The Trail of the Sword, Complete - Gilbert Parker
The French leaders understood: Goliath would have his David. The champion
suddenly began a sing-song challenge, during which Iberville and his
comrades conferred. The champion's eyes ran up and down the line and
alighted on the large form of De Casson, who calmly watched him.
Iberville saw this look and could not help but laugh, though the matter
was serious. He pictured the good abbe fighting for the band. At this the
champion began to beat his breast defiantly.
Iberville threw off his coat, and motioned his friends back. Immediately
there was protest. They had not known quite what to do, but Perrot had
offered to fight the champion, and they, supposing it was to be a fight
with weapons, had hastily agreed. It was clear, however, that it was to
be a wrestle to the death. Iberville quelled all protests, and they
stepped back. There was a final call from the champion, and then he
became silent. From the Indians rose one long cry of satisfaction, and
then they too stilled, the chief fell back, and the two men stood alone
in the centre. Iberville, whose face had become grave, went to De Casson
and whispered to him. The abbe gave him his blessing, and then he turned
and went back. He waved his hand to his brothers and his friends,--a gay
Cavalier-like motion,--then took off all save his small clothes and stood
out.
Never was seen, perhaps, a stranger sight: a gentleman of France ranged
against a savage wrestler, without weapons, stripped to the waist, to
fight like a gladiator. But this was a new land, and Iberville could ever
do what another of his name or rank could not. There was only one other
man in Canada who could do the same--old Count Frontenac himself, who,
dressed in all his Court finery, had danced a war-dance in the
torch-light with Iroquois chiefs.
Stripped, Iberville's splendid proportions could be seen at advantage. He
was not massively made, but from crown to heel there was perfect muscular
proportion. His admirable training and his splendidly nourished
body--cared for, as in those days only was the body cared for--promised
much, though against so huge a champion. Then, too, Iberville in his
boyhood had wrestled with Indians and had learned their tricks. Added to
this were methods learned abroad, which might prove useful now. Yet any
one looking at the two would have begged the younger man to withdraw.
Never was battle shorter. Iberville, too proud to give his enemy one
moment of athletic trifling, ran in on him. For a time they were locked,
straining terribly, and then the neck of the champion went with a snap
and he lay dead in the middle of the green.
The Indians and the French were both so dumfounded that for a moment no
one stirred, and Iberville went back and quietly put on his clothes. But
presently cries of rage and mourning came from the Indians, and weapons
threatened. But the chief waved aggression down, and came forward to the
dead man. He looked for a moment, and then as Iberville and De Troyes
came near, he gazed at Iberville in wonder, and all at once reached out
both hands to him. Iberville took them and shook them heartily.
There was something uncanny in the sudden death of the champion, and
Iberville's achievement had conquered these savages, who, after all,
loved such deeds, though at the hand of an enemy. And now the whole scene
was changed. The French courteously but firmly demanded homage, and got
it, as the superior race can get it from the inferior, when events are,
even distantly, in their favour; and here were martial display, a band of
fearless men, weapons which the savages had never seen before, trumpets,
and, most of all, a chief who was his own champion, and who had snapped
the neck of their Goliath as one would break a tree-branch.
From the moment Iberville and the chief shook hands they were friends,
and after two days, when they parted company, there was no Indian among
all this strange tribe but would have followed him anywhere. As it was,
he and De Troyes preferred to make the expedition with his handful of
men, and so parted with the Indians, after having made gifts to the chief
and his people. The most important of these presents was a musket,
handled by the chief at first as though it were some deadly engine. The
tribe had been greatly astonished at hearing a volley fired by the whole
band at once, and at seeing caribou shot before their eyes; but when the
chief himself, after divers attempts, shot a caribou, they stood in
proper awe. With mutual friendliness they parted. Two weeks later, after
great trials, the band emerged on the shores of Hudson's Bay, almost
without baggage, and starving.
CHAPTER XII
OUT OF THE NET
The last two hundred miles of their journey had been made under trying
conditions. Accidents had befallen the canoes which carried the food, and
the country through which they passed was almost devoid of game. During
the last three days they had little or nothing to eat. When, therefore,
at night they came suddenly upon the shores of Hudson's Bay, and Fort
Hayes lay silent before them, they were ready for desperate enterprises.
