The Plowshare and the Sword: A Tale of Old Quebec

The physician left; the woman who owned the cabin moved silently in preparation for the carrying out of the body, because people were practical in the days when death by violence occurred almost hourly. St Agapit lowered his thin face to catch the message of the passing man.

"Hidden in the straw you shall find a roll of parchment. I pray you take it and use it as you will. It is the work of my father, a learned man. We quarrelled. I stole his work and left my home. I repented and would have taken it back. It was of no service to me. I cannot read. If it be of value, let my old father gain the profit."

"Does he live within the New World?"

"Two days' journey beyond the river. In a log cabin surrounded by a palisade which these hands erected. My father healed some Indians who were sick, and thus obtained their friendship. There was I brought up with my sister, my fair sister. Oh, my father, I would see again my sister. I would feel the touch of her hand, and see her bright hair that flamed in the sun. I would give these my last moments for the sight of her eyes, and the sound of her voice, saying as she was wont, 'Jean-Marie, my brother! Life is a glorious gift.' Ah, my father!"

"Peace, son. Set your mind upon this suffering."

The abbé held a crucifix into the glow of the torch.

"Jesus is not so jealous, father, that He forbids us to love our own. I was going back when I could obtain my congé, like the prodigal, to seek my father's forgiveness. My mother was to blame for our unhappiness. Solitude and disappointment had embittered her life. She had a cruel tongue and her hand was rough. I was a coward. I fled. My sister's eyes have pursued me. I made myself a profligate, to forget. But memory is a knife in an open wound."

The minutes passed punctuated by the gasps of the sufferer. The torch burnt down to its knot, and another was kindled by the pale woman. The sound without was the wash of the tide.

"He comes not," moaned the soldier. "Bear me a message, father."

The dry rattling of beads broke the silence.

"Speak, my son."

The soldier uttered a piteous cry: "Madeleine! Madeleine!"

"Oh, son! Call rather on the name of Mary."

A gust of dark air swept into the cabin, the torch flame waved like a flag, and a man stood behind muffled to the eyes, breathing as though he had come with speed. He threw aside his martial cloak, and straightway stood revealed.

"Jean-Marie," he muttered.

"Arnaud. Stand aside, my father. Let me meet my cousin face to face."

The priest moved back, and the two soldiers, the officer and the fighting-man, stared into each other's eyes.

"Had I known this, Jean-Marie – " began the commandant; but the figure upon the palliasse, straining from death as a dog from the leash, broke in upon him.

"Cousin, you knew. When I have passed have you not averted your eyes, ashamed of the man who has had neither the wit nor the opportunity to rise? You have made yourself great, and I – but this is no time for calling up the past. I am spent. Come to me, cousin – nearer. Why, commandant, art afraid of a dying man?"

"Is he dying?"

"He is in God's hands," the priest answered; and the woman grumbled: "Yes, yes, and a long time lying there, keeping me from my bed."

"Out!" said Roussilac, turning upon her. "Out, and repeat not what you may have heard."

The woman slunk away frightened.

"Ah, cousin, that old manner," smiled Jean-Marie. "So spoke you as a boy. They said you would find greatness. My father would say, 'He is a Brutus. Would condemn his own son.' I know not who Brutus was, but my father was a learned man."

He coughed terribly and lay back gasping.

"Say what lies upon your mind and have done," reproved St Agapit. "I would have you die with better thoughts."

"Cousin," panted Jean-Marie, "I forgive you as I hope for mercy. Place now your hand on mine."

Roussilac did so, shrinking at the freezing contact.

"Your aunt and uncle and Madeleine your cousin dwell in this land, two days' journey beyond the river. My father was hunted for his life. They called him a wizard. You know? Yes, once at home you might have shielded him, but there was your advancement to be thought on. Swear to me to find them. Tell Madeleine how I died. Be good to her. Ah, cousin, be a brother to Madeleine. You shall find her the fairest sister in all this world. Swear to bring them from their solitude, to protect my father. Swear before this holy priest to feed and clothe them if they be in want, to care for them, and be to them a brother and a son."

