Alice of Old Vincennes

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A DUEL BY MOONLIGHT

  When Hamilton, after running some distance, saw that he was gainingupon Alice and would soon overtake her, it added fresh energy to hislimbs. He had quickly realized the foolishness of what he had done invisiting the room of his prisoner at so late an hour in the night. Whatwould his officers and men think? To let Alice escape would beextremely embarrassing, and to be seen chasing her would give goodground for ridicule on the part of his entire command. Therefore hisfirst thought, after passing through the postern and realizing fullywhat sort of predicament threatened him, was to recapture her andreturn her to the prison room in the block-house without attractingattention. This now promised to be an easier task than he had at firstfeared; for in the moonlight, which on account of the dispersingclouds, was fast growing stronger, he saw her seem to falter andweaken. Certainly her flight was checked and took an eccentric turn, asif some obstruction had barred her way. He rushed on, not seeing that,as Alice swerved, a man intervened. Indeed he was within a few stridesof laying his hand on her when he saw her make the strange movement. Itwas as if, springing suddenly aside, she had become two persons insteadof one. But instantly the figures coincided again, and in becomingtaller faced about and confronted him.

  Hamilton stopped short in his tracks. The dark figure was about fivepaces from him. It was not Alice, and a sword flashed dimly butunmistakably in a ray of the moon. The motion visible was that of anexpert swordsman placing himself firmly on his legs, with his weapon atguard.

  Alice saw the man in her path just in time to avoid running againsthim. Lightly as a flying bird, when it whisks itself in a shortsemicircle past a tree or a bough, she sprang aside and swung around tothe rear of him, where she could continue her course toward the town.But in passing she recognized him. It was Father Beret, and how grim helooked! The discovery was made in the twinkling of an eye, and itseffect was instantaneous, not only checking the force of her flight,but stopping her and turning her about to gaze before she had gone fivepaces farther.

  Hamilton's nerve held, startled as he was, when he realized that anarmed man stood before him. Naturally he fell into the error ofthinking that he had been running after this fellow all the way fromthe little gate, where, he supposed, Alice had somehow given him theslip. It was a mere flash of brain-light, so to call it, struck out bythe surprise of this curious discovery. He felt his bellicose temperleap up furiously at being balked in a way so unexpected and withal soinexplicable. Of course he did not stand there reasoning it all out.The rush of impressions came, and at the same time he acted withpromptness. Changing the rapier, which he held in his right hand, overinto his left, he drew a small pistol from the breast of his coat andfired. The report was sharp and loud; but it caused no uneasiness orinquiry in the fort, owing to the fact that Indians invariably emptiedtheir guns when coming into the town.

  Hamilton's aim, although hasty, was not bad. The bullet from his weaponcut through Father Beret's clothes between his left arm and his body,slightly creasing the flesh on a rib. Beyond him it struck heavily andaudibly. Alice fell limp and motionless to the soft wet ground, wherecold puddles of water were splintered over with ice. She lay pitifullycrumpled, one arm outstretched in the moonlight. Father Beret heard thebullet hit her, and turned in time to see her stagger backward with ahand convulsively pressed over her heart. Her face, slightly upturnedas she reeled, gave the moon a pallid target for its strengtheningrays. Sweet, beautiful, its rigid features flashed for a second andthen half turned away from the light and went down.

  Father Beret uttered a short, thin cry and moved as if to go to thefallen girl, but just then he saw Hamilton's sword pass over again intohis right hand, and knew that there was no time for anything but deathor fight. The good priest did not shirk what might have made thereadiest of soldiers nervous. Hamilton was known to be a greatswordsman and proud of the distinction. Father Beret had seen him fencewith Farnsworth in remarkable form, touching him at will, and inministering to the men in the fort he had heard them talk of theGovernor's incomparable skill.

