Fort Amity

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

  CHAPTER V.

  CONTAINS THE APOLOGUE OF MANABOZHO'S TOE.

  They had threaded their course through the many islets at the foot ofthe lake, and were speeding down the headwaters of the Richelieu.The forests had closed in upon them, shutting out the mountains.The convoy--officered for the most part by Canadian militiamen withbut a sprinkling of regulars such as Sergeant Barboux--soon began tostraggle. The prisoners were to be delivered at Montreal. Montcalmhad dispatched them thither, on short rations, for the simple reasonthat Fort Carillon held scarcely food enough to support his own army;but he could detach very few of his efficients for escort, and, forthe rest, it did not certainly appear who was in command. Barboux,for example, was frankly insubordinate, and declared a dozen times aday that it did not become gentlemen of the Bearn and Royal Roussillonto take their orders from any _coureur de bois_ who might choose tocall himself Major.

  Consequently the convoy soon straggled at will, the boatmen labouringif the fancy took them, or resting their paddles across their thighsand letting their canoes drift on the current. Now and again theymet a train of bateaux labouring up with reinforcements, that hadheard of the victory from the leading boats and hurrahed as theypassed, or shouted questions which Barboux answered as a conscioushero of the fight and with no false modesty. But for hour after hourJohn lived alone with his own boat's company and the interminableprocession of the woods.

  They descended to the river, these woods, and overhung it--each banka mute monotonous screen of foliage, unbroken by glade or clearing;pine and spruce and hemlock, maple and alder; piled plumes of green,motionless, brooding, through which no sunrays broke, though here andthere a silver birch drew a shaft of light upon their sombrebackground. Here were no English woodlands, no stretches of palegreen turf, no vistas opening beneath flattened boughs, with bluedistant hills and perhaps a group of antlers topping the bracken.The wild life of these forests crawled among thickets or lurked insinister shadows. No bird poured out its heart in them; no larksoared out of them, breasting heaven. At rare intervals a note fellon the ear--the scream of hawk or eagle, the bitter cackling laugh ofblue jay or woodpecker, the loon's ghostly cry--solitary notes, andunhappy, as though wrung by pain out of the choking silence; or awayon the hillside a grouse began drumming, or a duck went whirring downthe long waterway until the sound sank and was overtaken again by theriver's slow murmur.

  When night had hushed down these noises, the forest would be silentfor an hour or two, and then awake more horribly with the howling ofwolves. John slept little of nights; not on account of the wolves,but because the mosquitoes allowed him no peace. (They were tortureto a wounded man; but he declared afterwards that they cured hiswounded arm willynilly, for they forced him to keep it active underpain of being eaten alive.) By day he dozed, lulled by the eternalwoods, the eternal dazzle on the water, the eternal mutter of theflood, the paddle-strokes, M. le Chameau's singing.

  They were now six in the canoe--the sergeant, le Chameau, the twoIndians, John a Cleeve and the elder Highlander, Corporal HughMcQuarters.

  By this time--that is to say, having seen him--John understood themeaning of M. le Chameau's queer name. He was a hunchback, but a gaylittle man nevertheless; reputedly a genius in the art of shootingrapids. He was also a demon to work, when allowed; but the sergeantwould not allow him.

  It suited the sergeant's humour to lag behind the other boats by wayof asserting his dignity and proving that he, Barboux, held himselfat no trumpery colonial's beck and call. Also he had begun to nursea scheme; as will appear by and by.

  At present it amused him to order the canoe to shore for an hour ortwo in the heat of the day, lend his bayonet to the Indians, andwatch, smoking, while they searched the banks and dug out musquashes.These they cooked and ate; which Barboux asserted to be good economy,since provisions were running short. It occurred to John that thismight be a still better reason for hurrying forward, but he wasgrateful for the siesta under the boughs while the Indians worked.They were Ojibways both, the elder by name Menehwehna and the younger(a handsome fellow with a wonderful gift of silence) Muskingon.

  Since that one stealthy act of kindness Menehwehna had given no signof cordiality. John had tried a score of times to catch his eye, andhad caught it once or twice, but only to find the man inscrutable.Yet he was by no means taciturn; but seemed, as his warpaint of sootand vermilion wore thinner, to thaw into what (for an Indian) mightpass for geniality. After a successful rat-hunt he would even growloquacious, seating himself on the bank and jabbering while heskinned his spoils, using for the most part a jargon of broken French(in which he was fluent) and native words of which Barboux understoodvery few and John none at all. When he fell back on Ojibway pure andsimple, it was to address Muskingon, who answered in monosyllables,and was sparing of these. Muskingon and McQuarters were the silentmen of the party--the latter by force as well as choice, since heknew no French and in English could only converse with John.He and Muskingon had this further in common--they both detested thesergeant.

