THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC
"Half way down the steps was a double file of Indianschained two and two."]
THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC
by
SAMUEL MERWIN
New YorkDoubleday, Page & Co.1901
Copyright, 1901, by Frank Leslie Publishing House.Copyright, 1901, by Doubleday, Page & Company.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. Captain Menard Has a Lazy Day. 1 II. The Maid. 19 III. Mademoiselle Eats Her Breakfast. 38 IV. The Long Arrow. 61 V. Danton Breaks Out. 83 VI. The Fight at La Gallette. 103 VII. A Compliment for Menard. 127 VIII. The Maid Makes New Friends. 147 IX. The Word of an Onondaga. 169 X. A Night Council. 191 XI. The Big Throat Speaks. 212 XII. The Long House. 235 XIII. The Voice of the Great Mountain. 254 XIV. Where the Dead Sit. 272 XV. The Bad Doctor. 293 XVI. At the Long Lake. 314 XVII. Northward. 337 XVIII. The Only Way. 359 XIX. Frontenac. 383
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Half way down the steps was a double file of Indians chained two and two." _Frontispiece_
"Sitting on a bundle was, a girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old." 36
"The Indians walked silently to the fire." 64
"Menard stood ... smiling with the same look of scorn he had worn ... when they led him to the torture." 256
THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC.
CHAPTER I
CAPTAIN MENARD HAS A LAZY DAY.
Captain Daniel Menard leaned against the parapet at the outer edge ofthe citadel balcony. The sun was high, the air clear and still.Beneath him, at the foot of the cliff, nestled the Lower Town, a stripof shops and houses, hemmed in by the palisades and the lower battery.The St. Lawrence flowed by, hardly stirred by the light breeze. Out inthe channel, beyond the merchantmen, lay three ships of war, _LeFourgon_, _Le Profond_, and _La Perle_, each with a cluster of supplyboats at her side; and the stir and rattle of tackle and chain comingfaintly over the water from _Le Fourgon_ told that she would sail forFrance on the morrow, if God should choose to send the wind.
Looking almost straight down, Menard could see the long flight ofsteps that climbed from the settlement on the water front to thenobler city on the heights. Halfway down the steps was a double fileof Indians, chained two and two, and guarded by a dozen regulars fromhis own company. He watched them until they reached the bottom anddisappeared behind the row of buildings that ended on the wharf inPatron's trading store. In a moment they reappeared, and marchedacross the wharf, toward the two boats from _Le Fourgon_ that awaitedthem. Even from the height, Menard could see that the soldiers had astiff task to control their prisoners. After one of the boats, ladendeep, had shoved off, there was a struggle, and the crowd of idlersthat had gathered scattered suddenly. Two Indians had broken away, andwere running across the wharf, with a little knot of soldiers close ontheir heels. One of the soldiers, leaping forward, brought the stockof his musket down on the head of the nearer Indian. The fugitive wentdown, dragging with him his companion, who tugged desperately at thechain. A soldier drew his knife, and cut off the dead Indian's armclose to the iron wristlet, breaking the bone with his foot. Then theyled back the captive and tumbled him into the boat, with the hand ofhis comrade dangling at the end of the chain. The incident had excitedthe soldiers, and they kicked and pounded the prisoners. A crowdgathered about the body on the wharf, the bolder ones snatching at hisbeads and wampum belt.
Menard raised his eyes to the lands across the river and to the whitecloud-puffs above. After months of camp and canoe, sleeping in snowand rain, and by day paddling, poling, and wading,--never a new faceamong the grumbling soldiers or the stolid prisoners,--after this,Quebec stood for luxury and the pleasant demoralization of goodliving. He liked the noise of passing feet, the hail of goodwill fromdoor to door, the plodding shopkeepers and artisans, the comfortablepriests in brown and gray.
The sound of oars brought his eyes again to the river. The two boatswith their loads of redskins were passing the merchantmen that laybetween the men-of-war and the city. On the wharf, awaiting a secondtrip, was a huddled group of prisoners. Menard's face clouded as hewatched them. Men of his experience were wondering what effect thisnew plan of the Governor's would have upon the Iroquois. Capturing ahunting party by treachery and shipping them off to the King's galleyswas a bold stroke,--too bold, perhaps. Governor Frontenac would neverhave done this; he knew the Iroquois temper too well. Governor laBarre, for all his bluster, would not have dared. It was certain thatthis new governor, Denonville, was not a coward; but as Menardreflected, going back over his own fifteen years of frontier life, heknew that this policy of brute force would be sorely tested by thetact and intrigue of the Five Nations. His own part in the capturelittle disturbed him. He had obeyed orders. He had brought the band tothe citadel at Quebec without losing a man (saving the poor devil whohad strangled himself with his own thongs at La Gallette).