Roussilac, who had softened for the moment, grew again stern. His position was not so sure that it could withstand the attacks of tongues that might whisper at home that the young governor of the new colony sheltered a heretic uncle. Jean-Marie was quick to note the change. He knew the hardness of his cousin's heart.

"Swear to me, or have my shadow cursing you through life."

The priest put out his arm with a word of adjuration.

"The crucifix," the commandant muttered.

St Agapit held it over the dying man.

"Touch not the sacred symbol without a prayer, my son. Beware God's wrath!"

With one hand grasping the cold fingers, the other pressed fearfully upon the metal figure thrilling in the priest's grasp, Roussilac took the oath that was required of him.

"And that I will keep it, I call God, our Lady, and the blessed saints to witness!" he concluded in a hushed voice.

Hardly had he spoken, and while he still watched his cousin lying white with the light fading from his eyes, the fortress from end to end became tumultuous. A gun roared, a din of shouting, the thud of flying feet, the shriek of women, the cry of his soldiery swept up the slope in wave upon wave of uproar.

"An attack!" he cried. "And I am from my post!"

"Peace!" said St Agapit, with a frown. "The God of battles is not here."

"Arnaud," came the hollow whisper out of the tumult, "I have more to say. My voice goes. I pray you bend your head."

"I came secretly," said Roussilac wildly. "I cannot stay. Father, duty is calling me. My reputation, my position – "

"Your family," said the priest, pointing sternly.

The night air became a storm with the shout: "The Iroquois! The Iroquois are upon us!"

"Cousin!" whispered the dying man.

"My position!" cried the commandant; and turning with the confession he caught up his cloak, saying: "I will return. I will come back to you, Jean-Marie. My country calls me."

"His ambition!" murmured the lean priest, as the door swung back, and the tumult rolled in like a raging sea flung upon a cave.

CHAPTER XXI

IRON AND STEEL

The fortress was invested upon three sides: up the precipitous westward slope swarmed the Senacas and Cayugas; the fan-shaped body of the Onondagas advanced from the east, where the ground was broken; eastward and westerly on the valley side, where the attackers hoped to strike the victorious blow, the confederate bands of the Mohawks and Oneidas lay hidden, awaiting the signal which had been agreed upon. The river occupied the line to the south, and between its banks and the enemy ambushed in the valley an outlet was left in order that the French might be given the opportunity of vacating their position. Once in open country, they might be broken up into bands and hunted down.

The attack from west and north had been arranged to draw the French from the one point where the fortress was vulnerable. It appeared as though the besieged were tumbling blindfold into the trap, which a general of experience would have at once suspected. Every fighting-man in the fortress assembled to hold the almost impregnable heights. In the absence of the leader this mistake was pardonable. There the noise of battle was terrific. The wild light of the bush fire beyond the river flung its shadows over the grass hill and cast into detail figures and flashing tomahawks. A storm of hissing arrows swept over the rocks. The bronze-skinned warriors rushed up and climbed the heights. The bravest of the Senacas, that hardy fighting race of the highlands, were already within the fortress, tomahawking the gunners with hideous yells.

The man-of-war was useless. Boats were let down, and the sailors flung ropes round the ends of the logs which supported the fire-raft, and towed the flaming peril away. Then the clumsy ship blundered up stream, only to find herself helplessly cut off from the enemy by the sheer wall of rock. She drifted back, and the master gave the order for the guns to be beached and dragged up the slope to strengthen the resources of the besieged.

"'Fore Heaven!" cried Van Vuren. "The natives win!"

The Dutchmen had perforce returned to watch the progress of the assault. They saw the Cayugas dealing blows against the summit, repulsed, but never actually losing ground. Each assault found the height invested more strongly by the overwhelming host. Similar success attended the ascent of the Onondagas. The rival factions swayed upon the distant summit, lit by the fire of the cannon.

The Dutchmen hovered in uncertainty, until the opposition yielded and the Indians began to burn the huts which looked down upon the river. At this signal a shout went up from the valley, and the Mohawks and Oneidas rushed out to complete the work. At the same time Van Vuren gave the word, and the big men re-crossed the river, gained the level, and joined the sachems and doctors who were dancing and screaming at the foot of the hill.

