The King's Warrant: A Story of Old and New France

by Alfred H. Engelbach

  CHAPTER III.

  No further incident worth notice occurred either during the remainderof the night or on the two following days. Thanks to Boulanger'sexperience and to the genial August weather, Isidore found none of theinconveniences he had anticipated in this impromptu journey, and sleptperhaps more soundly than he had ever done before during the long haltswhich they made in the heat of the day. On the third day, late in theafternoon, they approached the English settlement of which Boulangerhad spoken.

  They had reached the top of a small ridge that looked upon theclearings, the guide being perhaps a dozen yards in advance, when, justas Isidore came up to him, the Canadian turned, and grasping his arm,exclaimed, "The Indians! the Indians! Look! the Indians have beenthere and destroyed the place. Alas! would that this were all. I fearwe may hardly hope to find one soul alive."

  A single glance at the scene before them was sufficient to satisfyIsidore that his companion's supposition was only too well founded. Onthe extensive clearings spread out in the valley below he could plainlysee the remains of the half dozen homesteads, now either mere heaps ofruins, or at best with only some portion left standing, like blackenedmonuments serving to mark the spots where the bright hopes and joys ofthe once happy little community, nay, perhaps they themselves, layburied for ever.

  "Let us go down," said Boulanger, as soon as he recovered from thefirst shock, "let us go down; it is not so very long since this hashappened, surely they cannot all have perished--at least we may learnsomething as to how this came about, and if any yet survive." Theydescended the hill, and scarcely had the guide begun to cross the firsttract of cultivated ground when the mournful expression of his facechanged to one of curiosity and surprise.

  "Why, what is this?" exclaimed he, pointing to a dark object that layat a short distance from the spot. "A dead Huron, and in his warpaint! Yes--and there lies another. There has been a fight here notmany hours since, and the red skins have been worsted or we should notsee that sight, and yet the half dozen men belonging to the place couldhave been no match for them." Boulanger hurried forward, Isidorefollowing him, and they soon came to an open spot that had served as akind of village green, on which many articles of various kinds werestrewed about. "Look here, and here!" cried he, now seizing Isidore bythe arm and pointing first in one direction, then in another. Halfirritated at this familiarity, half bewildered by Boulanger's words,Isidore gazed about him; but the broken musket, the extinguishedcamp-fire, the rudely tied up bundle of spoils, such as none but a RedIndian would prize, were to him wholly without meaning. To add to hisperplexity, Boulanger, who had been scrutinising everything around themwith eager curiosity, suddenly quitted his side, and vaulting over afence, disappeared in the wood that skirted the clearing.

  "Hang the fellow!" muttered Isidore. "This is a little too bad. If heexpects me to follow him everywhere, he is mistaken. A pretty thing,truly, if I were to miss him and lose myself in this out-of-the-wayplace, I'll let him know that it is his business to attend to meinstead of running about to look after dead savages, or live Englishmeneither."

  The guide, however, soon reappeared, saying, as he rejoined hiscompanion, "There are red skins enough lying in the wood yonder. Theymust have been surprised here after a successful attack on some otherplace, and the people here have had little or no share in it, but havebeen helped by some much stronger force than they could muster. That'splain enough, at all events."

  "It may be all plain enough to you," replied Isidore. "As for me, Ican see there has been a fight between the white men and savages; butmore than that I cannot make out, and in truth I don't see that itmatters much to us, except that we are disappointed of our expectedquarters for the night."

  There was a look of anger not wholly unmixed with contempt on the faceof the Canadian as Isidore concluded these remarks.

  "Truly," said he, "I had forgotten, in my anxiety for the fate of manywho were no strangers to me, that monsieur may lose his supper and hisbed."

  The rebuke was not thrown away. Beneath all his aristocratic pride,and the selfishness that had grown upon him, Isidore still had a heartcapable of sympathy and compassion, and there was a nobleness in hisnature which at once compelled him to avow his error even to so humblea companion.

