  "Certainly," I answered, "and I punished you pretty well for it twice."

  "You know what that lie mean"—and he hesitated—"mean to her—to Miriam?"

  "Yes, Louis, I know."

  "And you forgive all? Call all even?"

  "As far as I'm concerned—yes—Louis! God Almighty alone can forgive the suffering you have caused her."

  Then Louis Laplante leaped up and, catching my hand, looked long and steadily into my eyes.

  "I go and find her," he muttered in a low, tense voice. "I follow their trail—I keep her from suffer—I bring them all back—back here in the bush on this river—I bring her back, or I kill Louis Laplante!"

  "Old comrade—you were always generous," I began; but the words choked in my throat.

  "I know not where they are, but I find them! I know not how soon—perhaps a year—but I bring them back! Go on with the boats," and he dropped my hand.

  "I can't leave you here," I protested.

  "You come back this way," he said. "May be you find me."

  Poor Louis! His tongue tripped in its old evasive ways even at the moment of his penitence, which goes to prove—I suppose—that we are all the sum total of the thing called habit, that even spontaneous acts are evidences of the summed result of past years. I did not expect to find him when I came back, and I did not. He had vanished into the woods like the wild creature that he was; but I was placing a strange, reasonless reliance on his promise to find Miriam.

  When I caught up with the boats, the river was widening so that attack would be impossible, and I did not ride far. Heading my horse about, I spurred back to Fort Douglas. Passing Seven Oaks, I saw some of the Hudson's Bay men, who had remained burying the dead—not removing them. That was impossible after the wolves and three days of a blistering sun.

  I told Hamilton of neither Le Grand Diable's death, nor Louis Laplante's promise. He had suffered disappointments enough and could ill stand any sort of excitement. I found him walking about in the up-stairs hall, but his own grief had deadened him to the fortunes of the warring companies.

  "Confound you, boy! Tell me the truth!" said Father Holland to me afterwards in the courtyard.

  Le Grand Diable's death and Louis Laplante's promise seemed to make a great impression on the priest.

  "I tell you the Lord delivered that evil one into the hands of the punisher; and of the innocent, the Lord, Himself, is the defender. Await His purpose! Await His time!"

  "Mighty long time," said I, with the bitter impatience of youth.

  "Quiet, youngster! I tell you she shall be delivered!"

  * * *

  At last the Nor-Westers' Fort William brigade with its sixty men and numerous well-loaded canoes—whose cargoes had been the bone of contention between Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers at Seven Oaks—arrived at Fort Douglas. The newcomers were surprised to find us in possession of the enemy's fort. The last news they had heard was of wanton and successful aggression on the part of Lord Selkirk's Company; and I think the extra crews sent north were quite as much for purposes of defence as swift travel. But the gravity of affairs startled the men from Fort William; for they, themselves, had astounding news. Lord Selkirk was on his way north with munitions of war and an army of mercenaries formerly of the De Meurons' regiment, numbering two hundred, some said three or four hundred men; but this was an exaggeration. For what was he coming to Red River in this warlike fashion? His purpose would probably show itself. Also, if his intent were hostile, would not Seven Oaks massacre afford him the very pretence he wanted for chastising Nor'-Westers out of the country? The canoemen had met the ejected settlers bound up the lake; and with them, whom did they see but the bellicose Captain Miles McDonell, given free passage but a year before to Montreal and now on "the prosperous return," which he, himself, had prophesied?

  The settlers' news of Seven Oaks sent the brave captain hurrying southward to inform Lord Selkirk of the massacre.

  We had had a victory; but how long would it last? Truly the sky was darkening and few of us felt hopeful about the bursting of the storm.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXV

  HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE

  Even at the hour of our triumph, we Nor'-Westers knew that we had yet to reckon with Lord Selkirk; and a speedy reckoning the indomitable nobleman brought about. The massacre at Seven Oaks afforded our rivals the very pretext they desired. Clothed with the authority of an officer of the law, Lord Selkirk hurried northward; and a personage of his importance could not venture into the wilderness without a strong body-guard. At least, that was the excuse given for the retinue of two or three hundred mercenaries decked out in all the regimentals of war, whom Lord Selkirk brought with him to the north. A more rascally, daring crew of ragamuffins could not have been found to defend Selkirk's side of the gentlemen adventurers' feud. The men were the offscourings of European armies engaged in the Napoleonic wars, and came directly from the old De Meurons' regiment. The information which the Fort William brigade brought of Selkirk's approach, also explained why that same brigade hastened back to the defence of Nor'-West quarters on Lake Superior; and their help was needed. News of events at Fort William came to us in the Red River department tardily. First, there was a vague rumor among the Indian voyageurs, who were ever gliding back and forward on the labyrinthine waters of that north land like the birds of passage overhead. Then came definite reports from freemen who had been expelled from Fort William; and we could no longer doubt that Nor'-West headquarters, with all the wealth of furs and provisions therein had fallen into the hands of the Hudson's Bay forces. Afterwards came warning from our Bourgeois, driven out of Fort William, for Fort Douglas to be prepared. Lord Selkirk would only rest long enough at Fort William to take possession of everything worth possessing, in the name of the law—for was he not a justice of the peace?—and in the name of the law would he move with like intent against Fort Douglas. To the earl's credit, be it said, that his victories were bloodless; but they were bloodless because the Nor'-Westers had no mind to unleash those redskin bloodhounds a second time, preferring to suffer loss rather than resort to violence. Nevertheless, we called in every available hand of the Nor'-West staff to man Fort Douglas against attack. But summer dragged into autumn and autumn into winter, and no Lord Selkirk. Then we began to think ourselves secure; for the streams were frozen to a depth of four feet like adamant, and unless Selkirk were a madman, he would not attempt to bring his soldiers north by dog-train during the bitter cold of mid-winter. But 'tis ever the policy of the astute madman to discount the enemy's calculations; and Selkirk utterly discounted ours by sending his hardy, dare-devil De Meurons across country under the leadership of that prince of braggarts, Captain D'Orsonnens. Indeed, we had only heard the rumor of their coming, when we awakened one morning after an obscure, stormy night to find them encamped at St. James, westward on the Assiniboine River. Day after day the menacing force remained quiet and inoffensive, and we began to look upon these notorious ruffians as harmless. For our part, vigilance was not lacking. Sentinels were posted in the towers day and night. Nor'-West spies shadowed every movement of the enemy; and it was seriously considered whether we should not open communication with D'Orsonnens to ascertain what he wanted; but, truth to say, we knew very well what he wanted, and had had such a surfeit of blood, we were not anxious to re-open hostilities.

  As for Hamilton, I can hardly call his life at Fort Douglas anything more than a mere existence. A blow stuns, but one may recover. Repeated failure gradually benumbs hope and willpower and effort, li
ke some ghoulish vampire sucking away a man's life-blood till he faint and die from very inanition. The blow, poor Eric had suffered, when he lost Miriam; the repeated failure, when we could not restore her; and I saw this strong, athletic man slowly succumb as to some insidious, paralyzing disease. The thought of effort seemed to burden him. He would silently mope by the hour in some dark corner of Fort Douglas, or wander aimlessly about the courtyard, muttering and talking to himself. He was weary and fatigued without a stroke of work; and what little sleep he snatched from wakeful vigils seemed to give him no rest. His food, he thrust from him with the petulance of a child; and at every suggestion I could make, he sneered with a quiet, gentle insistence that was utterly discomfiting. To be sure, I had Father Holland's boisterous good cheer as a counter-irritant; for the priest had remained at Fort Douglas, and was ministering to the tribes of the Red and Assiniboine. But it was on her, who had been my guiding star and hope and inspiration from the first, that I mainly depended. As hard, merciless winter closed in, I could not think of those shelterless colonists driven to the lake, without shuddering at the distress I knew they must suffer; and I despatched a runner, urging them to return to Red River, and giving personal guarantee for their safety. Among those, who came back, were the Sutherlands; and if my quest had entailed far greater hardship than it did, that quiet interval with leisure to spend much time at the Selkirk settlement would have repaid all suffering. After sundown, I was free from fort duties. Tying on snow-shoes after the manner of the natives, I would speed over the whitened drifts of billowy snow. The surface, melted by the sun-glare of mid-day and encrusted with brittle, glistening ice, never gave under my weight; and, oddly enough, my way always led to the Sutherland homestead. After the coming of the De Meurons, Frances used to expostulate against what she called my foolhardiness in making these evening visits; but their presence made no difference to me.

  "I don't believe those drones intend doing anything very dreadful, after all, sir," I remarked one night to Frances Sutherland's father, referring to the soldiers.