  John, for his part, had patched up a peace with the man, after thisfashion: On the second day Barboux had called upon le Chameau for asong; and, the little hunchback having given "En roulant ma boule,"demanded another.

  "But it is monsieur's turn, who has a charming voice," suggested leChameau politely.

  "It has the misfortune to grate on the ears of our English milord,"Barboux answered with an angry flush, stealing a malevolent glance atJohn. "And I do not sing to please myself."

  John doubted this; but being by nature quick to forgive and repent aquarrel, he answered with some grace: "I was annoyed, SergeantBarboux, and said what I thought would hurt rather than what wasjust. You possess, indeed, a charming voice, and I regret to haveinsulted it."

  "You mean it?" asked Barboux, still red in the face, but patentlydelighted.

  "So entirely that I shall not pardon myself until you have done usthe favour to sing."

  The sergeant held out his hand. "And that's very handsomely said!Given or taken, an apology never goes astray between brave fellows.And, after all," he added, "I had, if I remember, something thebetter of that argument! You really wish me to sing, then?"

  "To be sure I do," Jack assured him, smiling.

  Barboux cleared his throat, wagged his head once or twice impassivelyand trolled out:

  "Belle meuniere, en passant par ici, Ne suis-je-t'y pas eloigne d'ltalie. . . ."

  From this graceful opening the song declined into the grossest filth;and it was easy to see, watching his face, why McQuarters, withoutunderstanding a word of French, had accused him of singing"sculduddery." John, though disgusted, could not help being amusedby a performance which set him in mind now of a satyr and now of amincing schoolgirl--_vert galant avec un sourire de cantatrice_--lasciviousness blowing affected kisses in the intervals of lickingits chops. At the conclusion he complimented the singer, with agrave face.

  Barboux bowed. "It has, to say true, a little more marrow in it thanle Chameau's _rossignols_ and _rosiers_. Hola, Chameau; theEnglishman here agrees that you sing well, but that your matter iswatery stuff. You must let me teach you one or two of my songlets--"

  "Pardon, m'sieur, mais ca sera un peu trop--trop vif; c'est-a-direpour moi," stammered the little hunchback.

  Barboux guffawed. The idea of le Chameau as a ladies' man tickledhim hugely, and he tormented the patient fellow with allusions to it,and to his deformity, twenty times a day.

  And yet the sergeant was not ill-natured--until you happened to crosshim, when his temper became damnable--but merely a big, vain,boisterous lout. John, having taken his measure, found it easy tostudy him philosophically and even to be passably amused by him.But he made himself, it must be owned, an affliction; and anaffliction against which, since the boats had parted company, therewas no redress. He was conceited, selfish, tyrannical, andinordinately lazy. He never took a hand with the paddle, but wouldcompel the others to work, or to idle, as the freak t
ook him.He docked the crew's allowance but fed himself complacently on morethan full rations, proving this to be his due by discourse on theinnate superiority of Frenchmen over Canadians, Englishmen orIndians. He would sit by the hour bragging of his skill with thegun, his victories in love, his feats of strength--baring hischest, arms, legs, and inviting the company to admire his muscles.He jested from sunrise until sundown, and never made a jest that didnot hurt. Worst of all was it when he schooled le Chameau to singhis obscenities after him, line for line.

  "No, no, I beg you, monsieur," the little fellow would protest,"c'est--c'est sale!"--and would blush like a girl.

  "_Sale_, you dog? I'll teach you--" A blow would follow.M. Barboux was getting liberal with his blows. Once he struckMuskingon. Menehwehna growled ominously, and the growl seemed towarn not only Barboux but Muskingon, who for the moment had lookedmurderous.

  John guessed that some tie, if not of blood-relationship, at least ofstrong affection, bound the two Indians together.

  For himself, as soon as his wound allowed him to sit upright, whichit did on the second day--the bullet having glanced across his ribsand left but its ugly track in the thin flesh covering them--themonotony of the woods and the ceaseless glint of the water were adrug which he could summon at will and so withdraw himself within astupor untroubled by Barboux or his boastings. He suffered the man,but saw no necessity for heeding him.

