CHAPTER VII
JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY
The colony passed a very fair winter. It was in the latter part of Aprilthat one night an alarm was given and the big bell at the fort rang outits call to arms.
The messenger had trudged through the snow and was breathless.
"An Indian attack. The Iroquois are burning the settlement, andmurdering our people. To arms! to arms!"
There had been no Indian raid for a long while. Destournier had tried tofortify the back of his plantation. There were Montagnais and Algonquinsof the better type living there peaceably. It was not altogethercupidity. An Iroquois woman had been found cruelly murdered, and thewandering band laid it at once to the settlement. It took only a briefwhile to work themselves up to a frenzy.
It did not take long to plan revenge. There was no chief at the head;indeed, in these roving bands it was every brave for himself. And nowafter a powwow, since they were not large enough in numbers to attackthe fort, and they found some of the Indian converts were in the newsettlement, they determined on an onslaught.
The barricade at the back was high and strong. It was not so wellfortified on the side toward the fort, and they pushed through a weakplace at the end, lighted their torches, and commenced a treacherousassault. Roused from their slumbers, and terrified to the last degree,the air was soon filled with shrieks, and bursting in doors, the houseswere set on fire. They were wary enough to guard their loop-hole forescape, but they found themselves outnumbered, and in turn had to fightfor their own lives. The blazing huts lighted up the snow in a weirdfashion; the shrieks and cries and jargon of the Iroquois added to thefrightfulness. Yet the struggle was brief. The enemy, finding themselveson the losing side, began to fly, pursued by the soldiers, and indeed,many of the inhabitants.
Destournier roused at the first alarm, and Du Parc gave orders that werespeedily obeyed. The citadel was in a glow of light and wild commotion.
Giffard ran down the stone steps with his musket. Destournier barred hisway.
"Some of us have no wives," he said briefly. "Go back and keep guarduntil we see what the dastardly attack means."
"There are wives and children in the settlement," was the reply, but hepaused while Destournier ran on. When he was out of sight, Giffardfollowed.
The soldiers pursued the flying band, but they presently plunged intothe woods and crept on stealthily, while the pursuers returned. The graymorning began to dawn on the smoking ruin and the fitful blazes that themen were trying hard to extinguish with the snow. Destournier went fromone to another. A few huts had not been disturbed, and crying women andchildren were crowding in them. Some bodies lay silent on theblood-stained snow. Destournier had taken great pride in the surprise hehad thought to give the Governor on his return, and here lay most of hishopes in ruins.
He gave orders that the wounded should be taken to the fort fortreatment. It was a gratification to find two Iroquois dead, and when asoldier despatched a wounded one he made no comment. It was pitiful whenthe sun rose over the scene of destruction.
"Still there could not have been a large body, or the carnage would havebeen more complete," he said, with some comforting assurance.
"You had better come in for some breakfast," an officer remarked. "Youlook ghastly, and you are blood-stained."
He glanced down at his garments. "Yes," he said, "I will take youradvice. I want something hot to drink. And we must send some food overthere."
Rose came flying in as he was demolishing a savory slice of venison.
"Where is M. Giffard?" she cried. "Miladi is so frightened. She wantshim at once. Oh, wasn't it dreadful! Thank the saints you are safe!"
"Giffard!" He had caught two or three glimpses of him in the melee. "Hemay be attending to the wounded. He is a brave fellow in an emergency. Imust find him."
He swallowed the brandy and water and rushed down to the improvisedhospital. A dozen or more were being fed and nursed by Wanamee and twoother Indian women. The priest, too, was kindly exhorting courage andpatience. Giffard was not here. No one had seen him. He ran over thecrusty, but trodden-down snow, stained here and there with blood. Thesun had risen gorgeously, and there was a decided balminess in the air.He glanced at the insides of the huts. The furry skins had not been goodconductors of flames, and the snow on the roofs had saved them. Besidethe two dead Iroquois there was an Abenaqui woman and her child. In thehuts that were intact, the frightened women and children had huddled.Some of the men were already appraising possible repairs.