The high stockade walls with stout bastions and small cannon looked
formidable, yet there was no man of them but was better pleased that the
odds were against him than with him. Though it was late spring, the night
was cold, and all were wet, hungry, and chilled.
Iberville's first glance at the bay and the fort brought disappointment.
No vessel lay in the harbour, therefore it was probable Gering was not
there. But there were other forts, and this one must be taken meanwhile.
The plans were quickly made. Iberville advised a double attack: an
improvised battering-ram at the great gate, and a party to climb the
stockade wall at another quarter. This climbing-party he would himself
lead, accompanied by his brother Sainte-Helene, Perrot, and a handful of
agile woodsmen. He had his choice, and his men were soon gathered round
him. A tree was cut down in the woods some distance from the shore,
shortened, and brought down, ready for its duty of battering-ram.
The night was beautiful. There was a bright moon, and the sky by some
strange trick of atmosphere had taken on a green hue, against which
everything stood out with singular distinctness. The air was placid, and
through the stillness came the low humming wash of the water to the hard
shore. The fort stood on an upland, looking in its solitariness like some
lonely prison-house where men went, more to have done with the world than
for punishment. Iberville was in that mood wherein men do stubborn
deeds--when justice is more with them than mercy, and selfishness than
either.
"If you meet the man, Pierre?" De Casson said before the party started.
Iberville laughed softly. "If we meet, may my mind be his, abbe! But he
is not here--there is no vessel, you see! Still, there are more forts on
the bay." The band knelt down before they started. It was strange to hear
in that lonely waste, a handful of men, bent on a deadly task, singing a
low chant of penitence--a Kyrie eleison. Afterwards came the benediction
upon this buccaneering expedition, behind which was one man's personal
enmity, a merchant company's cupidity, and a great nation's lust of
conquest! Iberville stole across the shore and up the hill with his
handful of men. There was no sound from the fort; all were asleep. No
musket-shot welcomed them, no cannon roared on the night; there was no
sentry. What should people on the outposts of the world need of sentries,
so long as there were walls to keep out wild animals! In a few moments
Iberville and his companions were over the wall. Already the attack on
the gate had begun, a passage was quickly made, and by the time Iberville
had forced open the doors of the blockhouse, his followers making a wild
hubbub as of a thousand men, De Troyes and his party were at his heels.
Before the weak garrison could make resistance they were in the hands of
their enemies, and soon were gathered in the yard--men, women, and
children.
Gering was not there. Iberville was told that he was at one of the other
forts along the shore: either Fort Rupert on the east, a hundred and
twenty miles away, or at Fort Albany, ninety miles to the north and west.
Iberville determined to go to Fort Rupert, and with a few followers,
embarking in canoes, assembled before it two nights after. A vessel was
in the harbour, and his delight was keen. He divided his men, sending
Perrot to take the fort, while himself with a small party moved to the
attack of the vessel. Gering had delayed a day too long. He had intended
leaving the day before, but the arrival of the governor of the company
had induced him to remain another day; entertaining his guest at supper,
and toasting him in some excellent wine got in Hispaniola. So palatable
was it that all drank deeply, and other liquors found their way to the
fo'castle. Thus in the dead of night there was no open eye on the
Valiant.
The Frenchmen pushed out gently from the shore, paddled noiselessly over
to the ship's side, and clambered up. Iberville was the first to step on
deck, and he was followed by Perrot and De Casson, who had, against
Iberville's will, insisted on coming. Five others came after. Already
they could hear the other party at the gate of the fort, and the cries of
the besiegers, now in the fortyard, came clearly to them.
The watch of the Valiant, waking suddenly, sprang up and ran forward,
making no outcry, dazed but bent on fighting. He came, however, on the
point of Perrot's sabre and was cut down. Meanwhile Iberville, hot for
mischief, stamped upon the deck. Immediately a number of armed men came
bundling up the hatch way. Among these appeared Gering and the governor,
who thrust themselves forward with drawn swords and pistols. The first
two men who appeared above the hatchway were promptly despatched, and
Iberville's sword was falling upon Gering, whom he did not recognise,
when De Casson's hand diverted the blow. It caught the shoulder of a man
at Gering's side.
"'Tis Monsieur Gering!" said the priest.
"Stop! stop!" cried a voice behind these. "I am the governor. We
surrender."
There was nothing else to do: in spite of Gering's show of defiance,
though death was above him if he resisted. He was but half-way up.