  He had observed two or three hanks of fishing-line dangling from thethin strips of cedar which sheathed the canoe within, a little belowthe gunwale. They had hooks attached, and from the shape of thesehooks he judged them to belong to the Indians. He unhitched one ofthe lines, and more for the sake of killing time than for any setpurpose, began to construct a gaudy salmon-fly with a few frayedthreads of cloth from his tunic. After a minute or two he was awareof Muskingon watching him with interest, and by signs begged for afeather from the young Indian's top-knot. Muskingon drew one forthand, under instructions, plucked off a piece of fluff from the rootof the feather, a small quill or two, and handed them over. With alength of red silk drawn from his sash John, within half an hour, wasbending a very pretty fly on the hook. It did not in the leastresemble any winged creature upon earth; but it had a meretriciousair about it, and even a "killing" one when he finished up by bindingits body tight with an inch of gilt thread from his collar.Meanwhile, his ambition growing with success, he had cast his eyesabout, to alight on a long jointed cane which the canoe carried aspart of its appanage, to be lifted on cross-legs and serve as theridge of an awning on wet nights. It was cumbrous, but flexible insome small degree. Muskingon dragged it within reach, and satwatching while John whipped a loop to its end and ran the linethrough it.

  He had begun in pure idleness, but now the production of the rod haddrawn everyone's eyes. Barboux was watching him superciliously, andMenehwehna with grave attention, resting his paddle on his kneeswhile the canoe drifted. Fish had been leaping throughout theafternoon--salmon by the look of them. John knew something ofsalmon; he had played and landed many a fish out of the Dart aboveTotnes, and in his own river below Cleeve Court. The sun had droppedbehind the woods, the water was not too clear, and in short it lookeda likely hour for feeding. He lifted his clumsy rod in his righthand, steadied it with his injured left, and put all his skill intothe cast.

  As he cast, the weight of his rod almost overbalanced him: a dart ofpain came from his closing wound and he knew that he had been a fooland overtaxed his strength. But to his amazement a fish rose at onceand gulped the fly down. He tossed the rod across to Muskingon,calling to him to draw it inboard and sit quite still; and catchingthe line, tautened it and slackened it out slowly, feeling up to theloop in which (as was to be expected) it had kinked and was stickingfast.

  He had the line in both hands now, with Muskingon paying out theslack behind him; and if the hook held--the line had no gut--he feltconfident of his fish. By the feel of him he was a salmon--or ablack bass. John had heard of black bass and the sport they gave.A beauty, at any rate!

  Yes, he was a salmon. Giving on the line but never slackening it,though it cut his forefinger cruelly (his left being all but uselessto check the friction), John worked him to the top of the water andso, by little and little, to the side of the canoe. But his ownstrength was giving out, faster now than the salmon's. His wound hadparted; and as he clenched his teeth he felt the line fraying.The fish would have been lost had not Muskingon, almost withoutshaking the canoe, dropped overboard, dived under and clenched bothhands upon his struggles.

  It was Menehwehna who dragged the salmon across the gunwale; for Johnhad fainted. And when he recovered, Menehwehna was coolly guttingthe monster--if a fish of eighteen pounds can be called a monster; assurely he can when taken in such fashion.

  After this, John being out of action, Sergeant Barboux must take aturn with the rod. He did not (he protested) count on landing afish; but the hooking of one had been so ridiculously prompt and easythat it was hard to see how he could fail.

  But he did. He flogged the water till nightfall, confidently atfirst though clumsily, at length with the air of a Xerxes castingchains into the flood; but never a bite rewarded him. He gave overthe rod in a huff, but began again at dawn, to lay it down afteran hour and swear viciously. As he retired Muskingon took the pole;he had watched John's one and only cast and began to imitate itpatiently, while the sergeant jeered and the canoe drifted.Towards noon he felt a bite, struck, and missed; but half an hourlater he struck again and Menehwehna shouted and pointed as John'sfly was sucked under in a noble swirl of water. Muskingon draggedback his rod and stretched out a hand for the line; but Barboux hadalready run forward and clutched it, at the same moment roughlythrusting him down on his seat; and then in a moment the mischief wasdone. The line parted, and the sergeant floundered back with a lurchthat sent the canoe down to her gunwale.

  McQuarters laughed aloud and grimly. Menehwehna's dark eyes shone.Even John, though the lurch obliged him to fling out both hands tobalance the boat, and the sudden movement sent a dart of pain throughhis wound, could not hold back a smile. Barboux was furious.

  "Eh? So you are pleased to laugh at me, master Englishman!Wait then, and we'll see who laughs last. And you, dog of an Indian,at what are you rubbing your hands?"

  "Your exploit, O illustrious warrior," answered Menehwehna withgravity, "set me in mind of Manabozho; and when one thinks uponManabozho it is permitted and even customary to rub the hands."

  "Who the devil was Manabozho?"

  "He was a very Great One--even another such Great One as yourself.It was he who made the earth once on a time, by accident.And another time he went fishing."

  "Have a care, Menehwehna. I bid you beware if you are poking fun atme."

