CHAPTER XII.
A CANADIAN BUSHRANGER.
DUBOCQ smiled condescendingly upon the enthusiasm with which his appearance was greeted; he accepted with sedateness the embraces and warm congratulations of his friends, but, perfectly conscious of his own dignity, resolutely refused to divulge any of the particulars of his story until he reached M. de Callière, Governor of Ville Marie.
Lydia, by nature timid, had no idea of controlling her fears when comfort and succor of an especially pleasant description were close at hand. She now clung to du Chesne for protection, her face irradiated by a lovely expression, half smiles, half tears. Did ever sculptor chisel a mouth where all sweet graces curved more bewitchingly? The young man noted the upward sweep of the long lashes, the exquisite flush deepening in the cheeks and melting into the warm whiteness of brow and chin and throat. How engaging this clinging helplessness was!
“He is a savage!” the English girl exclaimed with a shiver, “I shall never get over my terror of all Indians.”
Du Chesne’s glowing eyes rested on her face; the fervent glance cheered and strengthened her. Lydia required to be supported constantly, and she enjoyed the exhilarating sensation.
“No, Mademoiselle, he is of our own country. His grandfather was a Frenchman from Normandy, who married a squaw, Marie Arontio, daughter of the first Huron chief baptized by, the sainted Father de Breboeuf. Ah! Mademoiselle, but that was a martyr worthy of the faith! Sainte Marie Madeleine, a nun of the Ursulines, in Quebec, is Dubocq’s sister. He has always been considered one of our best fighters, an adept in Indian modes of warfare, and a man of great courage and extraordinary strength. Some years ago he was taken prisoner by our enemies, and as time went on and nothing was heard of him, all believed him dead. That was a genuine loss for the colony; we could ill afford to spare one of our best champions; hence his return occasions so much rejoicing. He has contrived to escape the clutches of the most ferocious savages in the world, at whose hands he could expect nothing but agonizing torments.”
The crowd, following the bushranger with shouts and cheers, proceeded up St. Joseph Street to the residence of M. de Callière. The Count de Frontenac, attended by several members of his suite, happened to be within. Disturbed by the noise, the party, led by M. de Callière, hurried to the door to inquire into the cause of the commotion.
“What have we here?” asked the Governor-General, who possessed a singular faculty for endearing himself to the populace by being interested in all his surroundings.
“Dubocq! Dubocq has returned! Dubocq! Vive our champion, Dubocq!”
The forest rover with composed assurance advanced to exhibit his trophies, and in answer to the Governor’s enquiries, recounted the history of his exploits with much natural eloquence.
“I was taken prisoner by the Iroquois,” he began, “and for a long time I labored as their slave. They found my strength useful in many ways. For me, I devoured my heart in silence, M. le Comte, for no way of escape seemed possible, and if it was my fate to perish in the hands of those demons, why, there was no more to be said. So I was waiting with what patience I could muster for the fatal moment in which I was to be burnt alive. It happened on an occasion when I was engaged in hunting with eight braves and two squaws”—(here he indicated with a gesture his two female companions, who had never even raised their eyes or given the slightest indication that they knew their fate was trembling in the balance)—“we camped in a spot where they had hidden a quantity of liquor. Having been on two war expeditions in which they had performed prodigies of valor, they had succeeded in enriching themselves at their enemies’ expense, and were at the time visiting the liquor as a rest and indulgence after much privation. Desiring to carry nothing with them but their arms and ammunition, they had been fasting for many days; so, as you may imagine, M. le Comte, those wolves were not inclined to be very abstemious.”
“It is the custom of these pagans to swallow brandy at a gulp, easier than we take light wine at our most jovial parties,” whispered Jean Ameron to his friend, who was a keenly interested spectator of all that was going on.
“After supper,” continued the hero of the occasion, “they commenced drinking and singing, according to their own ideas of enjoyment. Considering me as a victim about to be sacrificed to their vengeance, they invited me to join their orgy, with the comforting assurance that it would be my last opportunity, as they had decided to put an end to me at once. Being for the moment all companions in pleasure, they sang loudly, with joyful hearts celebrating their victories. They persisted in forcing quantities of the liquor on me. Though in usual well inclined to drink, I restrained my inclination, knowing that should I become helpless my fate would be at once sealed. After raising the brandy to my mouth I allowed it to spill, and as the wigwam was illuminated only by the uncertain light of the fire, the savages did not notice my evasion of their hospitable intentions. By this means I retained my composure, while by the middle of the night my companions, whose heads were heated by drink and the war-songs they had sung, were overcome by sleep. I made no movement, but feigned to be the drunkest of all the party, though watching quietly like a fox. Faith of Dubocq! the Iroquois and I, we know each other well, and here it was a question of life and death. I debated seriously whether when I found them all helpless, completely at my mercy, I should profit at once by my liberty, or whether before leaving I should send those ten heathen to the land of souls. As for the braves, that meant eight enemies less for the colony. Then, M. le Gouverneur, ladies, gentlemen and friends,” with a grandiloquent flourish of the hand towards the unhappy prisoners, who still stood mute, like bronzed images of resignation, “then I resolved to spare these women as being unworthy a man’s vengeance, and also as witnesses of my triumph.
