I DEFY CASSION
Our progress was slow against the swift current of the St. Lawrence, and we kept close to the overhanging bank, following the guidance of the leading canoe. We were the second in line, and no longer over-crowded, so that I had ample room to rest at ease upon a pile of blankets, and gaze about me with interest on the changing scene.
Cassion, encouraged possibly by my permitting his attendance down the bank, found seat near me, and endeavored to converse; but, although I tried to prove cordial, realizing now that to anger the man would only add to my perplexity, his inane remarks tried me so that I ceased reply, and we finally lapsed into silence. Chevet, who held the steering oar, asked him some questions, which led to a brisk argument, and I turned away my head, glad enough to escape, and be permitted the luxury of my own thoughts.
How beautifully desolate it all was; with what fresh delight each new vista revealed itself. The wild life, the love of wilderness and solitude, was in my blood, and my nature responded to the charm of our surroundings. 102 I was the daughter of one ever attracted by the frontier, and all my life had been passed amid primitive conditions––the wide out-of-doors was my home, and the lonely places called me. The broad, rapid sweep of the river up which we won our slow passage, the great beetling cliffs dark in shadows, and crowned by trees, the jutting rocks whitened by spray, the headlands cutting off all view ahead, then suddenly receding to permit of our circling on into the unknown––here extended a panorama of which I could never tire.
My imagination swept ahead into the mystery which awaited us in that vast wilderness toward which we journeyed––the dangerous rivers, the portages, the swift rush of gleaming water, the black forests, the plains of waving grass, the Indian villages, and those immense lakes along whose shores we were destined to find way. All this possibility had come to me so unexpectedly, with such suddenness, that even yet I scarcely realized that my surroundings were real. They seemed more a dream than an actual fact, and I was compelled to concentrate my mind on those people about me before I could clearly comprehend the conditions under which I lived.
Yet here was reality enough: the Indian paddlers, stripped to the waist, their bodies glistening, as with steady, tireless strokes, they forced our canoe forward, 103 following relentlessly the wake of the speeding boat ahead; the little group of soldiers huddled in the bows, several sleeping already, the others amusing themselves with game of cards; while just in front of me sat the priest, his fingers clasping an open book, but his eyes on the river. The silhouette of his face, outlined beyond his black hood, seemed carved from stone, it was so expressionless and hard. There was something so sinister about it that I felt a chill run through me, and averted my eyes, only to encounter the glance of Cassion beside me, who smiled, and pointed out a huge terrace of rock which seemed a castle against the blue of the sky. I think he told me the fanciful name the earlier explorers had given the point, and related some legend with which it was connected, but my mind was not on his tale, and soon he ceased effort to entertain me, and his head nodded sleepily.
I turned to glance back beyond the massive figure of Chevet at the steering oar, to gain glimpse of the canoes behind. The first was well up, so that even the faces of its occupants were revealed, but the second was but a black shapeless thing in the distance, a mere blotch upon the waters.
Ahead of us, now sweeping around the point like a wild bird, amid a smother of spray, appeared the advance canoe. As it disappeared I could distinguish De Artigny at the stern, his coat off, his hands grasping 104 a paddle. Above the point once more and in smoother water, I was aware that he turned and looked back, shading his eyes from the sun. I could not but wonder what he thought, what possible suspicion had come to him, regarding my presence in the company. There was no way in which he could have learned the truth, for there had been no communication between him and those who knew the facts.
Never would he conceive so wild a thought as my marriage to Cassion. He might, indeed, believe that some strange, sudden necessity had compelled me to accompany them on this adventure, or he might suspect that I had deceived him, knowing all the time that I was to be of the party. I felt the shame of it bring the red blood into my cheeks, and my lips pressed together in firm resolve. I should tell him, tell him all; and he must judge my conduct from my own words, and not those of another. In some manner I must keep him away from Cassion––ay, and from Chevet––until opportunity came for me to first communicate with him.
I was a woman, and some instinct of my nature told me that Sieur de Artigny held me in high esteem. And his was the disposition and the training to cause the striking of a blow first. That must not be, for now I was determined to unravel the cause for Cassion’s eagerness to marry, and La Barre’s willing assistance, 105 and to accomplish this end there could be no quarreling between us.
The weariness of the long night conquered even my brain, the steady splash of the paddles becoming a lullaby. Insensibly my head rested back against the pile of blankets, the glint of sunshine along the surface of the water vanished as my lashes fell, and, before I knew it, I slept soundly. I awoke with the sun in the western sky, so low down as to peep at me through the upper branches of trees lining the bank. Our surroundings had changed somewhat, the shores being no longer steep, and overhung with rocks, but only slightly uplifted, and covered with dense, dark woods, somber and silent. Their shadows nearly met in midstream, giving to the scene a look of desolation and gloom, the water sweeping on in sullen flow, without sparkle, or gaiety. Our boat clung close to the west shore, and I could look long distances through the aisles of trees into the silent gloom beyond. Not a leaf rustled, not a wild animal moved in the coverts. It was like an abode of death.
