The Trail of the Sword, Complete - Gilbert Parker
A few days after Gering's arrival he was obliged to push on to Boston,
there to meet Phips. He hoped that Mr. Leveret and Jessica would
accompany him, but Governor Nicholls would not hear of it just yet. Truth
is, wherever the girl went she was light and cheerfulness, although her
ways were quiet and her sprightliness was mostly in her looks. She was
impulsive, but impulse was ruled by a reserve at once delicate and
unembarrassed. She was as much beloved in the town of New York as in
Boston.
Two days after Gering left she was wandering in the garden, when the
governor joined her.
"Well, well, my pretty councillor," he said--"an hour to cheer an old
man's leisure?"
"As many as you please," she answered daintily, putting her hand within
his arm. "I am so very cheerful I need to shower the surplus." There was
a smile at her lips, but her eyes were misty. Large, brilliant, gentle,
they had now also a bewildered look, which even the rough old soldier
saw. He did not understand, but he drew the hand further within his arm
and held it, there, and for the instant he knew not what to say. The girl
did not speak; she only kept looking at him with a kind of inward
smiling. Presently, as if he had suddenly lighted upon a piece of news
for the difficulty, he said: "Radisson has come."
"Radisson!" she cried.
"Yes. You know 'twas he that helped George to escape?"
"Indeed, no!" she answered. "Mr. Gering did not tell me." She was
perplexed, annoyed, yet she knew not why.
Gering had not brought Radisson into New York had indeed forbidden him to
come there, or to Boston, until word was given him; for while he felt
bound to let the scoundrel go with him to the Spaniards' country, it was
not to be forgotten that the fellow had been with Bucklaw. But Radisson
had no scruples when Gering was gone, though the proscription had never
been withdrawn.
"We will have to give him freedom, councillor, eh? even though we
proclaimed him, you remember." He laughed, and added: "You would demand
that, yea or nay.
"Why should I?" she asked.
"Now, give me wisdom all ye saints! Why--why?
"Faith, he helped your lover from the clutches of the French coxcomb."
"Indeed," she answered, "such a villain helps but for absurd benefits.
Mr. Gering might have stayed with Monsieur Iberville in honour and safety
at least. And why a coxcomb? You thought different once; and you cannot
doubt his bravery. Enemy of our country though he be, I am surely bound
to speak him well--he saved my life."
Anxious to please her, he answered: "Wise as ever, councillor. What an
old bear am I: When I called him coxcomb, 'twas as an Englishman hating a
Frenchman, who gave our tongues to gall--a handful of posts gone, a ship
passed to the spoiler, the governor of the company a prisoner, and our
young commander's reputation at some trial! My temper was pardonable, eh,
mistress?"
The girl smiled, and added: "There was good reason why Mr. Gering brought
not Radisson here, and I should beware that man. A traitor is ever a
traitor. He is French, too, and as a good Englishman you should hate all
Frenchmen, should you not?"
"Merciless witch! Where got you that wit? If I must, I kneel;" and he
groaned in mock despair. "And if Monsieur Iberville should come knocking
at our door you would have me welcome him lovingly?"
"Surely; there is peace, is there not? Has not the king, because of his
love for Louis commanded all goodwill between us and Canada?"
The governor laughed bitterly. "Much pity that he has! how can we live at
peace with buccaneers?" Their talk was interrupted here; but a few days
later, in the same garden, Morris came to them. "A ship enters harbour,"
he said, "and its commander sends this letter."
An instant after the governor turned a troubled face on the girl and
said: "Your counsel of the other day is put to rapid test, Jessica. This
comes from monsieur, who would pay his respects to me."
He handed the note to her. It said that Iberville had brought prisoners
whom he was willing to exchange for French prisoners in the governor's
hands.
Entering New York harbour with a single vessel showed in a strong light
Iberville's bold, almost reckless, courage. The humour of it was not lost
on Jessica, though she turned pale, and the paper fluttered in her
fingers.
"What will you do?" she said.
"I will treat him as well as he will let me, sweetheart." Two hours
afterwards, Iberville came up the street with Sainte-Helene, De Casson,
and Perrot,--De Troyes had gone to Quebec,--courteously accompanied by
Morris and an officer of the New York Militia. There was no enmity shown
the Frenchmen, for many remembered what had once made Iberville popular
in New York. Indeed, Iberville, whose memory was of the best, now and
again accosted some English or Dutch resident, whose face he recalled.