  A priest is, in perhaps all cases but the last out of a thousand, a manof peace, not to be forced into a fight; but the exceptional one out ofthe ten hundred it is well not to stir up if you are looking for aneasy victim. Hamilton was in the habit of considering every antagonistimmediately conquerable. His domineering spirit could not, whenopposed, reckon with any possibility of disaster. As he sprang towardFather Beret there was a mutual recognition and, we speak guardedly,something that sounded exactly like an exchange of furious execrations.As for Father Beret's words, they may have been a mere priestly formulaof objurgation.

  The moon was accommodating. With a beautiful white splendor it entereda space of cloudless sky, where it seemed to slip along the dusky bluesurface among the stars, far over in the west.

  "It's you, is it?" Hamilton exclaimed between teeth that almost crushedone another. "You prowling hypocrite of hell!"

  Father Beret said something. It was not complimentary, and it soundedsulphurous, if not profane. Remember, however, that a priest canscarcely hope to be better than Peter, and Peter did actually make theSimon pure remark when hard pressed. At all events Father Beret saidsomething with vigorous emphasis, and met Hamilton half way.

  Both men, stimulated to the finger-tips by a draught of imperiouspassion, fairly plunged to the inevitable conflict. Ah, if Alice couldhave seen her beautiful weapons cross, if she could have heard thefine, far-reaching clink, clink, clink, while sparks leaped forth,dazzling even in the moonlight; if she could have noted the admirable,nay, the amazing, play, as the men, regaining coolness to some extent,gathered their forces and fell cautiously to the deadly work, it wouldhave been enough to change the cold shimmer of her face to a flash ofwarm delight. For she would have understood every feint, longe, parry,and seen at a glance how Father Beret set the pace and led the race atthe beginning. She would have understood; for Father Beret had taughther all she knew about the art of fencing.

  Hamilton quickly felt, and with a sense of its strangeness, thepriest's masterly command of his weapon. The surprise called up all hiscaution and cleverness. Before he could adjust himself to such anunexpected condition he came near being spitted outright by a prettypass under his guard. The narrow escape, while it put him on his bestmettle, sent a wave of superstition through his brain. He recalled whatBarlow had jocularly said about the doings of the devil-priest orpriest-devil at Roussillon place on that night when the patrol guardattempted to take Gaspard Roussillon. Was this, indeed, Father Beret,that gentle old man, now before him, or was it an avenging demon fromthe shades?

  The thought flitted electrically across his mind, while he deftlyparried, feinted, longed, giving his dark antagonist all he could do tomeet the play. Priest or devil, he thought, he cared not which, hewould reach its vitals presently. Yet there lingered with him ahaunting half-fear, or tenuous awe, which may have aided, rather thanhindered his excellent swordsmanship.

  Under foot it was slushy with mud, water and ice, the consistencyvarying from a somewhat solid crust to puddles that half inundatedHamilton's boots and quite overflowed Father Beret's moccasins. Anexecrable field for the little matter in hand. They gradually shiftedposition. Now it was the Governor, then the priest, who had advantageas to the light. For some time Father Beret seemed quite the shiftierand surer fighter, but (was it his age telling on him?) he lostperceptibly in suppleness. Still Hamilton failed to touch him. Therewas a baffling something in the old man's escape now and again fromwhat ought to have been an inevitable stroke. Was it luck? It seemed toHamilton more than that--a sort of uncanny evasion. Or was it suprememastery, the last and subtlest reach of the fencer's craft?

  Youth forced age slowly backward in the struggle, which at times tookon spurts so furious that the slender blades, becoming mere glints ofacicular steel, split the moonlight back and forth, up and down, sothat their meetings, following one another in a well-nigh continuousstroke, sent a jarring noise through the
air. Father Beret lost inch byinch, until the fighting was almost over the body of Alice; and now forthe first time Hamilton became aware of that motionless something withthe white, luminous face in profile against the ground; but he did notlet even that unsettle his fencing gaze, which followed the sunken anddusky eyes of his adversary. A perspiration suddenly flooded his body,however, and began to drip across his face. His arm was tiring. A doubtcrept like a chill into his heart. Then the priest appeared to add acubit to his stature and waver strangely in the soft light. Behind him,low against the sky, a wide winged owl shot noiselessly across justabove the prairie.