Abruptly a line of soldiers formed upon the crest to the roaring of cannon, and these trained fighters bore down through the smoke, sweeping away the opposition as wind carries the snow. Immediately yells of dismay sounded above, where the Indians who had been trapped were being put to the sword. The blind repulse had at length given way to method.

A report had passed about the fortress that Roussilac had been assassinated, and the body deprived of its brains became thereupon powerless to act. But Gaudriole came hopping from gun to gun, crying: "Courage, my comrades! I have seen the commandant. He did but go down to the chapel of Ste. Anne to confess his sins. See where he comes! Long live our governor!"

The soldiers caught up his cry and fought with new energy when they beheld Roussilac's slight figure wrapped in a long cloak. He passed deliberately from east to north, issuing his orders and rapidly altering the entire nature of the fight. The besieged became the attackers; the hunters became the hunted. Roussilac's pale face restored confidence. His contemptuous coolness brought victory within sight. Before setting the trap for the Cayugas and Senacas his martial eye had lingered upon the silent valley. There he concentrated his best fighters, and despatched an order to the ship, directing the master to bring up the naval guns. The sailors were soon at their work, dragging the light guns into position and training the muzzles upon the suspected valley, while powder-monkeys ran up with charge and ball, and the gunners arranged their port-fire.

With the attack of the previously ambushed Mohawks, the battle for possession may be said to have commenced. Skill, holding a position which subsequent history proved to be practically impregnable, became opposed by numbers blindly indifferent to death.

The Dutchmen fled at that repulse when the natives about them had been flung back almost to the forest. They halted upon the beach and deliberated on the practicability of flight through the smoking country which hemmed the opposite shore. It was then that Dutoit made the discovery that two of his men were missing.

"We cannot regain the bodies," said Van Vuren, when the announcement was made. "The French mayhap have already discovered them, and thus know that we have taken arms against them. Flight is now forced upon us."

Dawn was near when Hough reached the scene of action. The din of battle had carried over the land, driving the birds and beasts northward in fear, and he and his stout comrade had started out at once. Scarce a mile had been traversed when Penfold's leg gave way; he sent his companion on, and hobbled slowly along his track, hoping to be in before the end.

At a glance the Puritan perceived the flaw in the attack.

"Why do ye waste your men against that wall?" he shouted at the chiefs. "Bring every man round to the east. Follow me, warriors. Follow, we shall conquer yet."

He might as profitably have addressed the stones. He ran in among the fighters, dealing blows with the flat of his sword, and pointing through the shadows to the fierce conflict upon the edge of the valley.

"There!" he shouted, trying to recall some scattered words of the language. "There, where the sun rises!"

At length he made himself clear, and a section of the fighters, more cool-headed than the remainder, professed themselves willing to follow, and some of the hot-headed chiefs, perceiving method in the Englishman's madness, turned also calling back their men.

Twice had the Mohawks broken through the front line and been repulsed before reaching the cannon, which spouted its hail down the valley. A barrier of French dead piled the space beside the artillery. Roussilac strode to and fro, withdrawing men from points where they could ill be spared that he might throw them upon the side where the lines wavered. Here the flower of the fighting-men struggled. Laroche fought here like the brave man he undoubtedly was, swearing fearfully, but never ceasing from the skilful sword-play which freed many a brown warrior from the burden of the fight. A charm seemed to protect his great body, the arrows leaving him unscathed, the blows of the tomahawks seeming to deflect as they descended, until the soldiers fought for the pride of place at the side of the priest, whom they believed to be under the special protection of the saints.

"Infidels, unbelieving and unbaptised! Down, down!" shouted Laroche, blinking the sweat from his eyes.

Repeatedly the Iroquois turned the line at the weak spot which Nature had overlooked in her plan of fortification, but Roussilac was prepared always with a band waiting to stem the rush. This could not last. His soldiers were thinning, and there seemed to be no limit to the numbers of the Indians. They pressed up in horde upon horde, their shouts cleaving the moist wind, their arrows inexhaustible, their courage undiminished. Then the word came that the Cayugas and Senacas were giving way upon the west with the manifest intention of strengthening their allies.