The governor was not at first cordial; but Iberville's cheerful
soldierliness, his courtier spirit, and his treatment of the English
prisoners, soon placed him on a footing near as friendly as that of years
before. The governor praised his growing reputation, and at last asked
him to dine, saying that Mistress Leveret would no doubt be glad to meet
her rescuer again.
"Still, I doubt not," said the governor, "there will be embarrassment,
for the lady can scarce forget that you had her lover prisoner. But these
things are to be endured. Besides, you and Mr. Gering seem as easily
enemies as other men are friends."
Iberville was amazed. So, Jessica and Gering were affianced. And the
buckle she had sent him he wore now in the folds of his lace! How could
he know what comes from a woman's wavering sympathies, what from her
inborn coquetry, and what from love itself? He was merely a man with much
to learn.
He accepted dinner and said: "As for Monsieur Gering, your excellency, we
are as easily enemies as he and Radisson are comrades-in-arms."
"Which is harshly put, monsieur. When a man is breaking prison he chooses
any tool. You put a slight upon an honest gentleman."
"I fear that neither Mr. Gering nor myself is too generous with each
other, your excellency," answered Iberville lightly.
This frankness was pleasing, and soon the governor took Iberville into
the drawing-room, where Jessica was. She was standing by the great
fireplace, and she did not move at first, but looked at Iberville in some
thing of her old simple way. Then she offered him her hand with a quiet
smile.
"I fear you are not glad to see me," he said, with a smile. "You cannot
have had good reports of me--no?"
"Yes, I am glad," she answered gently. "You know, monsieur, mine is a
constant debt. You do not come to me, I take it, as the conqueror of
Englishmen."
"I come to you," he answered, "as Pierre le Moyne of Iberville, who had
once the honour to do you slight service. I have never tried to forget
that, because by it I hoped I might be remembered--an accident of price
to me."
She bowed and at first did not speak; then Morris came to say that some
one awaited the governor, and the two were left alone.
"I have not forgotten," she began softly, breaking a silence.
"You will think me bold, but I believe you will never forget," was his
meaning reply.
"Yes, you are bold," she replied, with the demure smile which had charmed
him long ago. Suddenly she looked up at him anxiously, and, "Why did you
go to Hudson's Bay?" she asked.
"I would have gone ten times as far for the same cause," he answered, and
he looked boldly, earnestly, into her eyes.
She turned her head away. "You have all your old recklessness," she
answered. Then her eyes softened, and, "All your old courage," she added.
"I have all my old motive."
"What is-your motive?"
Does a woman ever know how much such speeches cost? Did Jessica quite
know when she asked the question, what her own motive was; how much it
had of delicate malice--unless there was behind it a simple sincerity?
She was inviting sorrow. A man like Iberville was not to be counted
lightly; for every word he sowed, he would reap a harvest of some kind.
He came close to her, and looked as though he would read her through and
through. "Can you ask that question?" he said most seriously. "If you ask
it because from your soul you wish to know, good! But if you ask it as a
woman who would read a man's heart, and then--"
"Oh, hush!--hush!" she whispered. Her face became pale, and her eyes had
a painful brightness. "You must not answer. I had no right to ask. Oh,
monsieur!" she added, "I would have you always for my friend if I could,
though you are the enemy of my country and of the man--I am to marry."
"I am for my king," he replied; "and I am enemy of him who stands between
you and me. For see: from the hour that I met you I knew that some day,
even as now, I should tell you that--I love you--indeed, Jessica, with
all my heart."
"Oh, have pity!" she pleaded. "I cannot listen--I cannot."
"You shall listen, for you have remembered me and have understood.
Voila!" he added, hastily catching her silver buckle from his bosom.
"This that you sent me, look where I have kept it--on my heart!"
She drew back from him, her face in her hands. Then suddenly she put them
out as though to prevent him coming near her, and said:
"Oh, no--no! You will spare me; I am an affianced wife." An appealing
smile shone through her tears. "Oh, will you not go?" she begged. "Or,
will you not stay and forget what you have said? We are little more than
strangers; I scarcely know you; I--"
"We are no strangers," he broke in. "How can that be, when for years I
have thought of you--you of me? But I am content to wait, for my love
shall win you yet. You--"
She came to him and put her hands upon his arm. "You remember," she said,
with a touch of her old gaiety, and with an inimitable grace, "what good
friends we were that first day we met? Let us be the same now--for this
time at least. Will you not grant me this for to-day?"