To such men as Menard, whose lives were woven closely into the fabricof New France, the present condition was clear. Many an evening he hadspent with Major d'Orvilliers, at Fort Frontenac, in talking over therecent years of history into which their two names and their two liveshad gone so deeply. Until his recall to France in 1682, GovernorFrontenac had been for ten years building up in the Iroquois heart afear and awe of Onontio, the Great Father, at Quebec. D'Orvilliersknew that period the better, for Menard had not come over (from thelittle town of his birth, in Picardy) until Frontenac's policy waswell established. But Menard had lived hard and rapidly during hisfirst years in the province, and he was a stern-faced young soldierwhen he stood on the wharf, hat in hand and sword to chin, watchingNew France's greatest governor sitting erect in the boat that bore himaway from his own. Menard had been initiated by a long captivity amongthe Onondagas, and had won his first commission by gallant actionunder the Governor's eye.
In those days no insult went unpunished; no tribe failed twice in itsobligations. The circle of French influence was firmly extended aroundthe haunts of the Iroquois in New York and along the Ohio. FromFrontenac, on Lake Ontario, north to Hudson's Bay, was French land. Tothe westward, along the Ottawa River, and skirting the north shore ofLake Huron to Michillimackinac and Green Bay, were the strong Frenchallies, the Hurons, Ottawas, Nipissings, Kiskagons, Sacs, Foxes, andMascoutins. Down at the lower end of Lake Michigan, at the Chicagouand St. Joseph portages, were the Miamis; and farther still, theIllinois, whom the Sieur de la Salle and Henri de Tonty had drawnclose under the arm of New France.
This chain of allies, with Du Luth's fort at Detroit and a partialcontrol over Niagara, had given New France nearly all the fur trade ofthe Great Lakes. The English Governor Dongan, of New York, dared notto fight openly for it, but he armed the Iroquois and set them againstthe French. Menard had laughed when the word came, in 1684, fromFather de Lamberville, whose influence worked so far
toward keepingthe Iroquois quiet, that Dongan had pompously set up the arms of hisking in each Iroquois village, even dating them back a year to makehis claim the more secure. Every old soldier knew that more thandecrees and coats of arms were needed to win the Five Nations.
When La Barre succeeded Frontenac, lacking the tact and firmness whichhad established Frontenac's name among foes and allies alike, he fellback upon bluster (to say nothing of the common talk in Quebec that hehad set out to build up his private fortune by the fur trade).Learning that, by his grant of Fort Frontenac, La Salle was entitledto a third of the trade that passed through it, he seized the fort. Heweakened La Salle's communications so greatly that La Salle and Tontycould not make good their promises of French protection to theIllinois. This made it possible for the Iroquois, unhindered, to laywaste the Illinois country. By equally shortsighted methods, La Barreso weakened the ties that bound the northern allies, and so increasedthe arrogance of the Iroquois, that when Governor Denonville took upthe task, most of the allies, always looking to the stronger party,were on the point of going over to the Iroquois. This would give thefur trade to the English, and ruin New France. Governor Dongan seizedthe moment to promise better bargains for the peltry than the Frenchcould offer. It remained for the new governor to make a demonstrationwhich would establish firmly the drooping prestige of New France.
Now the spring of 1687 was just ending. Since February it had beenspread abroad, from the gulf seignories to Fort Frontenac, thatpreparations were making for a great campaign against the Iroquois.Champigny, the new Intendant, had scoured the country for supplies,and now was building bateaux and buying canoes. Regulars and militiawere drilling into the semblance of an army, and palisades anddefences were everywhere built or strengthened, that the home guardmight keep the province secure during the long absence of the troops.Menard wondered, as he snapped bits of stone off the parapet, andwatched the last boatload of galley slaves embarking at the wharf,whether the Governor's plans would carry. He would undoubtedly actwith precision, he would follow every detail of campaigning to thedelight of the tacticians, he would make a great splash,--and then?How about the wily chiefs of the Senecas and Onondagas and Mohawks?They had hoodwinked La Barre into signing the meanest treaty that everdisgraced New France. Would Denonville, too, blind himself to thetruth that shrewd minds may work behind painted faces?
