Montlivet

by Alice Prescott Smith

CHAPTER XXIII

I ENCOUNTER MIXED MOTIVES

I was called to semi-consciousness by the tinkling clamor of small bells, and by feeling my feet caught in something clinging yet yielding. Then my body swung into it. It was a web. I pulled at it, and tried to brush it away. And all the while the bells kept ringing, ringing. A shower of arrows fell around me, and one grazed my foot.

A man must be far gone indeed when an arrow point will not sting him to life. I was no longer a fever-riven log of driftwood. I knew where I was and what was happening. I had reached the Malhominis village. Working through the rice swamp, I had come into the main river too far to the west, but following the woman's voice I had floated back. I was caught in one of the nets that the Malhominis strung with small bells, and stretched across the stream to keep both fish and enemies in bounds. I set my teeth hard.

"It is Montlivet. It is Montlivet," I called.

Had I thought the Malhominis stolid and none too intelligent! They heard me call, they pushed a canoe to my rescue, and they carried me to a warm lodge. I remember that I bandied words with them as they carried me. They made sport to see me naked, for on my former visit I had rebuked them severely on that score. But they were tender of my shoulder.

The time for the next few hours—indeed for the night—is confused. My shoulder was dressed and bound with herbs, and I was laid on a bed of rushes. Outchipouac, the Malhominis war chief, knew from former acquaintance with me that I had prejudices and would not lie where it was not clean, and so he humored me and gave orders that the rushes be freshly cut. By this I knew that he had not only respect for me, but something that was like affection, since savages are indolent and intolerant, and will not bestir themselves for Europeans unless they are unwontedly interested. I treasured this kindness. One meets little that savors of personal regard in the wilderness, and I was ill.

Now, savages know little of the laws of health and abuse what they know, but in the matter of herbs they can be trusted. The herb drink which they gave me had virtue, for I woke with my head clear. A gourd of water stood beside my pallet, and I drained it and called lustily for another. A man pushed aside the skins and came in. It was Pierre. Pierre, alive, clothed, and with every hair of his flamingo head bristling and unharmed! He answered my cry with a huge smile, and then because he had a gypsy mother in the background of his nature, he put his great hands before his face, and I saw tears pushing between the fingers.

That made me fear ill news. I half rose, and would have shaken his tidings out of him like corn out of a bag. But the pain of my shoulder sent me back again with my teeth jammed hard together.

"What has happened? Out with it!" I cried.

But Pierre was inarticulate. He came to my pallet and mumbled something between tears about my shoulder.

—"and the master with no clothes but a dirty Indian's!" he finished.

So I was the cause of this demonstration. I patted his hand.

"But your escape, Pierre? Where are the other men?"

"Master, I do not know."

"But where did you come from? How did you get here? Talk, man!"

"The master does not give me time. I came by land. It is a fine land. They raise great squashes. Yes, and grain and vegetables! I have never seen their like in France. If I had a farm here I could have more than I could eat the whole year round."

I took time to curse. I had never heard my giant prate of agriculture; the camp and the tap-room had been his haunts. This appeared to be a method of working toward ill news. I lay back on my rushes and tried to fix his eye.

"Pierre, answer. Where is Labarthe?"

"I told the master"—

"Answer!"

"I don't know."

"Did he escape with you?"

Pierre rubbed his sleeve across his face. "The master will not listen. I do not know about Labarthe. I saw him at camp yesterday morning. The master saw him at the same time. Then the master went to the swamp, and I went, too, with my Indian. But I kept behind. By and by I saw the canoe upside down, and the master's cloak floating on the water; by that I knew that the master was drowned or had got away. I thought he had gone to the Malhominis, and I wanted to go, too. So I killed my Indian, and hid him in the grass. I came by land."

I rose on my elbow, careless of my shoulder. "How could you kill the
Indian? You had no weapon."

Pierre stretched out his arms, knotted like an oak's branches, and illustrated. "I hugged him. Once I broke the ribs of a bear."

I lay and wagged my head like an old man who hears of warlocks and witch charms, and knows the tales to be true. The stupefying simplicity of it! If you want a thing, take it. Pierre wanted to follow me, so he killed his guard and came. That was all there was of it. I looked at him long, my head still wagging. He had done this sort of thing before. I had never understood it. It was this that I meant when I had called Pierre, dull of wit as he seemed, the most useful of my men.

I lay all day on my pallet, and Outchipouac served me with his own hands.

"It is thus that we treat those whom we delight to honor," he said, and he held the gourd to my lips and wiped my face with a square of linen that some trader had left in camp. He would give me no solid food, but dosed me with brewed herbs and great draughts of steaming broth. The juggler looked into the lodge and would have tried his charms on me, but Outchipouac sent him away.

A storm rose toward night, and I heard the knocking of the rain on the skin roof above me, and thought of the woman traveling northward in the Iroquois canoes. Starling was with her. I lay with tight-clenched hands.

The storm swelled high. I asked that the mat be dropped from before the door that I might see the lightning, and while I watched it Outchipouac slipped in. He felt me over, and patted my moist skin approvingly. Then he sat by my side and began to talk.