  "I am telling of Manabozho. He went fishing in the lake and let downa line. 'King Fish,' said he, 'take hold of my bait,' and he keptsaying this until the King Fish felt annoyed and said, 'ThisManabozho is a nuisance. Here, trout, take hold of his line.'The trout obeyed, and Manabozho shouted, 'Wa-i-he! Wa-i-he! I havehim!' while the canoe rocked to and fro. But when he saw the trouthe called, 'Esa, esa! Shame upon you, trout; I fish for yourbetters.' So the trout let go; and again Manabozho sank his line,saying, 'O King Fish, take hold of my bait.' 'I shall lose my tempersoon with this fellow,' said the King Fish; 'here, sunfish, take holdof his line.' The sunfish did so, and Manabozho's canoe spun roundand round; but when he saw what he had caught, he cried out,'Esa, esa! Shame upon you, sunfish; I am come for your betters.'So the sunfish let go, and again Manabozho--"

  "Joli amphigouri!" yawned the sergeant. "Pardon, M. Menehwehna, butthis story of yours seems likely to last."

  "Not so, O chief; for this time the King Fish took the bait andswallowed Manabozho, canoe and all."

  John laughed aloud; but enough sense remained in Barboux to cover hisirritation. "Well, that was the last of him, and the Lord bepraised!"

  "There is much more of the story," said Menehweh
na, "and all full ofinstruction."

  "We will postpone it, anyhow. Take up your paddle, if you have notforgotten how to work."

  So Menehwehna and the hunchback paddled anew, while the great Barbouxsat and sulked--a sufficiently childish figure. Night fell, thecanoe was brought to shore, and the Indians as usual lifted out thewounded men and laid them on beds of moss strewn with pine-boughs andcedar. While Menehwehna lit the camp-fire, Muskingon prepared John'ssalmon for supper, and began to grill it deftly as soon as the smokedied down on a pile of clear embers.

  John sleepily watched these preparations, and was fairly dozing whenhe heard Barboux announce with an oath that for his impudencethe dog of an Englishman should go without his share of the fish.The announcement scarcely awoke him--the revenge was so petty.Barboux in certain moods could be such a baby that John had ceased toregard him except as an object of silent mirth. So he smiled andanswered sweetly that Sergeant Barboux was entirely welcome; forhimself a scrap of biscuit would suffice. And with that he closedhis eyes again.

  But it seemed that, for some reason, the two Indians were angry, notto say outraged. By denying him his share Barboux had--no doubtignorantly--broken some sacred law in the etiquette of hunting.Muskingon growled; the firelight showed his lips drawn back, like adog's, from his white teeth. Menehwehna remonstrated. Even leChameau seemed to be perturbed.

  Barboux, however, did not understand; and as nobody would share inJohn's portion, ate it himself with relish amid an angry silence,which at length impressed him.

  "Eh? What the devil's wrong with you all?" he demanded, lookingabout him.

  Menehwehna broke into a queer growl, and began to rub his hands."Manabozho--" he began.

  "Fichtre! It appears we have not heard the end of him, then?"

  "It is usual," Menehwehna explained, "to rub one's hands at themention of Manabozho. In my tribe it is even necessary."

  "Farceur de Manabozho! the habit has not extended to mine," growledBarboux. "Is this the same story?"

  "O slayer of heads, it is an entirely different one." The sergeantwinced, and John cast himself back on his leafy bed to smile up atthe branches. _Tueur de tetes_ may be a high compliment from anIndian warrior, but a vocalist may be excused for looking twice atit.

  "This Manabozho," Menehwehna continued tranquilly, "was so big andstrong that he began to think himself everybody's master. One day hewalked in the forest, cuffing the ears of the pine-trees for sport,and knocking them flat if they took it ill; and at length he came ona clearing. In the clearing was a lodge, and in the lodge was no onebut a small child, curled up asleep with its toe in its mouth.Manabozho gazed at the child for a long while, and said he, 'I havenever seen anyone before who could lie with his toe in his mouth.But I can do it, to be sure.' Whereupon he lay down in much the sameposture as the child, and took his right foot in his hand. But itwould not reach by a long way. 'How stupid I am,' cried Manabozho,'when it was the left foot all the time!' So he tried the left foot,but this also would not reach. He rolled on his back, and twistedand bent himself, and strained and struggled until the tears ran downhis face. Then he sat up in despair; and behold! he had awakened thechild, and the child was laughing at him. 'Oh, oh!' cried Manabozhoin a passion, 'am I then to be mocked by a babe!' And with that hedrew a great breath and blew the child away over the mountains, andafterwards walked across and across the lodge, trampling it downuntil not a trace of it remained. 'After all,' said Manabozho,'I can do something. And I see nobody hereabouts to deny that I canput my toe in my mouth!'"

  As Menehwehna concluded, John waited for an explosion of wrath.None came. He raised his head after a minute and looked about him.Barboux sat smoking and staring into the camp-fire. The Indian hadlaid himself down to slumber, with his blanket drawn up to his ears.