“V’là! I commenced by tying the squaws tightly together, comprehending well that, having smaller brains than the men, they were more easily intoxicated and consequently more difficult to awaken. And, I assure you, they had not stinted themselves in the use of the liquor. I resolved to make sure, however, trusting my fate to no chance which I had power to provide against. In order to try if their sleep were really so profound as it appeared, I held pieces of flaming wood close to their faces; but, behold! not a movement, not so much as the quiver of an eyelash. My opportunity had come; it but depended upon the strength of my own arm to escape death by torture. I have seen that; I know what it is; so do many of you, my friends.”
The crowd responded to this appeal by a quick sympathetic murmur.
“Many of us have witnessed the death of our comrades, many bear scars of the wounds inflicted by those wolves. That thought nerved my heart. Arming myself with a heavy hatchet, I dealt one warrior after another a deadly blow, and that with the greatest rapidity. If one should awaken and give the alarm, then I was lost. Tiens! it was all finished in a crack. It was a cold butchery, I grant you, M. le Comte, but what will you, then? The choice lay between my death and theirs. Imagine to yourself when a man fights in the name of his lord the King, his Lord God, the holy saints and angels, and his own safety. I owed the Iroquois many a debt, and I endeavored honestly to pay them all.
“I tried vainly to awaken the two women, who still slept soundly. Then I sat down to smoke my pipe and indulge in many pleasant memories of the home which I had never thought to see again. We had still a long and dangerous journey before us, so it was necessary to set about making preparations. Next morning when the two women regained their senses I allowed them to perceive that a change had taken place in the position of affairs—that they had at the one stroke become widows and my slaves. I could not suppose that they were pleased by the course of events, but they said little. I assured them that I would spare their lives on condition that they would bear witness to the truth of my story, and they agreed with the best possible resignation. I may make them my compliments on their docility; never have they troubled me with useless lamentations. When I had adjusted my scalps to my taste—and you will perceive, M. le Comte, that they are arranged in true savage fashion—I took them and my prisoners and started upon my journey.”
“Vive, Dubocq, who has killed eight Iroquois at a blow! Vive Dubocq!” shouted the excited and sympathetic crowd.
“But they are monsters! One hears only of shedding of blood.” In her agitation Lydia had seized hold of du Chesne’s hand, at which a thrill went through the young man’s veins.
“All this is far removed from you; it is not fit that you should hear such tales. You should be surrounded by scenes of peace and tenderness. Cannot you trust yourself to my care, my sweet Lydia?” he urged tenderly.
The young Canadian felt himself completely fascinated by this fair childish beauty. There was something in the girl’s guileless expression, the sight of her hair flowing in waves of gold over the shapely shoulders, that ensnared his heart. Then his efforts at consolation were so very successful, and were so gratefully received, that he could not fail to be thoroughly satisfied. Diane de Monesthrol might accept tribute of general admiration if it pleased her to do so; for his part, he preferred the sweetly feminine creature who was pleased to receive rather than confer distinction.
Frontenac, himself a brave man, had always shown cordial sympathy for the reckless courage of the voyageurs and bushrangers. He now readily gave utterance to his commendations.
“Ta, ta, ta! bravely done, my fine fellow. These are the sort of defenders that Canada requires; would that we had many more of them. Eight enemies killed at a stroke! He is a Canadian hero; we owe him the thanks of the colony.”
“Et par le corbeau,” grumbled Jean Ameron, who made desperate but futile attempts to imitate the soldiers in the jaunty swagger of their manner. “Heroes, like saints, are cheap in this country. To kill eight Iroquois, that were easily enough done—just one sharp blow skilfully directed, and all is over. Little more effort is required than for killing a mouse. Thirty livres, no less, is the price paid for each scalp; two hundred and forty livres will this bird of prey receive from the Government. It was but chance that placed the occasion in Dubocq’s way. Some are favored by luck; I could myself do as much as that.”
“Jean, my friend, thou art not of those whose light is suffered to hide under bushels,” protested the soldier.
“Maître Bourdon, hast thou good wine at thy tavern?” demanded Frontenac.
“But yes, plenty, and of the most excellent, M. le Comte; of many kinds also, to suit all tastes—Vin de Grève, both the white and the red, wine of Xeres, Muscat—” the little fat man was delighted to seize the opportunity of proclaiming the prime quality of his wares.
“Drink, then, my friends, to the health of His Majesty, and to that of the brave Dubocq, not forgetting the prosperity of Canada, and confusion to our enemies, the Iroquois!”