"They went this way," announced an Algonquin, in his broken French. Hehad been employed about the fort and found trusty.
The path was marked with blood and fragments of clothing, bags of maize,that they had dropped in their flight--finding them a burthen. Here layan Iroquois with a broken leg, who was twisting himself along. TheAlgonquin hit him a blow over the head with the stout club he carried.
"He will not get much further," he commented, as the Indian dropped overmotionless.
"Have you seen M. Giffard?" Destournier asked.
"_Non, non_. The men came back."
"He is not at the fort."
"Shall we follow on?"
Destournier nodded.
They heard a step crunching over the snow and waited breathlessly.
It was Jacques Roleau they saw as he came in sight, one of the workmenat the fort. He gestured to them that all was right.
"They have fled, what was left of them," he explained. "I despatched twowounded Iroquois that they had left behind. There are two of our menthat they must have made prisoners, the M'sieu at the fort who has thepretty wife, and young Chauvin"--and he paused, as if there was more tosay.
"Wounded?"
He shook his head sadly.
"Dead?" Destournier's breath came with a gasp.
"Both dead, M'sieu, but strange, neither has been scalped."
"Let us push on," exclaimed Destournier sadly.
They followed the trail. After a short distance a body had been draggedevidently. Roleau led the way through a tortuous path until they came insight of a small vacant spot where sometime Indians had camped, as theycould tell by the scorched and blackened trees. A nearly nude body hadbeen fastened to one and a few dead branches gathered, evidently for afire.
Destournier stood speechless. The head hung down, the face was unmarred,save for a few scratches, and he gave thanks for that. But his heart washeavy within him. The poor body had been stabbed and cut, yet it had notbled much, it seemed.
He would have felt relieved if he had known the whole story. Twostalwart bucks had seized Giffard just beyond the settlement and hurriedhim along at such a pace that he could hardly breathe. They fastened hisarms behind, each man grasping an elbow, and fairly galloped, until oneof them caught his foot in a fallen tree and went down. In the fallGiffard's temple struck against a stone that knocked him senseless. Hemight have revived, but he was hurried along by a stout leathern thongslipped under the armpits, and was then dragged a dead weight. They hadstopped for a holocaust and bound him to a tree, while they despatchedthe younger man. But there was difficulty in finding anything dry enoughto burn, so they had amused themselves by gashing the dead body. Thensuddenly alarmed they had plunged farther into the forest, leaving oneof their own wounded that Roleau had finished.
Giffard had been captured in a moment of incautiousness, but the sightsand the wantonness had fired his blood and roused a spirit ofretaliation.
They had nearly stripped both bodies, and carried off the garments.
"If you can manage, M'sieu," exclaimed their guide, "I will take theyoung fellow." He stooped, picked him up, and threw him over hisshoulder.
"You will find him a heavy burthen," as the man staggered a little.
"I can carry. Do not fear," nodding assurance.
Destournier took off his fur coat and wrapped it about the poor body.Each took hold of the improvised litter and they commenced theirmelancholy journey. How could Madame Giffard stand it, for s
he reallydid love him. The man's heart ached with the sincerest pity.
They laid down their burthens inside the settlement in one of the partlydestroyed cabins. Du Parc came thither to meet them.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "that fine young fellow who was going to be a greatsuccess. The company wanted him back in France. And his poor wife! Theblow will kill her."
"I wished him to remain within for her sake. He was no coward, either. Iwould give the whole settlement if it would restore him to life. TheGovernor thought it an excellent, but venturesome plan. But we must havecolonists if ever we are to make a town that will be an honor to NewFrance."
"It is not such a complete ruin. We have lost two men, one woman, andthree children. Five Iroquois bodies have been found and two are badlywounded."
"And two more out in the woods. They had better be buried, so as to stirup no more strife. It could not have been a large party, or we wouldhave suffered more severely."