"Let them come," cried Roussilac loudly, for his men's benefit. "Only send me as many soldiers as can be spared from that position." But to himself he muttered: "The game is up," and he wrung his brain for a ruse de guerre.

"Send me a dozen men with a cannon yonder to work round and attack these savages in the rear," he said to one of his captains, who had been put out of the fight by a wound in the arm. "If they can but raise sufficient noise they may appear as a relieving force. It disheartens even a brute to fight between two foes."

"We cannot spare the men, Excellency."

"They must be spared," replied Roussilac.

A messenger rushed up, breathless and triumphant.

"Excellency, the Algonquins are coming to our aid in force," he panted.

For the first time in many hours the commandant smiled.

"You spoke truly," he said to the captain. "We cannot spare those men."

He turned and recoiled with a shiver. St Agapit, a long, black figure, stood beside him in the wet wreaths of the dawn.

"Your cousin is dead," said the priest. "He died but half an hour ago, with a curse upon his tongue. You have lost me that man's soul."

He half lifted his hand and moved away, seeing nothing of the great struggle, heeding the clamour not at all, because the sun was about to rise and he had his Mass to say.

While light was breaking over the cliffs in the east, where the fishermen of Tadousac hid themselves throughout that night, Oskelano brought his men clear of the forest and disposed them upon the plain. The old man was no mean general. He sent out his spies, and when the men returned with the information that the French were being crushed by superior numbers he divided his force into three bands. The first he sent like a wedge between the Onondagas and the force advancing from the west under Hough's leadership; the second he flung to the north of the Mohawks and Oneidas; and, having thus completely separated the allied forces, he threw his third band upon the rear of the men who were slowly carrying the position from the valley.

The Cayugas and Senacas were beaten back to the river. The Onondagas, attacked on two sides and at first mistaking foe for friend, were shattered at a first charge and fled for the forest. The fighters in the valley alone held their ground, until the light became strong; and then Roussilac drew up his entire force and directed in person a charge which hurled the stubborn Mohawks back upon the axes of the Algonquins awaiting them upon the lower ground. The survivors fled and were pursued by the northern tribe. The French flung themselves down exhausted, while Laroche wiped his sword and streaming face, and panted a benediction upon dead and wounded and living alike.

Thus the Iroquois Confederacy received a shattering blow from which it never recovered; and the land was made secure to France for a long two hundred years.

CHAPTER XXII

OB AND AZURE

After that complete repulse of the Iroquois tribes the French found themselves so weak as to be practically at the mercy of a foe. Another resolute attack must have driven them from their position. But the Iroquois bands were completely disorganised; the few English scattered about the maritime provinces, including that remnant of Scots in the east, who had settled Newfoundland and Nova Scotia only to see their territories wrested from them, were entirely inadequate even in combination to menace the supremacy of the House of Bourbon; and it may be questioned whether, at that time, any Scotsman would have stood to fight side by side with the English. Soon another ship would arrive from Marseilles, bringing, not only provisions and ammunition, but a reinforcement of men, prepared to till the ground as settlers should, but far more ready to continue the French error of attempting to colonise with the sword. On the heels of the discovery of two Dutch bodies among the Indian slain, La Salle returned, and conveyed to Roussilac the information that an English spy was escaping south. Gaudriole also announced that Van Vuren and his company were bearing in that same direction. Roussilac's hand was forced. If these men escaped him the fortress might be called upon to resist, not only an English, but possibly a Dutch invasion also. He sent out twenty men immediately to cut off the Hollanders, leaving the garrison depleted to no more than fifty men available for defence; and the commandant made haste to reward Oskelano for his services as suitably as his resources would permit, and sent him home, fearful lest the treacherous Algonquin might discover, and take advantage of, his weakness.

When La Salle stood before him, and announced that the English spy was the guest of one Madame Labroquerie, a widow living with her daughter in the country to the south, the commandant refused to betray himself, but replied that he would accompany the priest and be a witness to the hanging of the Englishman. At the same time, he considered, he might keep the oath which he had sworn to his dead cousin. Having given the order for a troop of men to attend upon his person, he abandoned the subject which awoke in him unpleasant memories, and bowing haughtily to La Salle – for he and the priest were in a manner rivals – congratulated him upon his appointment to the governorship of Acadie, the confirmation of which, signed by the Cardinal himself, had lately been delivered by the hand of the master of the St. Wenceslas.