"It is no use, Mr. Gering," urged the governor; "they have us like sheep
in a pen."
"Very well," said Gering suddenly, handing up his, sword and stepping up
himself. "To whom do I surrender?"
"To an old acquaintance, monsieur," said Iberville, coming near, "who
will cherish you for the king of France."
"Damnation!" cried Gering, and his eyes hungered for his sword again.
"You would not visit me, so I came to look for you; though why, monsieur,
you should hide up here in the porch of the world passeth knowledge."
"Monsieur is witty," answered Gering stoutly; "but if he will grant me my
sword again and an hour alone with him, I shall ask no greater joy in
life."
By this time the governor was on deck, and he interposed.
"I beg, sir," he said to Iberville, "you will see there is no useless
slaughter at yon fort; for I guess that your men have their way with it."
"Shall my messenger, in your name, tell your people to give in?"
"By Heaven, no: I hope that they will fight while remains a chance. And
be sure, sir, I should not have yielded here, but that I foresaw hopeless
slaughter. Nor would I ask your favour there, but that I know you are
like to have bloody barbarians with you--and we have women and children!"
"We have no Indians, we are all French," answered Iberville quietly, and
sent the messenger away.
At that moment Perrot touched his arm, and pointed to a man whose
shoulder was being bandaged. It was Radisson, who had caught Iberville's
sword when the abbe diverted it.
"By the mass," said Iberville; "the gift of the saints!" He pricked
Radisson with the point of his sword. "Well, Monsieur Renegade, who holds
the spring of the trap now? You have some prayers, I hope. And if there
is no priest among your English, we'll find you one before you swing next
sundown."
Radisson threw up a malignant look, but said nothing; and went on caring
for his wound.
"At sunset, remember. You will see to it, Perrot," he added.
"Pardon me, monsieur," said the governor. "This is an officer of our
company, duly surrendered."
"Monsieur will know this man is a traitor, and that I have long-standing
orders to kill him wherever found. What has monsieur to say for him?"
Iberville added, turning to Gering.
"As an officer of the company," was the reply, "he has the rights of a
prisoner of war."
"Monsieur, we have met at the same table, and I cannot think you should
plead for a traitor. If you will say that the man--"
But here Radisson broke in. "I want no one to speak for me. I hate you
all"--he spat at Iberville--"and I will hang when I must, no sooner."
"Not so badly said," Iberville responded. "'Tis a pity, Radisson, you let
the devil buy you."
"T'sh! The devil pays good coin, and I'm not hung yet," he sullenly
returned.
By this time all the prisoners save Gering, the governor, and Radisson,
were secured. Iberville ordered their disposition, and then, having set a
guard, went down to deal with the governor for all the forts on the bay.
Because the firing had ceased, he knew that the fort had been captured;
and, indeed, word soon came to this effect. Iberville then gave orders
that the prisoners from the fort should be brought on board next morning,
to be carried on to Fort Albany, which was yet for attack. He was
ill-content that a hand-to-hand fight with Gering had been prevented.
He was now all courtesy to the governor and Gering, and, offering them
their own wine, entertained them with the hardships of their travel up.
He gave the governor assurance that the prisoners should be treated well,
and no property destroyed. Afterwards, with apologies, he saw them
bestowed in a cabin, the door fastened, and a guard set. Presently he
went on deck, and giving orders that Radisson should be kept safe on the
after-deck, had rations served out. Then, after eating, he drew his cloak
over him in the cabin and fell asleep.
Near daybreak a man came swimming along the side of the ship to the small
port-hole of a cabin. He paused before it, took from his pocket a nail,
and threw it within. There was no response, and he threw another, and
again there was no response. Hearing the step of some one on the deck
above he drew in close to the side of the ship, diving under the water
and lying still. A moment after he reappeared and moved-almost floated-on
to another port-hole. He had only one nail left; he threw it in, and
Gering's face appeared.
"Hush, monsieur!" Radisson called up. "I have a key which may fit, and a
bar of iron. If you get clear, make for this side."
He spoke in a whisper. At that moment he again heard steps above, and
dived as before. The watch looked over, having heard a slight noise; but
not knowing that Gering's cabin was beneath, thought no harm. Presently
Radisson came up again. Gering understood, having heard the footsteps.
"I will make the trial," he said. "Can you give me no other weapon?"