"The English have had many of these surprises. I think we have beenfortunate, even if we have fewer in numbers. And it would have beenworse if there had been growing crops."
"I shall have the fortifications strengthened. And perhaps it would bewell to keep guard."
They left Roleau in charge of the bodies and turned to the fort. Thewounded had been made comfortable.
Rose sprang down the steps to meet Destournier.
"Oh, have you found him? Miladi is almost dead with grief and anxiety.She is sure they have killed M. Giffard."
"Poor wife! How will we tell her?"
"Oh, then he is dead?" The child's face was blanched with terror.
"Yes, he has been killed by the cruel savages. But we have brought homehis body. Who is with her?"
"Wanamee and Madawando, who is saying charms over her. She is themedicine woman who brought back the Gaudrion baby when he was dead. Oh,can you not make her bring back M. Giffard? Miladi will surely die ofgrief. Couldn't they put some one in his place? Wouldn't the great Godlisten to the priest's prayers?" and she raised her humid, beseechingeyes.
"My child, you loved him dearly."
"Sometimes. Then he made me feel--well, as if I could run away. He wasnever cross. Oh, I think it was because he loved Miladi so very much,there was no room for any one else. And that is why I love youso--because you have no one belonging to you."
"We are alike in that," he made answer.
He saw Wanamee presently.
"She goes from one dying fit to another. Madawando brings her back. Butif he is dead, M'sieu, why should they not let her join him?"
Would she be happier in that great unknown land with him. What was therehere for her?
And some way he felt in part responsible. He had risked his life to saveDestournier's property.
There were sad days in the fort. The weather came off comparativelypleasant, and the half-ruined huts were repaired, the wounded healed,the losses made good, as far as possible. The dead Iroquois were put ina trench, but better sepulture was provided for the colonists, and theservices over the body of M. Giffard were in a degree military. The twoRecollet priests were kindness and devotion personified, and they saidprayers every hour in their rude little chapel, where a candle was keptburning before the altar.
They frowned severely on what they termed the mummeries of Madawando.Even the Indian converts, and they were few enough, lapsed into charmsand incantations in times of trouble. They willingly had their childrenbaptized, as if this was one of the charms to ward off danger. But thepriests labored with unabated courage.
Miladi seemed to hover a long while between the two worlds, it wasthought, but the real spring was coming on, and all nature was reviving.She had never quite wanted to die, so at the lowest ebb she seemed towill herself back to life by some occult power.
Rose meanwhile had run quite wild, but she had been Destournier'scompanion in his walks, in his canoe journeys; sometimes with MarieGaudrion, she was in and out of the settlement, and as she understood alittle of the several Indian languages, she was quite a favorite; butDestournier felt troubled about her at times. She was very fearless,very upright, and detected the subterfuges of the children of thewilderness, condemning them most severely. But they never seemed angrywith her.
Sometimes he thought he would send her to France and begin her educationin a convent. But could the wild little thing who skipped and danced andsung, climbed rocks and trees, managed a canoe, tamed birds that cameand sang on her shoulder, endure the dull routine of convent life? Shecould read French quite fluently. She had taken an immense fancy toLatin, and caught the lines so easily when Destournier read them frommusical Horace, or the stirring scenes of the Odyssey, the only twoLatin books he owned. And her head was stuffed full of wild Indiantales.
"I wonder," she said one day, as she sat on the rocks, leaning againstDestournier's knee, the soft wind playing through the silken tendrils ofher hair--"I wonder if you should die whether I could be like miladi,and want the room dark and have every one go in the softest moccasins,and have headaches and the sound of any one's voice pierce through youlike a knife. It would be terrible."
"Why do you think of that?"
"Because I love you best of everybody. The Governor is very nice, but heis in France so much and you are here. Then we can climb rocks togetherand sit in the forests and hear the trees talk. I go to M. Giffard'sgrave and say over the spells Madawando taught me, to bring him back,but he does not come. If he could, miladi would be bright and gay again,and we would dance and sing, and have merry times. If you died I shouldwant to die, too."