But above all else, Menard was a soldier. He snapped another bit ofstone, and gave up the problem. He would fight at the Governor'sorders, retreat at the Governor's command,--to the Governor wouldbelong the credit or the blame. Of only one thing was he sure,--hisown half hundred men should fight as they had always fought, andshould hold their posts to the end. There ended his responsibility.And did not the good Fathers say that God was watching over NewFrance?
Meantime the breath of summer was in the air. The spring campaign wasover for Menard. So he rested both elbows on the parapet, and wonderedhow long the leaves had been out in Picardy. Over beyond the ships andthe river were waves of the newest green, instead of the deep, richcolour and the bloom of full life he had left behind at Fort Frontenacbut two weeks back. The long journey down the St. Lawrence had seemedalmost a descent into winter. On the way to Quebec every day and everyleague had brought fewer blossoms. Even Montreal, sixty leagues to thesouth, had her summer before Quebec.
On the wharf below him the crowd were still plucking the dead Indian.Menard could hear their laughter and shouts. Their figures were smallin the distance, their actions grotesque. One man was dancing,brandishing some part of the Indian's costume. Menard could notdistinguish the object in his hand. A priest crossed the wharf andelbowed into the crowd. For the moment he was lost in the rabble, butshortly the shouting quieted and the lightheaded fellows crowded intoa close group. Probably the priest was addressing them. Soon thefringe of the crowd thinned, then the others walked quietly away. Whenat last the priest was left alone by the mutilated Indian, he knelt,and for a space was motionless.
The idleness of reaction was on Menard. He leaned on the parapet,hardly stirring, while the priest went on his way across the squareand began toiling up the steps. When he was halfway up, Menardrecognized him for Claude de Casson, an old Jesuit of the Iroquoismission at Sault St. Francis Xavier, near Montreal. Menard strolledthrough the citadel to the square, and, meeting the Father, walkedwith him.
"Well, Father Claude, you are a long way from your flock."
"Yes, Captain Menard, I came with the relations. I have been"--FatherClaude was blown from his climb, and he paused, wiping the sweat fromhis lean face--"I have been grieved by a spectacle in the Lower Town.Some wretches had killed an Onondaga with the brutality of his owntribe, and were robbing him. Are such acts permitted to-day in Quebec,M'sieu?"
"He was a prisoner escaping from the soldiers. It must be a full yearsince I last saw you, Father. I hope you bring a good record to theCollege."
"The best since our founding, M'sieu."
"Is there no word in the relations from the New York missions?"
"Yes, M'sieu. Brother de Lamberville brings glorious word from theMohawks. Twenty-three complete conversions."
"You say he brings this word?" Menard's brows came together. "Then hehas come up to Montreal?"
"Yes."
"It is true, then, that the Iroquois have word of our plans?"
"It would seem so. He said that a war party which started weeks agofor the Illinois country had been recalled. A messenger was sent outbut a few days before he came away."
Menard slowly shook his head.
"This word should go to the Commandant," he said. "How about yourIndians at the Mission, Father Claude? They have not French hearts."
"Ah, but I am certain, M'sieu, they would not break faith with us."
"You can trust them?"
"They are Christians, M'sieu."
"Yes, but they are Iroquois. Have none of them gone away since thisnews reached Quebec?"
"None, save one poor wretch whose drunkenness long ago caused us togive up hope, though I--"
"What became of him? Where did he go?"
"He wandered away in a drunken fit."
"And you have not heard from him since?"
"No, M'sieu. He was Teganouan, an Onondaga."
"You would do well, Father, if I may suggest, to take what news youmay have to the Commandant. You and I know the importance of triflesat such a time as this. How long do you remain in Quebec?"
"A few days only, unless there should be work for me here."
"Do you return then to Montreal?"
"I cannot say until I have made my report and delivered the relations.Brother de Lamberville thinks it important that word should go to allthose who are now labouring in the Iroquois villages. If they remainafter the campaign is fairly started, their lives may be in danger."
"You think it necessary to go yourself?"
"What else, M'sieu? This is not the time to trust too freely an Indianrunner. And a layman might never get through alive. My habit would bethe best safeguard."
"I suppose you are right. If I should not see you again, I must askyou to convey my respect to your colleagues at the Mission. I shallprobably be here until the campaign is fairly started; perhaps longer.Already I am tasting the luxury of idleness."
"A dangerous luxury, M'sieu. If I might be permitted to advise--"
"Yes, yes, Father,--I know, I know. But what is the use? You are apriest, I am a soldier. Yours is penance, mine is fighting; yours ispraying, mine is singing,--every man to his own. And when you priestshave got your pagans converted, we soldiers will clean up the messwith our muskets. And now, Father, good day, and may God be withyou."