  The soul of a true priest is double: it is the soul of a saint and thesoul of a worldly man. What is most beautiful in this duality is thesupreme courage with which the saintly spirit attacks the worldly andso often heroically masters it. In the beginning of the fight FatherBeret let a passion of the earthly body take him by storm. It was wellfor Governor Henry Hamilton that the priest was so wrought upon as tounsettle his nerves, otherwise there would have been an evil heartimpaled midway of Father Beret's rapier. A little later the saintlyspirit began to assert itself, feebly indeed, but surely. Then it wasthat Father Beret seemed to be losing agility for a while as hebackstepped away from Hamilton's increasing energy of assault. In hisheart the priest was saying: "I will not murder him. I must not dothat. He deserves death, but vengeance is not mine. I will disarm him."Step by step he retreated, playing erratically to make an opening for atrick he meant to use.

  It was singularly loose play, a sort of wavering, shifty,incomprehensible show of carelessness, that caused Hamilton toentertain a doubt, which was really a fear, as to what was going tohappen; for, notwithstanding all this neglect of due precaution on thepriest's part, to touch him seemed impossible, miraculously so, andevery plan of attack dissolved into futility in the most maddening way.

  "Priest, devil or ghost!" raged Hamilton, with a froth gathering aroundhis mouth; "I'll kill you, or--"

  He made a longe, when his adversary left an opening which appearedabsolutely beyond defence. It was a quick, dextrous, vicious thrust.The blade leaped toward Father Beret's heart with a twinkle likelightning.

  At that moment, although warily alert and hopeful that his opportunitywas at hand, Father Beret came near losing his life; for as heside-stepped and easily parried Hamilton's thrust, which he hadinvited, thinking to entangle his blade and disarm him, he caught hisfoot in Alice's skirt and stumbled, nearly falling across her. It wouldhave been easy for Hamilton to run him through, had he instantlyfollowed up the advantage. But the moonlight on Alice's face struck hiseyes, and by that indirect ray of vision which is often strangelyeffective, he recognized her lying there. It was a disconcerting thingfor him, but he rallied instantly and sprang aside, taking a newposition just in time to face Father Beret again. A chill crept up hisback. The horror which he could not shake off enraged him beyondmeasure. Gathering fresh energy, he renewed the assault with desperatesteadiness the highest product of absolutely molten fury.

  Father Beret felt the dangerous access of power in his antagonist'sarm, and knew that a crisis had arrived. He could not be careless now.Here was a swordsman of the best school calling upon him for all theskill and strength and cunning that he could command. Again the saintlyelement was near being thrown aside by the worldly in the old man'sbreast. Alice lying there seemed mutely demanding that he avenge her. Ariotous something in his blood clamored for a quick and certain act inthis drama by moonlight--a tragic close by a stroke of terrible yetperfectly fitting justice.

  There was but the space of a breath for the conflict in the priest'sheart, yet during that little time he reasoned the case and quotedscripture to himself.

  "Domine, percutimus in gladio?" rang through his mind. "Lord, shall wesmite with the sword?"

  Hamilton seemed to make answer to this with a dazzling display ofskill. The rapiers sang a strange song above the sleeping girl, alullaby with coruscations of death in every keen note.

  Father Beret was thinking of Alice. His brain, playing double,calculated with lightning swiftness the chances and movements of thatwhirlwind rush of fight, while at the same time it swept through aretrospect of all the years since Alice came into his life. How he hadwatched her grow and bloom; how he had taught her, trained her mind andsoul and body to high things, loved her with a fatherly passionunbounded, guarded her from the coarse and lawless influences of hersurroundings. Like the tolling of an infinitely melancholy bell, allthis went through his breast and brain, and, blending with a furiouscurrent of whatever passions were deadly dangerous in his nature, sweptas a storm bearing its awful force into his sword-arm.