"And to-morrow?" he asked, inwardly determining to stay in the port of
New York and to carry her off as his wife; but, unlike Bucklaw, with her
consent.
At that moment the governor returned, and Iberville's question was never
answered. Nor did he dine at Government House, for word came secretly
that English ships were coming from Boston to capture him. He had,
therefore, no other resource but to sail out and push on for Quebec. He
would not peril the lives of his men merely to follow his will with
Jessica.
What might have occurred had he stayed is not easy to say--fortunes turn
on strange trifles. The girl, under the influence of his masterful spirit
and the rare charm of his manner, might have--as many another has--broken
her troth. As it was, she wrote Iberville a letter and sent it by a
courier, who never delivered it. By the same fatality, of the letters
which he wrote her only one was received. This told her that when he
returned from a certain cruise he would visit her again, for he was such
an enemy to her country that he was keen to win what did it most honour.
Gering had pressed for a marriage before he sailed for the Spaniards'
country, but she had said no, and when he urged it she had shown a sudden
coldness. Therefore, bidding her good-bye, he had sailed away with Phips,
accompanied, much against his will, by Radisson. Bucklaw was not with
them. He had set sail from England in a trading schooner, and was to join
Phips at Port de la Planta. Gering did not know that Bucklaw had share in
the expedition, nor did Bucklaw guess the like of Gering.
Within two weeks of the time that Phips in his Bridgwater Merchant,
manned by a full crew, twenty fighting men, and twelve guns, with Gering
in command of the Swallow, a smaller ship, got away to the south,
Iberville also sailed in the same direction. He had found awaiting him,
on his return to Quebec, a priest bearing messages and a chart from
another priest who had died in the Spaniards' country.
CHAPTER XIV
IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT
Iberville had a good ship. The Maid of Provence carried a handful of guns
and a small but carefully chosen crew, together with Sainte-Helene,
Perrot, and the lad Maurice Joval, who had conceived for Iberville
friendship nigh to adoration. Those were days when the young were
encouraged to adventure, and Iberville had no compunction in giving the
boy this further taste of daring.
Iberville, thorough sailor as he was, had chosen for his captain one who
had sailed the Spanish Main. He had commanded on merchant-ships which had
been suddenly turned into men-of-war, and was suited to the present
enterprise: taciturn, harsh of voice, singularly impatient, but a perfect
seaman and as brave as could be. He had come to Quebec late the previous
autumn with the remnants of a ship which, rotten when she left the port
of Havre, had sprung a leak in mid-ocean, had met a storm, lost her
mainmast, and by the time she reached the St. Lawrence had scarce a stick
standing. She was still at Quebec, tied up in the bay of St. Charles,
from which she would probably go out no more. Her captain--Jean
Berigord--had chafed on the bit in the little Hotel Colbert, making
himself more feared than liked, till one day he was taken to Iberville by
Perrot.
A bargain was soon struck. The nature of the expedition was not known in
Quebec, for the sailors were not engaged till the eve of starting, and
Perrot's men were ready at his bidding without why or wherefore. Indeed,
when the Maid of Provence left the island of Orleans, her nose seawards,
one fine July morning, the only persons in Quebec that knew her
destination were the priest who had brought Iberville the chart of the
river, with its accurate location of the sunken galleon, Iberville's
brothers, and Count Frontenac himself--returned again as governor.
"See, Monsieur Iberville," said the governor, as, with a fine show of
compliment, in full martial dress, with his officers in gold lace,
perukes, powder, swords, and ribbons, he bade Iberville good-bye--"See,
my dear captain, that you find the treasure, or make these greedy English
pay dear for it. They have a long start, but that is nothing, with a ship
under you that can show its heels to any craft. I care not so much about
the treasure, but I pray you humble those dull Puritans, who turn
buccaneers in the name of the Lord."
Iberville made a gallant reply, and, with Sainte-Helene, received a
hearty farewell from the old soldier, who, now over seventy years of age,
was as full of spirit as when he distinguished himself at Arras fifty
years before. In Iberville he saw his own youth renewed, and foretold the
high part he would yet play in the fortunes of New France. Iberville had
got to the door and was bowing himself out when, with a quick gesture,
Frontenac stopped him, stepped quickly forward, and clasping his
shoulders kissed him on each cheek, and said in a deep, kind voice: "I
know, mon enfant, what lies behind this. A man pays the price one time or
another: he draws his sword for his mistress and his king; both forget,
but one's country remains--remains."
