The Road to Frontenac. Merwin Samuel

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СКАЧАТЬ pity if you haven’t learned to be a soldier. What is this little thing you are drawing?”

      Danton flushed. “You may laugh at the engineers,” he said, “but where would King Louis be now if–”

      “Tut, my boy, tut!”

      “That is very well–”

      Menard laughed. “How old are you, Danton?” he asked.

      “Twenty-two.”

      “Very good. You have got on well. I dare say you’ve learned a deal out of your books. Now we have you out here in the provinces, where the hard work is done. Well send you back in a few years a real man. And then you’ll step smartly among the pretty officers of the King, and when one speaks of New France you’ll lift your brows and say: ‘New France? Ah, yes. That is in America. I was there once. Rather a primitive life–no court, no army.’ Ah, ha, my boy–no, never mind. Come up to my quarters and have a sip of real old Burgundy.”

      “Are you ever serious, Menard?” asked Danton, sitting on the Captain’s cot and smacking his lips over the liquor.

      Menard smiled. “I’m afraid I shall have to play at composure for an hour,” he said. “I must see Father Claude. Settle yourself here, if you like.”

      Menard hurried away, for it was growing late. He found the Jesuit meditating in his cell.

      “Ah, Captain Menard, I am glad to see you so soon again.”

      Menard sat on the narrow bed and stretched out his legs as far as he could in the cramped space.

      “How soon will your duties be over here, Father?”

      “There seems to be no reason for me to stay. I have delivered the relations, and no further work has come to hand.”

      “Then it may be that you can help me, Father.”

      “You know, my son, that I will.”

      “Very well. I have been ordered to Fort Frontenac in advance of the troops. I am to bear orders to d’Orvilliers and to Du Luth and La Durantaye. It is possible that there may be some delicate work to be done among the Indians. You know the Iroquois, Father, and our two heads together should be stronger than mine alone. I want you to go with me.”

      The priest’s eyes lighted.

      “It may be that I can get permission at Montreal.”

      “You will go, then?”

      “Gladly. It is to be no one else–we two–”

      “We shall have canoemen. To my mind, the fewer the better.”

      “Still, Captain, you cannot depend on the canoemen. Would it not be well to have one other man? You might need a messenger.”

      Menard thought for a moment.

      “True, Father. And if I am to have a man, he had best be an officer; yes, a man who could execute orders. I’ll take Danton. You will be ready for a start, Father, probably to-morrow?”

      “At any time, my son.”

      “Good night.”

      There was little work to be done in preparing for the journey (Major Provost would attend to the supplies and to engaging the canoemen), and Menard still was in the lazy mood. He stood for a while at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the wharf. It was dark, and he could not see whether the body of the Indian had been removed. The incident of the afternoon had been gathering importance to his mind the longer he thought of it. Five years earlier Menard had been captured by the Onondagas during a fight near Fort Frontenac. They had taken him to one of their villages, south of Lake Ontario, and for days had tortured him and starved him. They had drawn out cords from his arms and legs and thrust sticks between them and the flesh. His back was still covered with scars from the burning slivers which they had stuck through the skin. They had torn the nails from his left hand with their teeth. Then Otreouati, the Big Throat, the chief who had led his followers to believe in Frontenac, came back from a parley with another tribe, and taking a liking to the tall young soldier who bore the torture without flinching, he adopted him into his own family. Menard had lived with the Indians, a captive only in name, and had earned the name of the Big Buffalo by his skill in the hunt. At last, when they had released him, it was under a compact of friendship, that had never since been broken. It had stood many tests. Even during open campaigns they had singled him out from the other Frenchmen as their brother. He wondered whether they knew of his part in stocking the King’s galleys. Probably they did.

      It was late when Menard took a last sweeping look at the river and walked up to the citadel. His day of idleness was over. After all, it had not been altogether a wasted day. But it was the longest holiday he was likely to have for months to come. Having made up his mind to accept the facts, he stretched out on his bed and went to sleep.

      Danton took the news that he was to be a member of the party with enthusiasm. Menard had hardly finished telling him when he swept the tiresome plans and specifications into a heap at the end of the table, and rushed out to get a musket (for a sword would have no place in the work before them). The start was to be made at noon, but Danton was on the ground so early as almost to lower his dignity in the eyes of the bronzed canoemen. He wore his bravest uniform, with polished belt and buttons and new lace at the neck. His broad hat had a long curling feather. He wore the new musket slung rakishly over his shoulder.

      About the middle of the forenoon, as Menard was looking over his orders, memorizing them in case of accident to the papers, he was found by Major Provost’s orderly, who said that the Commandant wished to see him at once.

      The Major was busy with the engineers in another room, but he left them.

      “Menard,” he said abruptly, “I’ve got to ask you to do me a favour. If I could see any way out of it–”

      “I will do anything I can.”

      “Thank you. I suppose you know the Marquis de St. Denis?”

      “Slightly.”

      “Well, I shan’t take time to give you the whole story. St. Denis has the seignory six leagues to the east. You may know that he went into debt to invest in La Salle’s colonizing scheme in Louisiana. St. Denis was in France at the time, and had great faith in La Salle. Of course, now that La Salle has not been heard from, and the debts are all past due without even a rumour of success to make them good–you can imagine the rest. The seignory has been seized. St. Denis has nothing.”

      “Has he a family?” asked Menard.

      “A daughter. His wife is dead. He came here after you left last night, and again this morning. We are old friends, and I have been trying to help him. He is going to sail to-day on Le Fourgon for Paris to see what he can save from the wreck. My house is crowded with the officers who are here planning the campaign; but St. Denis has a cousin living at Frontenac, Captain la Grange, and we’ve got to get Valerie there somehow. Do you think it will be safe?”

      “It’s a hard trip, you know; but it’s safe enough.”

      “I shan’t forget your kindness, Menard. The girl is a spirited little thing, and she takes it hard. Madame has set her heart on getting her to La Grange. I don’t know all the details myself.”

      “I think we can arrange it, Major. We start СКАЧАТЬ