"I have only the one," responded Radisson, not unselfish enough to give
it up. His chief idea, after all, was to put Gering under obligation to
him.
"I will do my best," said Gering.
Then he turned to the governor, who did not care to risk his life in the
way of escape.
Gering tried the key, but it would not turn easily and he took it out
again. Rubbing away the rust, he used tallow from the candle, and tried
the lock again; still it would not turn. He looked to the fastenings, but
they were solid, and he feared noise; he made one more attempt with the
lock, and suddenly it turned. He tried the handle, and the door opened.
Then he bade goodbye to the governor and stepped out, almost upon the
guard, who was sound asleep. Looking round he saw Iberville's cloak,
which its owner had thrown off in his sleep. He stealthily picked it up,
and then put Iberville's cap on his head. Of nearly the same height, with
these disguises he might be able to pass for his captor.
He threw the cloak over his shoulders, stole silently to the hatchway,
and cautiously climbed up. Thrusting out his head he looked about him,
and he saw two or three figures bundled together at the
mainmast--woodsmen who had celebrated victory too sincerely. He looked
for the watch, but could not see him. Then he drew himself carefully up,
and on his hands and knees passed to the starboard side and moved aft.
Doing so he saw the watch start up from the capstan where he had been
resting, and walk towards him. He did not quicken his pace. He trusted to
his ruse--he would impersonate Iberville, possessed as he was of the hat
and cloak. He moved to the bulwarks and leaned against them, looking into
the water. The sentry was deceived; he knew the hat and cloak, and he was
only too glad to have, as he thought, escaped the challenge of having
slept at his post; so he began resolutely to pace the deck. Gering
watched him closely, and moved deliberately to the stern. In doing so he
suddenly came upon a body. He stopped and turned round, leaning against
the bulwarks as before. This time the watch came within twenty feet of
him, saluted and retired.
Immediately Gering looked again at the body near him, and started back,
for his feet were in a little pool. He understood: Radisson had escaped
by killing his guard. It was not possible that the crime and the escape
could go long undetected; the watch might at any moment come the full
length of the ship. Gering flashed a glance at him again, his back was to
him still,--suddenly doffed the hat and cloak, vaulted lightly upon the
bulwarks, caught the anchor-chain, slid down it into the water, and
struck out softly along the side. Immediately Radisson was beside him.
"Can you dive?" the Frenchman whispered. "Can you swim under water?"
"A little."
"Then with me, quick!"
The Frenchman dived and Gering followed him. The water was bitter cold,
but when a man is saving his life endurance multiplies.
The Fates were with them: no alarm came from the ship, and they reached
the bank in safety. Here they were upon a now hostile shore without food,
fire, shelter, and weapons; their situation was desperate even yet.
Radisson's ingenuity was not quite enough, so Gering solved the problem:
there were the Frenchmen's canoes; they must be somewhere on the shore.
Because Radisson was a Frenchman, he might be able to impose upon the
watch guarding the canoes. If not, they still had weapons of a
kind-Radisson a knife, and Gering the bar of iron. They moved swiftly
along the shore, fearing an alarm meanwhile. If they could but get
weapons and a canoe they would make their way either to Fort Albany, so
warning it, or attempt the desperate journey to New York. Again fortune
was with them. As it chanced, the watch, suffering from the cold night
air, had gone into the bush to bring wood for firing. The two refugees
stole near, and in the very first canoe found three muskets, and there
were also bags filled with food. They hastily pushed out a canoe, got in,
and were miles away before their escape was discovered.
Radisson was for going south at once to New York, but Gering would not
hear of it, and at the mouth of a musket Radisson obeyed. They reached
Fort Albany and warned it. Having thus done his duty towards the Hudson's
Bay Company, and knowing that surrender must come, and that in this case
his last state would be worse than his first, Gering proceeded with
Radisson--hourly more hateful to him, yet to be endured for what had
happened--southward upon the trail the Frenchmen had taken northward.
A couple of hours after Gering had thrown his hat and cloak into the
blood of the coureur du bois, and slid down the anchor-chain, Iberville
knew that his quarry was flown. The watch had thought that Iberville had
gone below, and he had again relaxed, but presently a little maggot of
wonder got into his brain. He then went aft. Dawn was just breaking; the
grey moist light shone with a naked coldness on land and water; wild-fowl
came fluttering, voiceless, past; night was still drenched in sleep.