Iberville said nothing, but with an admiring glance into the aged, iron
face, stooped and kissed Frontenac's hand and withdrew silently.
Frontenac, proud, impatient, tyrannical, was the one man in New France
who had a powerful idea of the future of the country, and who loved her
and his king by the law of a loyal nature. Like Wolsey, he had found his
king ungrateful, and had stood almost alone in Canada among his enemies,
as at Versailles among his traducers--imperious, unyielding, and yet
forgiving. Married, too, at an early age, his young wife, caring little
for the duties of maternity and more eager to serve her own ambitions
than his, left him that she might share the fortunes of Mademoiselle de
Montpensier.
Iberville had mastered the chart before he sailed, and when they were
well on their way he disclosed to the captain the object of their voyage.
Berigord listened to all he had to say, and at first did no more than
blow tobacco smoke hard before him. "Let me see the chart," he said at
last, and, scrutinising it carefully, added: "Yes, yes, 'tis right
enough. I've been in the port and up the river. But neither we nor the
Eng lish'll get a handful of gold or silver thereabouts. 'Tis throwing
good money after none at all."
"The money is mine, my captain," said Iberville good-humouredly. "There
will be sport, and I ask but that you give me every chance you can."
"Look then, monsieur," replied the smileless man, "I'll run your ship for
all she holds from here to hell, if you twist your finger. She's as good
a craft as ever I spoke, and I'll swear her for any weather. The fighting
and the gold as you and the devil agree!"
Iberville wished nothing better--a captain concerned only with his own
duties. Berigord gathered the crew and the divers on deck, and in half a
dozen words told them the object of the expedition, and was followed by
Iberville. Some of the men had been with him to Hudson's Bay, and they
wished nothing better than fighting the English, and all were keen with
the lust of gold even though it were for another. As it was, Iberville
promised them all a share of what was got.
On the twentieth day after leaving Quebec they sighted islands, and
simultaneously they saw five ships bearing away towards them. Iberville
was apprehensive that a fleet of the kind could only be hostile, for
merchant-ships would hardly sail together so, and it was not possible
that they were French. There remained the probability that they were
Spanish or English ships. He had no intention of running away, but at the
same time he had no wish to fight before he reached Port de la Planta and
had had his hour with Gering and Phips and the lost treasure. Besides,
five ships was a large undertaking, which only a madman would willingly
engage. However, he kept steadily on his course. But there was one chance
of avoiding a battle without running away--the glass had been falling all
night and morning. Berigord, when questioned, grimly replied that there
was to be trouble, but whether with the fleet or the elements was not
clear, and Iberville did not ask.
He got his reply effectively and duly however. A wind suddenly sprang up
from the north-west, followed by a breaking cross sea. It as suddenly
swelled to a hurricane, so that if Berigord had not been fortunate as to
his crew, and had not been so fine a sailor, the Maid of Provence might
have fared badly, for he kept all sail on as long as he dare, and took it
in none too soon. But so thoroughly did he know the craft and trust his
men that she did what he wanted; and though she was tossed and hammered
by the sea till it seemed that she must, with every next wave, go down,
she rode into safety at last, five hundred miles out of their course.
The storm had saved them from the hostile fleet, which had fared ill.
They were first scattered, then two of them went down, another was so
disabled that she had to be turned back to the port they had left, and
the remaining two were separated, so that their only course was to return
to port also. As the storm came up they had got within fighting distance
of the Maid of Provence, and had opened ineffectual fire, which
she--occupied with the impact of the storm--did not return. Escaped the
dangers of the storm, she sheered into her course again, and ran away to
the south-west, until Hispaniola came in sight.
CHAPTER XV
IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW
The Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow made the voyage down with no
set-backs, having fair weather and a sweet wind on their quarter all the
way, to the wild corner of an island, where a great mountain stands
sentinel and a bay washes upon a curving shore and up the River de la
Planta. There were no vessels in the harbour and there was only a small
settlement on the shore, and as they came to anchor well away from the
gridiron of reefs known as the Boilers, the prospect was handsome: the
long wash of the waves, the curling, white of the breakers, and the
rainbow-coloured water. The shore was luxuriant, and the sun shone
intemperately on the sea and the land, covering all with a fine beautiful
haze, like the most exquisite powder sifted through the air. All on board
the Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow were in hearty spirits. There had
been some sickness, but the general health of the expedition was
excellent.