He was touched by the child's simple devotion.
"I am not going to die. Your Madawando told me I should live to be veryold. There were some curious lines in my hand."
"I am so glad," she said simply.
"But you had better not tell the good priest that you are trying tobring M. Giffard back to life in this Indian fashion. They think it asin."
"I do not like the priests, in their dirty gray gowns, and their headslooking as if they had been scalped. Only when they read in their book.It sounds like those great people in the wars of Troy."
And this was a little Christian girl. Were not the priests also prayingthat the souls in purgatory might be lightened of their burden? and hesmiled.
But somehow miladi pressed heavily upon his conscience. M. Giffard hadcome to _his_ assistance, to save his property, as well as to save humanlives. He lost sight of the great brotherhood of mankind, of the heroismof a truly noble soul. Was there anything he could do to lighten herburthen?
At last she expressed a desire to see him. He had looked to find herwasted away with grief, changed so that it would be sorrow to look uponher. She was pale, but, it seemed, more really beautiful than he hadever known her. Her gown was white, and she had a thin black scarfthrown around her shoulders which enhanced her fairness. There could beno shopping for mourning in this benighted country.
"I thought I should go to him," she said in her soft, half-languidvoice. "But the good Pere believes there is something for me to do andthat I must be content to remain, and thankful to live. But all is sochanged. Sometimes I make myself believe that Laurent has gone back toFrance to settle matters. He counted so on our return. And that he willcome again for me."
"You would like to go to friends?"
"Alas, there are not many. Some have gone to England, some to Holland,not liking the new King's policy. And some are dead. I should have noone to make a home for me. A woman's loneliness is intense. She cannotturn to business, nor go out and find friends."
That was true enough. He pitied her profoundly.
"Is it true our Governor is bringing his new wife to Quebec?" she askedpresently.
"So the trading vessels have said. They are already loading up withfurs, and trade seems brisk. Of course it brings great confusion. I havetaken charge of M. Giffard's bales that came in last week. They hadbetter be sent as usual. The Paris firm is eager for them. They are afine lot. What is your pleasure?"
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sp; "Oh, relieve me of all care that you can. I am so helpless. Laurent dideverything. Women were never meant for business, he thought. I am nowiser than a child."
She looked so helpless, so sweet, so dependent.
"I shall be glad to do what I can. Yes, it would be no place for awoman. She could not manage matters. And if you like to trust me----"
"I would trust you in all things. Laurent thought your judgmentexcellent. He cared so much for you. Oh, if you will take charge----"
She looked up with sweet, appealing eyes. Did he not owe her someprotection and care? He was pondering silently.
"You have relieved me of such a burthen. I think I shall get well now.I hardly knew whether I wanted most to live or die."
"Life is best, sweetest." It would be for her. He uttered the sentenceinvoluntarily.
"You make it so." Her eyes were bewitchingly downcast and a faint colorfluttered over her face, while her pretty hands worked nervously.
He paced the gallery afterward in the twilight, when the stars wereslowly finding their way through the blue vault overhead, and the riverplashed by with its monotone of music. She might desire to return toFrance; this life in the wilderness did not appeal to delicate women.Yet she had taken it very cheerfully, he thought.
If she decided to stay--there was one way in which he could befriendher, perhaps make her happy again. Marriage was hardly considered theoutcome of love in that period, many other considerations entered intoit. There were betrothals where the future husband and wife saw eachother for the first time. And they did very well. His ideas of marriedlife were a sort of good-fellowship and admiration, if the woman waspretty; good cooking and a desire to please among the commoner ones. Atfour and twenty he had not given the matter much consideration. MadameGiffard was full thirty, but she looked like a girl in her lightness andgrace. And he owed the memory of M. Giffard something. This step wouldmake amends and allay a troublesome sort of conscience in the matter.