  The Englishman was a lion, the priest a gladiator. The stars aloft inthe vague, dark, yet splendid, amphitheater were the audience. It was aquestion. Would the thumbs go down or up? Life and death held thechances even; but it was at the will of Heaven, not of the stars. "Hochabet" must follow the stroke ordered from beyond the astral clustersand the dusky blue.

  Hamilton pressed, nay rushed, the fight with a weight and at a pacewhich could not last. But Father Beret withstood him so firmly that hemade no farther headway; he even lost some ground a moment later.

  "You damned Jesuit hypocrite!" he snarled; "you lowest of a vilebrotherhood of liars!"

  Then he rushed again, making a magnificent show of strength, quicknessand accuracy. The sparks hissed and crackled from the rasping andringing blades.

  Father Beret was, in truth, a Jesuit, and as such a zealot; but he wasnot a liar or a hypocrite. Being human, he resented an insult. Thesaintly spirit in him was strong, yet not strong enough to breast theindignation which now dashed against it. For a moment it went down.

  "Liar and scoundrel yourself!" he retorted, hoarsely forcing the wordsout of his throat. "Spawn of a beastly breed!"

  Hamilton saw and felt a change pass over the spirit of the old priest'smovements. Instantly the sword leaping against his own seemed endowedwith subtle cunning and malignant treachery. Before this it had beendifficult enough to meet the fine play and hold fairly even; now he wasstartled and confused; but he rose to the emergency with admirable willpower and cleverness.

  "Murderer of a poor orphan girl!" Father Beret added with a hotconcentrated accent; "death is too good for you."

  Hamilton felt nearer his grave than ever before in all his wildexperience, for somehow doom, shadowy and formless, like the atmosphereof an awful dream, enmisted those words; but he was no weakling to quitat the height of desperate conflict. He was strong, expert, and game tothe middle of his heart.

  "I'll add a traitor Jesuit to my list of dead," he panted forth, risingyet again to the extremest tension of his power.

  As he did this Father Beret settled himself as you have seen a mightyhorse do in the home stretch of a race. Both men knew that the momenthad arrived for the final act in their impromptu play. It was short, aduel condensed and crowded into fifteen seconds of time, and it wasrapid beyond the power of words to describe. A bystander, had therebeen one, could not have seen what was finally done or how it was done.Father Beret's sword seemed to be revolving--it was a halo in front ofHamilton for a mere point of time. The old priest seemed to crouch andthen make a quick motion as if about to leap backward. A wrench and asnip, as of something violently jerked from a fastening, were followedby a semicircular flight of Hamilton's rapier over Father Beret's headto stick in the ground ten feet behind him. The duel was over, and thewhole terrible struggle had occupied less than three minutes.

  With his wrist strained and his fingers almost broken, Hamiltonstumbled forward and would have impaled himself had not Father Beretturned the point of his weapon aside as he lowered it.

  "Surrender, or die!"

  That was a strange order for a priest to make, but there could be nomistaking its authority or the power behind it. Hamilton regained hisfooting and looked dazed, wheezing and puffing like a porpoise, but heclearly understood what was demanded of him.

  "If you call out I'll run you th
rough," Father Beret added, seeing himmove his lips as if to shout for help.

  The level rapier now reinforced the words. Hamilton let the breath gonoiselessly from his mouth and waved his hand in token of enforcedsubmission.

  "Well, what do you want me to do?" he demanded after a short pause."You seem to have me at your mercy. What are your terms?"

  Father Beret hesitated. It was a question difficult to answer.

  "Give me your word as a British officer that you will never again tryto harm any person, not an open, armed enemy, in this town."

  Hamilton's gorge rose perversely. He erected himself with lofty reserveand folded his arms. The dignity of a Lieutenant Governor leaped intohim and took control. Father Beret correctly interpreted what he saw.

  "My people have borne much," he said, "and the killing of that poorchild there will be awfully avenged if I but say the word. Besides, Ican turn every Indian in this wilderness against you in a single day.You are indeed at my mercy, and I will be merciful if you will satisfymy demand."