"This fortress will be the weaker for your loss, Sir Priest," he said, feigning a sorrow which he could not feel. "May I seek to know when you propose to set forth to the undertaking of your new responsibilities?"

"If my work here be finished what time the St. Wenceslas sails homeward I shall depart with her," La Salle replied, flashing a disdainful glance upon Roussilac. "But I have yet to rid this land of its English vermin."

With that implied scorn of the governor, and suggestion of his own superiority, La Salle departed to make his preparations; and an hour later a troop of horsemen rode forth, Roussilac at the head, and beside him Gaudriole jesting for his chief's amusement; on the other side the two priests – for Laroche accompanied his senior – and behind six soldiers, riding two abreast on bright bay ponies, their weapons flashing in the sunlight.

There had been war in the grove. An angry scene passed between mother and daughter when Madeleine returned after seeing her lover upon his way. For the first time in her life the girl lost her sweet patience, and returned word for word so hotly that Madame at length became afraid, and backed away, yet muttering:

"Men shall stay your pride, girl, if a weak woman may not."

"They also shall find that a resolute mind is not quickly broken," Madeleine returned.

"The law against heresy is still in being," Madame threatened, made still more bitter by the knowledge that her daughter and Geoffrey had together outwitted her. "I have borne with you, because you are my child. Our Lady punishes me for my lack of devotion. I had speech but recently with a holy priest. We shall see, when that priest returns. We shall see!"

"Drive me from you with that bitter tongue, as you drove out Jean-Marie," cried Madeleine, her fair throat swelling like a bird in song. "So shall you die without son or daughter at your side, and none but an Indian shall see you to your grave."

At that Madame put up her hand with a superstitious gesture, and limped away, her yellow face wrinkled with rage; nor did she speak again to her daughter until the Indian servant entered the cabin to announce the coming of a warlike band. Then she croaked at Madeleine: "'Tis the holy priest. Know you not, girl, how those are punished who conspire to aid an enemy of their country?" Then she hasted away to don the cap and gown which she had kept against the coming of a change of fortune.

There came a sound of voices, the troop rode into the grove, and Madeleine, as she stood trembling at the door, was greeted by Gaudriole, who bowed and grinned as he announced his Excellency the Commandant to visit the Madame Labroquerie and the fair lady her daughter.

"I am Madeleine Labroquerie," stammered the girl, frightened for a moment by the brave show of mounted men.

"Cousin," cried a half-familiar voice, "hast put a friend and relative out of memory?"

Dazzled by the sunlight after the gloom of the cabin, Madeleine shaded her eyes. She saw before her a tall man, sallow and dark, his hair falling in snaky lines to his shoulders, the golden fleur-de-lys worked upon his blue surcoat making his face the more sickly by comparison. Before she could return his salutation he had dropped to his knee and kissed her hand.

"Years have passed since we parted, cousin," he said. "The present finds me with position, and you with beauty. I knew not that you were here until your brother told me."

"Arnaud!" she exclaimed, giddy with amazement at finding the boy who had been the autocrat of childhood's games grown into a man of power. Then, because her heart was so tender to all that breathed, she forgot the character of the man who was looking down upon her with increasing wonder to find how the plain child with the tangle of flaming hair had blossomed into this lovely creature, and asked quickly: "Jean-Marie – what of him?"

Roussilac was not a man to tell ill-news gently. Wasting neither words nor sentiment, he replied: "Your brother died but recently of fever, calling upon your name with his last breath."

His final words were intended to show her that he had been by the sick man's side until the end.

Madeleine turned white and tottered. Then, as her strong heart recovered, she said:

"Let me call my mother. My father has long been dead. We have remained poor, Arnaud," she added defiantly. "But if you have ascended, we have at least not descended."

"To what higher pinnacle can a woman wish to attain than that of perfect beauty?" he replied gallantly; but he noticed that she left him with a frown.