It was not till the day they started from Boston that Phips told Gering
he expected to meet some one at the port who had gone to prepare the way,
to warn them by fires in case of danger, and to allay any opposition
among the natives--if there were any. But he had not told him who the
herald was.
Truth is, Phips was anxious that Gering should have no chance of
objecting to the scoundrel who had, years before, tried to kidnap his now
affianced wife--who had escaped a deserved death on the gallows. It was a
rude age, and men of Phips's quality, with no particular niceness as to
women, or horror as to mutiny when it was twenty years old, compromised
with their conscience for expediency and gain. Moreover, in his humorous
way, Bucklaw, during his connection with Phips in England, had made
himself agreeable and resourceful. Phips himself had sprung from the
lower orders,--the son of a small farmer,--and even in future days when
he rose to a high position in the colonies, gaining knighthood and other
honours, he had the manners and speech of "a man of the people." Bucklaw
understood men: he knew that his only game was that of bluntness. This
was why he boarded Phips in Cheapside without subterfuge or disguise.
Nor had Phips told Bucklaw of Gering's coming; so that when the
Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow entered Port de la Planta, Bucklaw
himself, as he bore out in a small sail-boat, did not guess that he was
likely to meet a desperate enemy. He had waited patiently, and had
reckoned almost to a day when Phips would arrive. He was alongside before
Phips had called anchor. His cheerful countenance came up between the
frowning guns, his hook-hand ran over the rail, and in a moment he was on
deck facing--Radisson.
He was unprepared for the meeting, but he had taken too many chances in
his lifetime to show astonishment. He and Radisson had fought and parted;
they had been in ugly business together, and they were likely to be, now
that they had met, in ugly business again.
Bucklaw's tiger ran up to stroke his chin with the old grotesque gesture.
"Ha!" he said saucily, "cats and devils have nine lives."
There was the same sparkle in the eye as of old, the same buoyant voice.
For himself, he had no particular quarrel with Radisson; the more so
because he saw a hang-dog sulkiness in Radisson's eye. It was ever his
cue when others were angered to be cool. The worst of his crimes had been
performed with an air of humorous cynicism. He could have great
admiration for an enemy such as Iberville; and he was not a man to fight
needlessly. He had a firm belief that he had been intended for a high
position--a great admiral, or general, or a notable buccaneer.
Before Radisson had a chance to reply came Phips, who could not help but
show satisfaction at Bucklaw's presence; and in a moment they were on
their way together to the cabin, followed by the eyes of the enraged
Radisson. Phips disliked Radisson; the sinister Frenchman, with his evil
history, was impossible to the open, bluff captain. He had been placed
upon Phips's vessel because he knew the entrance to the harbour; but try
as he would for a kind of comradeship, he failed: he had an ugly vanity
and a bad heart. There was only one decent thing which still clung to him
in rags and tatters--the fact that he was a Frenchman. He had made
himself hated on the ship--having none of the cunning tact of Bucklaw. As
Phips and Bucklaw went below, a sudden devilry entered into him. He was
ripe for quarrel, eager for battle. His two black eyes were like burning
beads, his jaws twitched. If Bucklaw had but met him without this rough,
bloodless irony, he might have thrown himself with ardour into the work
of the expedition; but he stood alone, and hatred and war rioted in him.
Below in the cabin Phips and Bucklaw were deep in the chart of the
harbour and the river. The plan of action was decided upon. A canoe was
to be built out of a cotton-tree large enough to carry eight or ten oars.
This and the tender, with men and divers, were to go in search of the
wreck under the command of Bucklaw and the captain of the Swallow, whose
name Phips did not mention. Phips himself was to remain on the Bridgwater
Merchant, the Swallow lying near with a goodly number of men to meet any
possible attack from the sea. When all was planned, Phips told Bucklaw
who was the commander of the Swallow. For a moment the fellow's coolness
was shaken; the sparkle died out of his eye and he shot up a furtive look
at Phips, but he caught a grim smile on the face of the sturdy sailor. He
knew at once there was no treachery meant, and he guessed that Phips
expected no crisis. It was ever his way to act with promptness, being
never so resourceful as when his position was most critical: he was in
the power of Gering and Phips, and he knew it, but he knew also that his
game must be a bold one.