  He was trembling with emotion while he spoke and the desire to kill theman before him was making a frightful struggle with his priestlyconscience; but conscience had the upper hand. Hamilton stood gazingfixedly, pale as a ghost, his thoughts becoming more and more clear andlogical. He was in a bad situation. Every word that Father Beret hadspoken was true and went home with force. There was no time for parleyor subterfuge; the sword looked as if, eager to find his heart, itcould not be held back another moment. But the wan, cold face of thegirl had more power than the rapier's hungry point. It made an abjectcoward of him.

  "I am willing to give you my word," he presently said. "And let me tellyou," he went on more rapidly, "I did not shoot at her. She was behindyou."

  "Your word as a British officer?"

  Hamilton again stiffened and hesitated, but only for the briefestspace, then said:

  "Yes, my word as a British officer."

  Father Beret waved his hand with impatience.

  "Go, then, back to your place in the fort and disturb, my people nomore. The soul of this poor little girl will haunt you forever. Go!"

  Hamilton stood a little while gazing at the face of Alice with thehorrible wistfulness of remorse. What would he not have given to rubhis eyes and find it all a dream?

  He turned away; a cloud scudded across the moon; here and yonder in thedim town cocks crowed with a lonesome, desultory effect.

  Father Beret plucked up the rapier that he had wrenched from Hamilton'shand. It suggested something.

  "Hold!" he called out, "give me the scabbard of this sword." Hamilton,who was striding vigorously in the direction of the fort, turned aboutas the priest hastened to him.

  "Give me the scabbard of this rapier; I want it. Take it off."

  The command was not gently voiced. A hoarse, half-whisper winged everyword with an imperious threat.

  Hamilton obeyed. His hands were not firm; his fingers fumblednervously; but he hurried, and Father Beret soon had the rapiersheathed and secured at his belt beside its mate.

  A good and true priest is a burden-bearer. His motto is: Alter alteriusonera portate; bear ye one another's burdens. His soul is enriched withthe cast-off sorrows of those whom he relieves. Father Beret scarcelyfelt the weight of Alice's body when he lifted it from the ground, soheavy was the pressure of his grief. All that her death meant, not onlyto him, but to every person who knew her, came into his heart as theplace of refuge consecrated for the indwelling of pain. He lifted herand bore her as far toward Roussillon place as he could; but hisstrength fell short just in front of the little Bourcier cottage, andhalf dead he staggered across the veranda to the door, where he sankexhausted.

  After a breathing spell he knocked. The household, fast asleep, did nothear; but he persisted until the door was opened to him and his burden.

  Captain Farnsworth unclosed his bloodshot eyes, at about eight o'clockin the morning, quite confused as to his place and surroundings. Helooked about drowsily with a sheepish half-knowledge of having beenvery drunk. A purring in his head and a dull ache reminded him of anabused stomach. He yawned and stretched himself, then sat up, running ahand through his tousled hair. Father Beret was on his knees before thecross, still as a statue, his clasped hands extended upward.

  Farnsworth's face lighted with recognition, and he smiled ratherbitterly. He recalled everything and felt ashamed, humiliated,self-debased. He had outraged even a priest's hospitality with hisbrutish appetite, and he hated himself for it. Disgust nauseated hissoul apace with the physical sinking and squirming that grew upon him.

  "I'm a shabby, worthless dog!" he muttered, with petulant accent; "whydon't you kick me out, Father?"

  The priest turned a collapsed and bloodless gray face upon him, smiledin a tired, perfunctory way, crossed himself absently and said:

  "You have rested well, my son. Hard as the bed is, you have done it acompliment in the way of sleeping. You young soldiers understand how toget the most out of things."

  "You are too generous, Father, and I can't appreciate it. I know what Ideserve, and you know it, too. Tell me what a brute and fool I am; itwill do me good. Punch me a solid jolt in the ribs, like the one yougave me not long ago."

  "Qui sine peccato est, primus lapidem mittat" said the priest. "Let himwho is without sin cast the first stone."