And we moved so slowly, struggling upward against the current, for the Indians were resting, and the less expert hands of soldiers were wielding the paddles, urged on by Cassion, who had relieved Chevet at the steering oar. The harsh tones of his voice, and the heavy breathing of the laboring men alone broke the 106 solemn stillness. I sat up, my body aching from the awkward position in which I lay, and endeavored to discern the other canoes.
Behind us stretched a space of straight water, and one canoe was close, while the second was barely visible along a curve of the shore. Ahead, however, the river appeared vacant, the leading boat having vanished around a wooded bend. My eyes met those of Cassion, and the sight of him instantly restored me to a recollection of my plan––nothing could be gained by open warfare. I permitted my lips to smile, and noted instantly the change of expression in his face.
“I have slept well, Monsieur,” I said pleasantly, “for I was very tired.”
“’Tis the best way on a boat voyage,” assuming his old manner, “but now the day is nearly done.”
“So late as that! You will make camp soon?”
“If that be Cap Sante yonder, ’tis like we shall go ashore beyond. Ay! see the smoke spiral above the trees; a hundred rods more and we make the turn. The fellows will not be sorry, the way they ply the paddles.” He leaned over and shook Chevet. “Time to rouse, Hugo, for we make camp. Bend to it, lads; there is food and a night’s rest waiting you around yonder point. Dig deep, and send her along.”
As we skirted the extremity of shore I saw the opening in the woods, and the gleam of a cheerful fire 107 amid green grass. The advance canoe swung half-hidden amid the overhanging roots of a huge pine tree, and the men were busily at work ashore. To the right they were already erecting a small tent, its yellow canvas showing plainly against the leafy background of the forest. As we circled the point closely, seeking the still water, we could perceive Altudah standing alone on a flat rock, his red blanket conspicuous as he pointed out the best place for landing. As we nosed into the bank, our sharp bow was grasped by waiting Indians and drawn safely ashore. I reached my feet, stiffened, and scarcely able to move my limbs, but determined to land without the aid of Cassion, whose passage forward was blocked by Chevet’s huge bulk. As my weight rested on the edge of the canoe, De Artigny swung down from behind the chief, and extended his hand.
“A slight spring,” he said, “and you land with dry feet; good! now let me lift you––so.”
I had but the instant; I knew that, for I heard Cassion cry out something just behind me, and, surprised as I was by the sudden appearance of De Artigny, I yet realized the necessity for swift speech.
“Monsieur,” I whispered. “Do not talk, but listen. You would serve me?”
“Ay!”
“Then ask nothing, and above all do not quarrel 108 with Cassion. I will tell you everything the moment I can see you safely alone. Until then do not seek me. I have your word?”
He did not answer, for the Commissaire grasped my arm, and thrust himself in between us, his action so swift that the impact of his body thrust De Artigny back a step. I saw the hand of the younger man close on the knife hilt at his belt, but was quick enough to avert the hot words burning his lips.
“A bit rough, Monsieur Cassion,” I cried laughing merrily, even as I released my arm. “Why so much haste? I was near falling, and it was but courtesy which led the Sieur de Artigny to extend me his hand. It does not please me for you to be ever seeking a quarrel.”
There must have been that in my face which cooled him, for his hand fell, and his thin lips curled into sarcastic smile.
“If I seemed hasty,” he exclaimed, “it was more because I was blocked by that boor of a Chevet yonder, and it angered me to have this young gamecock ever at hand to push in. What think you you were employed for, fellow––an esquire of dames? Was there not work enough in the camp yonder, that you must be testing your fancy graces every time a boat lands?”
There was no mild look in De Artigny’s eyes as he fronted him, yet he held his temper, recalling my plea 109 no doubt, and I hastened to step between, and furnish him excuse for silence.
“Surely you do wrong to blame the young man, Monsieur, as but for his aid I would have slipped yonder. There is no cause for hard words, nor do I thank you for making me a subject of quarrel. Is it my tent they erect yonder?”
“Ay,” there was little graciousness to the tone, for the man had the nature of a bully. “’Twas my thought that it be brought for your use; and if Monsieur de Artigny will consent to stand aside, it will give me pleasure to escort you thither.”
The younger man’s eyes glanced from the other’s face into mine, as though seeking reassurance. His hat was instantly in his hand, and he stepped backward, bowing low.
“The wish of the lady is sufficient,” he said quietly, and then stood again erect, facing Cassion. “Yet,” he added slowly, “I would remind Monsieur that while I serve him as a guide, it is as a volunteer, and I am also an officer of France.”
“Of France? Pah! of the renegade La Salle.”
“France has no more loyal servant, Monsieur Cassion in all this western land––nor is he renegade, for he holds the Illinois at the King’s command.”
“Held it––yes; under Frontenac, but not now.”
“We will not quarrel over words, yet not even in 110 Quebec was it claimed that higher authority than La Barre’s had led to recall. Louis had never interfered, and it is De Tonty, and not De Baugis who is in command at St. Louis by royal order. My right to respect of rank is clearer than your own, Monsieur, so I beg you curb your temper.”
“You threaten me?”