His talk at first was a chant, a saga, a recitation of the glories of his ancestors. The Malhominis had been a proud race,—now they were dwindled to this village of eighty braves. He crooned long tales of famine, of tribal bickerings, of ambuscade and defeat; his voice rustled monotonously like wind in dried grass.

Then his tone rose. He spoke of the present, its possibilities. The Iroquois league was a scourge, a pestilence. Could it be abolished, the western nations would return to health. Security would reign, and tribal laws be respected. The French would be friends, partners,—never masters,—and a golden age would descend upon the west. It was the gospel that I had cried in the wilderness, but phrased in finer imagery than mine. I felt the wooing of his argument, even as I had wooed others, and I listened silently and watched the lightning's play.

But I dreaded the moment when his argument should leave theory and face me in the concrete. The change came suddenly, as in music a tender melody will merge abruptly into a summons to arms. He called me to witness. The Iroquois were at the gates. They outnumbered the Malhominis, but the Sacs, the Chippewas, and the Winnebagoes were all within a day's journey, and would come at my call. The time for the alliance of which I had told them was at hand. My body was crippled but my brain was whole. To-morrow he, the chief, at my bidding, and with my watchword, would send runners through the tribes. Within the week a giant force could be gathered and an attack made. The Iroquois camp would be exterminated, and then I, at the head of the force, could march where I willed. Never had the western tribes followed a white man, but I had called their hearts from their bodies, and they would go.

But one thing I was to remember. He, Outchipouac, the chief, was my brother in arms. He had rescued me, clothed me, furnished me the means of war. My victories were his victories. These were his conditions. All Iroquois slaves that might be captured were to belong to the Malhominis to be incorporated in their tribe. The other tribes could divide the plunder, but the Malhominis needed new blood for adoption. I must agree to that.

He stopped. I was too sick of mind to speak, and my distemper was not of my wound. I had builded for this moment for two years, and now that it had come I was going to turn my back on it. More, I was going to refuse aid to a man who had succored me, had shown me genuine kindness. Self-pity is contemptible, but I felt it now.

"I cannot lead you," I said dully. "Gather your troops if you like, and make the attack without me. I cannot be here. To-morrow I must start for Michillimackinac. You will give me a canoe and a man?"

The lightning filled the tent and lit our faces, and I saw the chief start back under the blow of my words. He was shocked out of all his inherited and acquired phlegm. He did not speak, but he rose and peered into my eyes and I saw bewilderment go and contempt rise to take its place. To feel the righteous disdain of an Indian! That is an unusual experience for a white man.

And still he did not reply. He sat down and pulled his blanket over him. He was sorting out the evidence against me and giving judgment. It seemed at least an hour that he sat silent. And when he did speak he brought no manna.

"You have sold yourself to the Iroquois wolf. You are a child. You see only what is in front of your nose and forget what may come later. You are a fox. You hand us over to the wolf, but what do you expect? Has a wolf gratitude? No, but he has hunger. Fox meat is poor and stringy, but the wolf has a large stomach. Let the fox beware."

I pulled myself to my feet, though my shoulder cried to me for mercy.
I jerked the chief's blanket aside.

"Outchipouac, I have listened. You have used an old trick. When a man wishes to be rid of a dog he cries that it is mad; then he can kill it, and no one will call him to account. So you. If you wish to break the covenant between us, now is your time. You can call me a fox, you can say that I have sold my honor to the Iroquois wolf. No one will check you, for I am naked and ill, and you are powerful. But you will have lied. This is my answer. I have called you 'brother;' I have kept the bond unbroken. If there is a fox here it is the man who calls me one."

I waited, and my mind was heavy. If the chief called me "brother" in turn, I was ready to embrace him as of my kin. For he was full of vigor of mind and honesty, and I respected him. He had been kind to me. Would he trust me against the evidence,—the evidence of his ears and of my reluctant tongue?

He temporized. "The Frenchman has a tongue like a bobolink,—pleasant to hear. Whether it says much,—that is a different matter. Can the Frenchman tell me why he wishes to go to Michillimackinac? Can he tell me why he spends time from the moon of breaking ice to the moon of strawberries building a lodge of promises, and then when he is just ready to use the lodge blows it down with a breath?"

What could I tell him? That I was following a woman? That I had given her my name, and that I must protect her? It would sound to him like a parrot's laughter. This was no court of love. It was war. A troubadour's lute would tinkle emptily in these woods that had seen massacre and knew the shriek of the death cry. Again I set my teeth and rose.

"Outchipouac, war is secret. I cannot tell you why I go to Michillimackinac. But trust me. I go on business; I shall return at once, within ten days, unless the wind be foul. Will you furnish me a canoe and a man to paddle?" I stooped and pulled rushes from my pallet, plaited them, and bound them in a ring. "Take this ring; keep it. It is firm, like my purpose, and unending, like my endeavor. I shall replace it with a chain of bright silver when I come to you again. I give it to you in pledge of my friendship."

The chief took the ring and handled it loosely. I thought he was about to throw it away, but he did not. He put it in his blanket.

