Le Moyne nodded his head.
"There you are correct, father. Monsieur Ormerod, these questions I must have you answer. Where is your passport?"
"I have none," I returned. "Nor do I admit I should have one. I have not traveled territory under the control of France. Since we left Deonundagaa more than a month ago we have not seen a single Frenchman or a sign of French occupation. More, it is not my purpose to enter French territory. I am bound to the farther Wilderness Country, beyond the Great River."
"That, too, is French territory," proclaimed Black Robe. "All this region God hath set aside for the sons of France. No Englishman hath put foot beyond the Great River."
"For that reason, I propose to," I said. "Surely, there is no harm in seeking to know what it is like."
Le Moyne squared his jaw.
"I am not so certain of that, Monsieur Ormerod. But 'tis useless to debate the point here. I fear I must ask you to accompany us to our camping place. There we will discuss your case more fully, and endeavor to arrive at a composition of our differences. At the worst, I must send you back to New York under escort. No harm shall be done you."
There was nothing else for it. Our plight was hopeless. We were three against near an hundred Frenchmen and Indians, and resistance was as unthinkable as flight.
So much I reasoned for myself, and Tawannears and Corlaer agreed with me when I repeated the substance of the conversation as we fell into line behind the French commander's canoe, and wearily retraced our course. We were too disheartened to say much, for we reckoned it probable we should have to do over again what we had already accomplished, and that would mean losing the Summer—and very likely, having to wait over the next Winter. Ahead, I could see Black Robe leaning forward now and then to speak to Le Moyne. A bad omen!
At dusk the flotilla drew inshore to the northern bank a few miles below the mouth of the Ouabache, and we beached our canoe with the others. A file of the regular infantry busied themselves to help us collect wood, and although they did not touch our arms they made us feel that we were prisoners. I tried to draw out the corporal, but gleaned little for my pains. Yes, they had left Le Detroit whilst the snow was still on the ground. They had been to the mouth of the Great River or very near it, to the French post at New Orleans, where the Sieur de Bienville, the Chevalier de Longueuil's brother, was stationed. Now, they were returning by way of Vincennes, Le Detroit, Jagara and Fort Cadaraqui* to Montreal.