“You were a free man, not a slave.”
“The human heart has pride. At first, as when I left the governor at Lachine, I said, ‘I will never speak, I will never ask nor bend the knee. He has the power to oppress; I can obey without whining, as fine a man as he.’”
“Did you not hate?”
“At first, as only a banished man can hate. I knew that if all had gone well I should be a man high up in the Company, and here I was, living like a dog in the porch of the world, sometimes without other food for months than frozen fish; and for two years I was in a place where we had no fire,—lived in a snow-house, with only blubber to eat. And so year after year, no word!”
“The mail came once every year from the world?” “Yes, once a year the door of the outer life was opened. A ship came into the bay, and by that ship I sent out my reports. But no word came from the governor, and no request went from me. Once the captain of that ship took me by the shoulders, and said, ‘Fawdor, man, this will drive you mad. Come away to England,—leave your half-breed in charge,—and ask the governor for a big promotion.’ He did not understand. Of course I said I could not go. Then he turned on me, he was a good man,—and said, ‘This will either make you madman or saint, Fawdor.’ He drew a Bible from his pocket and handed it to me. ‘I’ve used it twenty years,’ he said, ‘in evil and out of evil, and I’ve spiked it here and there; it’s a chart for heavy seas, and may you find it so, my lad.’
“I said little then; but when I saw the sails of his ship round a cape and vanish, all my pride and strength were broken up, and I came in a heap to the ground, weeping like a child. But the change did not come all at once. There were two things that kept me hard.”
“The girl?”
“The girl, and another. But of the young lady after. I had a half-breed whose life I had saved. I was kind to him always; gave him as good to eat and drink as I had myself; divided my tobacco with him; loved him as only an exile can love a comrade. He conspired with the Indians to seize the Fort and stores, and kill me if I resisted. I found it out.”
“Thou shalt keep the faith of food and blanket,” said Pierre. “What did you do with him?”
“The fault was not his so much as of his race and his miserable past. I had loved him. I sent him away; and he never came back.”