Suddenly he saw the dead body, and his boots dabbled in wet!
In all that concerned the honour of the arms of France and the conquest
of the three forts, Hayes, Rupert, and Albany, Iberville might be
content, but he chafed at, the escape of his enemies.
"I will not say it is better so, Pierre," urged De Casson; "but you have
done enough for the king. Let your own cause come later."
"And it will come, abbe," he answered, with anger. "His account grows; we
must settle all one day. And Radisson shall swing or I am no
soldier--so!"
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Often called an invention of the devil (Violin)
THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD
By Gilbert Parker
EPOCH THE THIRD
XIII. "AS WATER UNTO WINE" XIV. IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT XV. IN
THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW XVI. IN THE TREASURE HOUSE XVII. THE GIFT OF A
CAPTIVE XVIII. MAIDEN NO MORE
CHAPTER XIII
"AS WATER UNTO WINE"
Three months afterwards George Gering was joyfully preparing to take two
voyages. Perhaps, indeed, his keen taste for the one had much to do with
his eagerness for the other--though most men find getting gold as
cheerful as getting married. He had received a promise of marriage from
Jessica, and he was also soon to start with William Phips for the
Spaniards' country. His return to New York with the news of the capture
of the Hudson's Bay posts brought consternation. There was no angrier man
in all America than Colonel Richard Nicholls; there was perhaps no girl
in all the world more agitated than Jessica, then a guest at Government
House. Her father was there also, cheerfully awaiting her marriage with
Gering, whom, since he had lost most traces of Puritanism, he liked. He
had long suspected the girl's interest in Iberville; if he had known that
two letters from him--unanswered--had been treasured, read, and re-read,
he would have been anxious. That his daughter should marry a Frenchman--a
filibustering seigneur, a Catholic, the enemy of the British colonies,
whose fellow-countrymen incited the Indians to harass and to
massacre--was not to be borne.
Besides, the Honourable Hogarth Leveret, whose fame in the colony was now
often in peril because of his Cavalier propensities, and whose losses had
aged him, could not bear that he should sink and carry his daughter with
him. Jessica was the apple of his eye; for her he would have borne all,
sorts of trials; but he could not bear to see her called on to bear them.
Like most people out of the heyday of their own youth, he imagined the
way a maid's fancy ought to go.
If he had known how much his daughter's promise to marry Gering would
cost her, he would not have had it. But indeed she did not herself guess
it. She had, with the dreamy pleasure of a young girl, dwelt upon an
event which might well hold her delighted memory: distance, difference of
race, language, and life, all surrounded Iberville with an engaging
fascination. Besides, what woman could forget a man who gave her escape
from a fate such as Bucklaw had prepared for her? But she saw the
hopelessness of the thing, everything was steadily acting in Gering's
favour, and her father's trouble decided her at last.
When Gering arrived at New York and told his story--to his credit with no
dispraise of Iberville, rather as a soldier--she felt a pang greater than
she ever had known. Like a good British maid, she was angry at the defeat
of the British, she was indignant at her lover's failure and proud of his
brave escape, and she would have herself believe that she was angry at
Iberville. But it was no use; she was ill-content while her father and
others called him buccaneer and filibuster, and she joyed that old
William Drayton, who had ever spoken well of the young Frenchman, laughed
at their insults, saying that he was as brave, comely, and fine-tempered
a lad as he had ever met, and that the capture of the forts was genius:
"Genius and pith, upon my soul!" he said stoutly; "and if he comes this
way he shall have a right hearty welcome, though he come to fight."
In the first excitement of Gering's return, sorry for his sufferings and
for his injured ambition, she had suddenly put her hands in his and had
given her word to marry him.
She was young, and a young girl does not always know which it is that
moves her: the melancholy of the impossible, from which she sinks in a
kind of peaceful despair upon the possible, or the flush of a deep
desire; she acts in an atmosphere of the emotions, and cannot therefore
be sure of herself. But when it was done there came reaction to Jessica.
In the solitude of her own room--the room above the hallway, from which
she had gone to be captured by Bucklaw--she had misgivings. If she had
been asked whether she loved Iberville, she might have answered no. But
he was a possible lover; and every woman weighs the possible lover
against the accepted one--often, at first, to fluttering apprehensions.
In this brief reaction many a woman's heart has been caught away.