The priest's face was unmoved as he looked after the retreatingfigure. He had watched Menard grow from a roistering lieutenant into arigid captain, and he knew his temper too well to mind the flicks ofbanter. But before the soldier had passed from earshot, he calledafter him.
Menard turned back. "What now, good Father? A mass for my soul, or ala
st absolution before I plunge into my term of dissolute idleness?"
"Neither, my son," replied the priest, smiling. "Is any of youridleness to be shared with another?"
"Certainly, Father."
"I am bringing a picture to the College."
"I have no money, Father. I should be a sorry patron."
"No, no, M'sieu; it is not a patron I seek. It is the advice of onewho has seen and judged the master work of Paris. The painting hasbeen shown to none as yet."
"But you have seen it?"
"Yes, yes, I have seen it. Come with me, M'sieu; it is at my room."
They walked together to the cell, six feet long by five wide, whereFather Claude slept when in Quebec. It was bare of all save a hardcot. A bale, packed in rough cloth and tied with rope, lay on the bed.Father Claude opened the bundle, while Menard leaned against the wall,and drew out his few personal belongings and his portable altar beforehe reached the flat, square package at the bottom. There was a touchof colour in his cheeks and a nervousness in the movement of his handsas he untied the flaxen strings, stripped off the cloth, and held thepicture up to Menard's view.
It was a full-length portrait in oil of a young Indian woman, holdinga small cross in her right hand, and gazing at it with bent head. Herleft hand was spread upon her breast. She wore a calico chemisereaching below her knees, and leggings, and moccasins. A heavy robewas thrown over the top of her head, falling on the sides and back towithin a foot of the ground. In the middle background was a stream,with four Indians in a canoe. A tiny stone chapel stood on the bank atthe extreme right.
Father Claude's hand trembled as he supported the canvas upon the cot,and his eyes wavered from Menard to the picture, and back again.
"It is not altogether completed," he said, nervously. "Of course thedetail will be worked out more fully, and the cross should be given awarmer radiance. Perhaps a light showing through the windows of thechapel--"
"Who is it?" asked Menard.
"It is Catherine Outasoren, the Lily of the Onondagas," replied thepriest; "the noblest woman that ever rose from the depths of Indiansuperstition."
Menard's eyes rested on an obscure signature in a lower corner, "C. deC."
"You certainly have reason to be proud of the work. But may I askabout the perspective? Should the maiden appear larger than thechapel?"
The priest gazed at the painting with an unsettled expression.
"Yes," he said, "perhaps you are right, M'sieu. At any rate I willgive the matter thought and prayer."
"And the Indians," Menard questioned, "in the canoe; are they comingtoward the chapel or going away from it? It seems to me that any doubton that point should be removed."
"Ah," said the priest; "that very doubt is allegorical. It typifiesthe workings of the human mind when first confronted by the truth.When the seeker first beholds the light, as shown through the devotionof such a woman as Catherine Outasoren, there arises in his mind--"
"Very true, very true! But I never yet have seen a canoe-load ofIndians in doubt whether they were moving forward or backward."
Father Claude held the canvas at arm's length and gazed long at it.
"Tell me, M'sieu," he said at last, "do you think it deserving of aplace in the College?"
"I do not see why not."
"And you think I would be justified in laying a request before theSuperior?"
Menard shrugged his shoulders.
"That is your decision, Father."
"I never can fully thank you, my son, for your kindness in looking onmy humble work. I will not decide to-day. First I must add foliage inthe foreground. And I will give it my earnest prayer."
Menard said farewell and went out, leaving the priest gazing at thepicture. He strolled back toward the citadel, stopping now and then togreet an old friend or a chance acquaintance. When he arrived at theheadquarters in the citadel he found Danton, a brown-haired younglieutenant of engineers, gazing at a heap of plans and other papers onthe table.
"Well, Captain Menard," was his greeting, "I'd give half of lastyear's pay, if I ever get it, to feel as lazy as you look."
"You are lazy enough," growled Menard.
"That begs the question. It is not how lazy a man is, but how lazy hegets a chance to be."
"If you'd been through what I have this spring, you'd deserve arest."
"You must have had a stirring time," said the Lieutenant. "MajorProvost has promised to let me go out with the line when the campaignstarts. I've not had a brush since I came over."
Menard gave him a quizzical smile before he replied, "You'll getbrushes enough."
"By the way, the Major wants to see you."
"Does he?" said Menard.
He lighted his short pipe with a coal from the fire and walked out.
The Road to Frontenac Page 1