"It is well," he said, and left the lodge. I was held on probation.

I had a good night and woke with new sinews. I saw that the sun was shining and the sky untroubled. A squaw brought me broth, and I drank it hungrily and tried to see no evil augury in the fact that I was served by a woman. I flattered her, and asked her to summon Pierre.

She brought him at once. He thrust himself into the entrance, and I saw dismay written large upon him.

"There is a canoe waiting to take the master away," he cried. "I am going, too."

Now I was prepared for this battle. "Pierre, you are to stay here. You are to keep near the Seneca camp to help Labarthe and Leclerc. If they escape, go, all of you, to our camp on Sturgeon Cove and guard the stores till I send you word. You understand?"

"But the master is sick. I go with him."

"You stay here."

"I go with the master."

"I will not allow it."

"Then I follow behind."

"You have no canoe, no provision."

"I have legs. I can walk. I can eat tripe de roche."

The giant was trembling. I could not but respect this rebellion. He had broken the chains of three centuries in his defiance. The thought of his filling his cavernous stomach with tripe de roche—which is a rock lichen, slimy and tasteless—moved me somewhat.

"You dare disobey me, Pierre?"

"But the master is sick."

I shrugged, but the logic held. "Then tell the chief," I capitulated.
"And see that I have something to wear."

Water was brought by one squaw, and another fetched more broth and bound my shoulder with fresh dressings. Then leggings, robe, and girdle of wolfskin were left for me. I put them on with difficulty, and went to find Outchipouac.

I stepped out into a glare of sunshine and stood blinking. The braves were gathered in a group, and a line of squaws barred me from them. I started toward them, but the squaws waved me back; they pointed me to the shore and the waiting canoe. Pierre rolled forward, uneasy and scowling.

"The braves will not speak to us; they say our talk means nothing."

"Who said that?"

"Outchipouac. He showed me a grass ring hanging on a pole by his lodge. He says that when you come again and hang a silver one in its place it will be time for him to listen."

I knew the Indians were watching, though covertly, so I could only bow. I went to the canoe and looked to its provisioning. There were two bags of rice, one of jerked meat, some ears of maize, and the dried rind of a squash; a knife and a hatchet lay with them. Our hosts had been generous. We were to be aided even if we were to be disciplined. I found my place, and Pierre took the paddle and pushed away.

It is one thing to be at enmity with savages, it is another to be an outcast among them. I knew that their attitude had excuse, and I was sick with myself. Then my Indian dress chafed my pride. I was sure that Pierre was laughing under his wrinkled red skin, and I was childish enough to be ready to rate him if he showed so much as a pucker of an eye. For I had always refused to let my men adopt the slightest particular of the savage dress. I had held—and I contend rightly—that a man must resist the wilderness most when he loves it most, and that he is in danger when he forgets the least point of his dress or manner. After that the downward plunge is swift. I had said this many times, and I knew Pierre must be recalling it.

And so I was sore with fate. Wounded, skin-clad, I was not heroic in look; it was hard to be heroic in mind. I had jeopardized the chance of an empire for a woman. But that proved nothing. The weakest could do that. It must be shown that I could justify my sacrifice.

These were irritations, yet they were but the surface of my suffering. Underneath was the grinding, never-ceasing ache of anxiety. What was happening at Michillimackinac? Would I reach there in time? I could do nothing but sit and think. Always, from dawn to dusk, my impatient spirit fretted and pushed at that canoe, but my hands were idle. I tried paddling with my left hand, but it dislocated my bandages, and I did not dare. I was in some pain, but exposed as I was, broiled by the sun and drenched by showers, I yet mended daily. I ate well and drank deep of the cold lake water and felt my strength come. My cut was healing wholesomely without fever, and Pierre washed and bandaged it twice a day. He told me with many a twist of his hanging lip that it was well for me that he was there.

But on the point of his being there I had new light. It came one day after long silence. The giant rested and wiped his forehead.

"There are plovers on the waters," he pointed. "They make good eating. Singing Arrow can cook them with bear's grease. I am going to marry the Indian when we get to Michillimackinac. Then when we reach Montreal you will give her a dowry. There is the grain field on the lower river that was planted by Martin. Martin has no wife. What does he need of grain? The king wishes his subjects to marry. And if the master gave us a house we could live, oh, very well. I thought of it when I went through the Malhominis land and saw all those squashes. The Indian sews her own dresses, and I shall tell her I do not like her in finery. We will send a capon to the master every Christmas."

I grinned despite myself. I had grown fatuous, for I had taken it without question that the oaf had followed from his loyalty to me. But I nodded at him and promised recklessly—house, pigs, and granary. The same star ruled master and man.

But the way was long, long, long. Nights came and days came, and still more nights and days. Yet it ended at last. Late one afternoon we saw the shore line that marked Michillimackinac. Once in sight it came fast, fast, fast,—faster than I could prepare my courage for what might meet me. What should I find?

We reached the beach where I had tied Father Carheil. We rounded the point. The garrison, the board roofs of the Jesuit houses, the Indian camps,—all were as usual. They were peaceful, untouched. I swallowed, for my throat and tongue were dry.