Peter's Story.
"The old people were camped long, long ago, near the Oolastook, where now stands St. John. All this lan' Indian then. No 'hite man live here that time, and the hunter always find game plenty—plenty moose, plenty bear, plenty fish, plenty everyting.
"Then Indians not so wicked as now, and God had not sent 'hite men to punish them for their sins. But even then they fought each other; and between my people and the Quedetchque—that my name; you call 'em Mohawk, I b'lieve—there was war, all time war.
"The Quedetchque come down every fall, follow down banks of river, wait alound village until all my people asleep; make warwhoop, fire arrows, set fire to womegun, lun off with prisoner, and plenty scalp. One time all my people away, only squaw and children in town; Quedetchque war-party come, burn an' kill; get plenty scalp of women and boy, and chief take away Coquan, what you call 'Lainbow,' wife of great chief 'Tamegun,' the tomahawk.
"They hurry home fas', but the snow fall thick, an' soon Tamegun an' one other man come home, fin' wigwam burnt, an' dead people all alound. They tighten belts, take bow, knife, an' axe, and follow on track.
"One night they find tracks in snow, and soon come up to the camp. Many warriors in that camp—make long camp, and door at each end, and fire at door. All Quedetchque inside take off moccason and bathe sore feet in big birch-bark tub near door; then wait until Coquan mend moccasons. All this Tamegun see, and he find out where his squaw sit in lodge.
"Then he creep up like wildcat, and peep through bark so close he could almos' touch her; but he only lift edge of bark, and slide in wampum belt. Coquan work war-belt for him, and know who it is at once. Then she go out, an' they talk together, far from the camp.
"Then Coquan go back into camp, and take all the moccasons outside, and set the tubs of dirty water outside each door. Then she see Tamegun an' his friend tie rope across door, jus' above ground, and the Lainbow slip out again. Then Micmacs catch up tubs and throw water on the fires; all out in a minute.
"Both cly the warwhoop many times at the door, an' the woman shoot arrows through the bark. All the Quedetchque jump up, take knife an' axe, think Micmacs got into the tent. All is dark; see nothing; think everybody enemy. They stab with knife, cly war-cly, strike with axe, kill each other. Some lun out doors, tumble over cord. Micmacs kill every one. At last all dead but two boys, and Tamegun tie these to trees.
"Then Tamegun get scalp, skin, beads, knife, spear, everyting he want. Make three taboggin; load all they can carry; then set fire to camp and burn all up. Then, when all ready, Tamegun draw his knife, an' cut prisoners loose.
"'Go back to Quedetchque,' he say. 'They are squaws an' cowards. Tell them come no more into Meegum-Ahgee,—in Micmac land,—for two Micmac men an' a squaw have kill all your people. Go! You are too young to die. Your flesh is soft. Come back when your scalps are fit for a Micmac's belt.'
"So Tamegun got home all light, an' Quedetchque come no more for many years. But my people no more fight. Many die in battle long ago. Many die of small-pox an' fever, and now we are few. So it will be until He comes for whom all Indians wait. The story is ended."
Thus in rude English, Peter related one of the many tales, which still serve to keep alive a people's pride in the glories of bygone days, so unlike their present degradation, that to the general observer the civilized Indian seems to know nothing of the past, to be scarcely conscious of his ignoble surroundings and circumstances, and to have no care or hope for a brighter future. La Salle knew well the wild legend of the Deliverer, in whom, in spite of his Catholic faith, the Indian everywhere has an inherent trust, as the slowly but surely-coming protector and restorer, of his ancient happiness.
"Thank you, Peter," said he, kindly. "Your people were a brave race, and true as steel to your Wenooch (i.e., French). They fought as long as their allies dared to strive; and it was long after the last French fortress surrendered that the warriors met at Bay Verte, to become true subjects to the king they had fought against for years."
"Yes," said Peter, sadly. "My people once strong and brave; now they waste away like the snow. I know many families almost gone, an' but few pure Indian live this end of island. We see it, if 'hite people think not, but we do not care to let them see our tears."
There was a simple pathos in the broken words of this unlearned man—for he was no savage—which went to the hearts of his hearers; and La Salle felt more strongly than ever, the cruel cowardice of that popular outcry, which denies a whole people all share of innate nobility and virtue, and visits on a deceived and wronged race, both their own sins and the short-comings of those who should be their natural protectors.
The party finished their various undertakings, carefully removing their litter. La Salle and Regnar went outside to take a last look at the sea and sky. The stars were visible here and there, through the dispersing clouds, and the drip of melting ice was no longer heard, for the temperature had again fallen below the freezing point.
"We are drifting south of east," said Regnar, quietly, "and unless picked up will probably clear the south point of the Magdalen Islands."
"How can you tell that?" asked La Salle.
"Easily enough," said the lad, talking still in French. "The wind is westerly, and the current runs from north to south."
"But how can you decide on the points of the compass?" persisted La Salle.
For the first time the boy seemed to wonder at the question, and to doubt the wisdom of his friend.
"Who can fail to know?" said he, quietly, "when he can see in the heavens above him, the steady light of the Polar Star?"