“No; we who live in the wilderness do not talk, we act. I obey your orders, do your will, on this expedition, but as a man, not a slave. In all else we stand equal, and I accept insult from no living man. ’Tis well that you know this, Monsieur.”
The hat was back upon his head, and he had turned away before Cassion found answering speech. It was a jaunty, careless figure, disappearing amid the trees, the very swing of his shoulders a challenge, nor did he so much as glance about to mark the effect of his insolent words. For the instant I believed Cassion’s first thought was murder, for he gripped a pistol in his hand, and flung one foot forward, an oath sputtering between his lips. Yet the arrant coward in him conquered even that mad outburst of passion, and before I could grasp his arm in restraint, the impulse had passed, and he was staring after the slowly receding figure of De Artigny, his fingers nerveless.
“Mon Dieu––no! I’ll show the pup who is the master,” he muttered. “Let him disobey once, and 111 I’ll stretch his dainty form as I would an Indian cur.”
“Monsieur,” I said, drawing his attention to my presence. “’Tis of no interest to me your silly quarrel with Sieur de Artigny. I am weary with the boat journey, and would rest until food is served.”
“But you heard the young cockerel! What he dared say to me?”
“Surely; and were his words true?”
“True! what mean you? That he would resist my authority?”
“That he held commission from the King, while your only authority was by word of the Governor? Was it not by Royal Orders that La Salle was relieved of command?”
Cassion’s face exhibited embarrassment, yet he managed to laugh.
“A mere boast the boy made, yet with a grain of truth to bolster it. La Barre acted with authority, but there has not been time for his report to be passed upon by Louis. No doubt ’tis now upon the sea.”
“And now for this reason to lay his cause before the King, the Sieur de la Salle, sailed for France.”
“Yes, but too late; already confirmation of La Barre’s act is en route to New France. The crowing cockerel yonder will lose his spurs. But come, ’tis useless to stand here discussing this affair. Let me show you how well your comfort has been attended to.”
I walked beside him among the trees, and across the patch of grass to where the tent stood against a background of rock. The Indians and soldiers in separate groups were busied about their fires, and I could distinguish the chief, with Chevet, still beside the canoes, engaged in making them secure for the night. The evening shadows were thickening about us, and the gloom of the woods extended already across the river to the opposite shore.
De Artigny had disappeared, although I glanced about in search for him, as Cassion drew aside the tent flap, and peered within. He appeared pleased at the way in which his orders had been executed.
“’Tis very neat, indeed, Monsieur,” I said pleasantly, glancing inside. “I owe you my thanks.”
“’Twas brought for my own use,” he confessed, encouraged by my graciousness, “for as you know, I had no previous warning that you were to be of our party. Please step within.”
I did so, yet turned instantly to prevent his following me. Already I had determined on my course of action, and now the time had come for me to speak him clearly; yet now that I had definite purpose in view it was no part of my game to anger the man.
“Monsieur,” I said soberly. “I must beg your mercy. I am but a girl, and alone. It is true I am your wife by law, but the change has come so suddenly 113 that I am yet dazed. Surely you cannot wish to take advantage, or make claim upon me, until I can bid you welcome. I appeal to you as a gentleman.”
He stared into my face, scarcely comprehending all my meaning.
“You would bar me without? You forbid me entrance?”
“Would you seek to enter against my wish?”
“But you are my wife; that you will not deny! What will be said, thought, if I seek rest elsewhere?”
“Monsieur, save for Hugo Chevet, none in this company know the story of that marriage, or why I am here. What I ask brings no stain upon you. ’Tis not that I so dislike you, Monsieur, but I am the daughter of Pierre la Chesnayne, and ’tis not in my blood to yield to force. It will be best to yield me respect and consideration.”
“You threatened me yonder––before La Barre.”
“I spoke wildly, in anger. That passion has passed––now I appeal to your manhood.”
He glanced about, to assure himself we were alone.
“You are a sly wench,” he said, laughing unpleasantly, “but it may be best that I give you your own way for this once. There is time enough in which to teach you my power. And so you shut the tent to me, fair lady, in spite of your pledge to Holy Church. Ah, well! there are nights a plenty between here and St. 114 Ignace, and you will become lonely enough in the wilderness to welcome me. One kiss, and I leave you.”
“No, Monsieur.”
His eyes were ugly.
“You refuse that! Mon Dieu! Do you think I play? I will have the kiss––or more.”
Furious as the man was I felt no fear of him, merely an intense disgust that his hands should touch me, an indignation that he should offer me such insult. He must have read all this in my eyes, for he made but the one move, and I flung his hand aside as easily as though it had been that of a child. I was angry, so that my lips trembled, and my face grew white, yet it was not the anger that stormed.
“Enough, Monsieur––go!” I said, and pointed to where the fires reddened the darkness. “Do not dare speak to me again this night.”
An instant he hesitated, trying to muster courage, but the bully in him failed, and with an oath, he turned away, and vanished. It was nearly dark then, and I sat down on a blanket at the entrance, and waited, watching the figures between me and the river. I did not think he would come again, but I did not know; it would be safer if I could have word with Chevet. A soldier brought me food, and when he returned for the tins I made him promise to seek my uncle, and send him to me.