Beyond the Frontier: A Romance of Early Days in the Middle West

by Randall Parrish

I would not say that Cassion purposely kept us apart, for the arrangement might have been the same had I not been of the party, yet the only communication between the two divisions occurred when some messenger brought back warning of dangerous water ahead. Usually this messenger was an Indian, but once De Artigny himself came, and guided our canoes through a torrent of white, raging water, amid a maze of murderous rocks.

During these days and weeks Cassion treated me with consideration and outward respect. Not that he failed to talk freely, and to boast of his exploits and adventures, yet he refrained from laying hand on me, nor did he once refer to the incident of the bluff. I knew not what to make of the man in this new rôle of gallant, yet suspicioned that he but bided his time, 165 and a better opportunity for exhibiting his true purpose.

There were times, when he thought I was not observing him, when the expression of his eyes brought me uneasiness, and I was soon aware that, in spite of his genial manner, and friendly expression, his surveillance was in no degree relaxed. Not for a moment was I alone. When he was not beside me in the canoe, Père Allouez became my companion, and at night a guard kept vigilant eye upon my tent. Twice I ventured to test this fact, only to be halted, and turned back within three yards of the entrance. Very polite the soldier was, with explanation of danger from prowling beasts, and the strictness of his order. At first such restraint angered me, but on second thought I did not greatly care, humiliating though it was; yet the protection thus afforded was not altogether unwelcome, and was in itself evidence of Cassion’s determination to conquer me.

Nor was the journey lacking in interest or adventure. Never shall I forget the charm of those days and nights, amid which we made slow and toilsome passage through the desolate wilderness, ever gaining new leagues to the westward. Only twice in weeks did we encounter human beings––once a camp of Indians on the shore of a lake, and once a Capuchin monk, alone but for a single voyageur, as companion, 166 passed us upon the river. He would have paused to exchange words, but at sight of Père Allouez’s black robe, he gave swift command to his engagé, and the two disappeared as though fleeing from the devil.

But what visions of beauty, and sublimity, were those that swept constantly past us as we thus advanced into the wild depths of the woods. No two views were ever alike, and every curve in the river bank brought a fresh vista. I never tired of the vast, silent forests that seemed to shut us in, nor of the dancing silver of the swift water under our keel, nor of the great rocky bluffs under whose grim shadows we found passage. To me the hardships even were enjoyable: the clambering over rough portages, the occasional mishap, the coarse fare, the nights I was compelled to pass in the canoe, these only served to give added zest to the great adventure, to make real the unusual experiences I was passing through.

I was scarce more than a girl, young, strong, little accustomed to luxury, and my heart responded to the exhilaration of constant change, and the thrill of peril. And when, at last, we made the long portage, tramping through the dark forest aisles, bearing on our shoulders heavy loads, scarcely able to see the sun even at midday through the leafy screen of leaves, and came forth at twilight on the shores of the mighty lake, no words can express the raptures with which 167 I stood and gazed across that expanse of heaving, restless water. The men launched their canoes upon the surface, and made camp in the edge of the forest, but I could not move, could not restrain my eyes, until darkness descended and left all before me a void.

Never had I gazed upon so vast a spectacle, so somber in the dull gray light, stretching afar to the horizon, its wild, desolate silence adding to its awful majesty. Even when darkness enshrouded it all, the memory haunted me, and I could but think and dream, frightened and awed in presence of that stupendous waste of waters. The soldiers sang about their fires, and Cassion sought me with what he meant to be courteous words, but I was in no spirit to be amused. For hours I lay alone, listening to the dull roar of waves along the shore, and the wind in the trees. De Artigny, and his party, camped just beyond us, across the mouth of a narrow stream, but I saw nothing of him, nor do I believe I gave his presence a thought.

It was scarcely more than daybreak when we broke camp, and headed our canoes out into the lake. With the dawn, and the glint of sunlight over the waters, much of my dread departed, and I could appreciate the wild song of delight with which our Indian paddlers bent to their work. The sharp-prowed canoes swept through the waters swiftly, no longer battling 168 against a current, and the shore line ever in view was fascinating in its green foliage. We kept close to the northern shore, and soon found passage amid numerous islands, forest covered, but with high, rocky outlines.

Of life there was no sign, and the silence of the vast primeval wilderness surrounding us rested heavily upon me. Whether this same sense of loneliness and awe affected the others I cannot say––yet the savage song died away, and the soldiers sat motionless, while the Indians plied their paddles noiselessly. Cassion even restrained his garrulous tongue, and when I glanced at him in some surprise, he was intent on the shores of a passing island, forgetful of my presence.

For four days we coasted thus, never out of sight of shore, and usually with islands between us and the main body of water. In all that time we had no sign of man––not even a wisp of smoke, nor heard the crack of distant rifle. About us extended loneliness and desolation, great waters never still, vast forests grim and somber, tall, menacing rocks, bright-colored in the sun.