  He had gone to the hearth and was taking from the embers an earthensaucer, or shallow bowl, in which some fragrant broth simmered andsteamed.

  "A man who has slept as long as you have, my son, usually has asomewhat delicate appetite. Now, here is a soup, not especiallysatisfying to the taste of a gourmet like yourself, but possessing thesoothing quality that is good for one just aroused from an unusual nap.I offer it, my son, propter stomachum tuum, et frequentes tuasinfirmitates (on account of thy stomach, and thine often infirmities).This soup will go to the right spot."

  While speaking he brought the hot bowl to Farnsworth and set it on thebedcover before him, then fetched a big horn spoon.

  The fragrance of pungent roots and herbs, blent with a savory waft ofbuffalo meat, greeted the Captain's sense, and the anticipation itselfcheered his aching throat. It made him feel greedy and in a hurry. Thefirst spoonful, a trifle bitter, was not so pleasant at the beginning,but a moment after he swallowed it a hot prickling set in and seemed todart through him from extremity to extremity.

  Slowly, as he ate, the taste grew more agreeable, and all the effectsof his debauch disappeared. It was like magic; his blood warmed andglowed, as if touched with mysterious fire.

  "What is this in this soup, Father Beret, that makes it so searchingand refreshing?" he demanded, when the bowl was empty.

  Father Beret shook his head and smiled drolly.

  "That I cannot divulge, my son, owing to a promise I had to make to theaged Indian who gave me the secret. It is the elixir of the Miamis.Only their consecrated medicine men hold the recipe. The stimulation isbut temporary."

  Just then someone knocked on the door. Father Beret opened it to one ofHamilton's aides.

  "Your pardon, Father, but hearing Captain Farnsworth's voice I madebold to knock."

  "What is it, Bobby?" Farnsworth called out.

  "Nothing, only the Governor has been having you looked for in everynook and corner of the fort and town. You'd better report at once, orhell be having us drag the river for your body."

  "All right, Lieutenant, go back and keep mum, that's a dear boy, andI'll shuffle into Colonel Hamilton's august presence before manyminutes."

  The aide laughed and went his way whistling a merry tune.

  "Now I am sure to get what I deserve, with usury at forty per cent inadvance," said Farnsworth dryly, shrugging his shoulders withundissembled dread of Hamilton's wrath. But the anticipation was notrealized. The Governor received Farnsworth stiffly enough, yet in a waythat suggested a suppressed desire to avoid explanations on theCaptain's part and a reprimand on his own. In fact, Hamilton was hopingthat something would turn up to s
hield him from the effect of histerrible midnight adventure, which seemed the darker the more hethought of it. He had a slow, numb conscience, lying deep where it washard to reach, and when a qualm somehow entered it he endured in secretwhat most men would have cast off or confessed. He was haunted, if notwith remorse, at least by a dread of something most disagreeable inconnection with what he had done. Alice's white face had impresseditself indelibly on his memory, so that it met his inner vision atevery turn. He was afraid to converse with Farnsworth lest she shouldcome up for discussion; consequently their interview was curt andformal.

  It was soon discovered that Alice had escaped from the stockade, andsome show of search was made for her by Hamilton's order, butFarnsworth looked to it that the order was not carried out. He thoughthe saw at once that his chief knew where she was. The mystery perplexedand pained the young man, and caused him to fear all sorts of evil; butthere was a chance that Alice had found a safe retreat and he knew thatnothing but ill could befall her if she were discovered and broughtback to the fort. Therefore his search for her became his own secretand for his own heart's ease. And doubtless he would have found her;for even handicapped and distorted love like his is lynx-eyed and sureon the track of its object; but a great event intervened and swept awayhis opportunity.

  Hamilton's uneasiness, which was that of a strong, misguided naturetrying to justify itself amid a confusion of unmanageable doubts andmisgivings, now vented itself in a resumption of the repairs he hadbeen making at certain points in the fort. These he completed just intime for the coming of Clark.