  "Forgive me, my friend," said he; "I have deserved your reproof. Come,let us at least see before we go further whether we can find in any ofthese ruined buildings something that may give us a clue to what hasbefallen your friends. As it is clear that the Englishmen had the bestof it, perhaps we may find that the people of this place have only goneelsewhere for temporary shelter."

  Boulanger was appeased in a moment; his was one of those raredispositions with which a little kindness outweighs more than a likeamount of harshness and injustice.

  "Enough! enough! monsieur," said he. "That is a good old Frenchproverb which says, 'A fault avowed is half pardoned,' though I thinkthat 'wholly pardoned' would be better still. Let us do as youpropose; afterwards we will continue our journey for a short league, soas to get away from this miserable scene, and then we will encamp forthe night."

  Keeping purposely away from that part of the settlement which had beenthe scene of the terrible tragedy, they crossed two or three of theclearings without coming upon anything worthy of notice, except thatthe buildings, and in many places the growing crops, had been wantonlydestroyed. At length they reached the homestead which had belonged toPritchard, Boulanger's relative. It was about half a mile from thespot where they had first come upon the settlement, and, perhaps owingto its somewhat remote position, had escaped better than the others,one-half of the house being almost uninjured. With a deep sighBoulanger pushed open the door, but immediately started back as a man,who had been sitting there with his face buried in his hands, rose uphastily and surveyed the intruders with surprise evidently notunmingled with fear. He was soon reassured on perceiving that one ofhis unexpected visitors was Boulanger, who on his part was not slow torecognise his brother-in-law.

  They soon learned from him that things had come to pass pretty much asBoulanger had surmised. A formidable body of Indians, numbering full ahundred warriors, had about a week previously crossed the St. Lawrenceand made an incursion into the New England territory. Fortunately thesettlers at Little Creek had been warned of their danger by ahalf-witted Indian orphan girl, on whom Pritchard had taken compassionsome time before, and who had become domesticated amongst them. Theyfled in haste, leaving everything behind them, and the Indians havingother objects in view did not turn aside to follow them; but afterravaging the place hurried on to attack a yet larger settlement,further from the border, whose inhabitants had thought themselves farremoved from any such inroad. The onslaught was as successful as itwas sudden. The men were for the most part absent; the settlement wassacked, the women and children were either killed or carried off asprisoners, after which the Indians turned back, and having againreached Little Creek encamped there and gave themselves up for the dayto celebrate their victory with their usual savage rites, and toindulge their greedy thirst for the fatal fire-water of their enemies.But the New Englanders had not been idly weeping over theirmisfortunes. Hastily collecting every man who could bear a musket,they followed up their retiring foes and came upon them in the midst oftheir drunken carouse. Burning with the desire of revenge, andinfuriated by their recent bereavement of all they held most dear, theyfell upon the almost unresisting Indians and massacred them to the lastman. Then they in their turn retreated to rebuild their ruinedhomesteads and mourn over the dead. Some stragglers of the party hadtold all this to the fugitives from Little Creek, and Pritchard hadventured back to the place to make sure and report to the rest whetherthe coast was really clear for them to come back again. Such was theborder warfare of those days.

  The travellers now abandoned their intention of going further thatnight, as Pritchard urgently pressed them not to leave him there alone,and Isidore indeed was hardly in a condition to continue the journey.The hous
e had not been plundered, so Pritchard was able to offer themwhat they needed in the way both of rest and refreshment. When theirfrugal meal was over it was arranged that each of them should keepwatch in turn. There was indeed no likelihood that any one would comenear the spot, or that they would be molested in any way, neverthelessthere was something in the awful solitude of the place that seemed tocreate a feeling of insecurity. The first watch fell to Pritchard'slot, and Boulanger took the second. Isidore thought he had only justdozed off when the guide awoke him, and told him that it was his turn.

  "Why, it is still daylight," said he, rubbing his eyes, "unlessindeed---- You do not mean to say it is morning?" he added, halfvexed, as the thought arose in his mind that the Canadian hadcompassionately allowed him to sleep on beyond this time.

  "Monsieur is less used to the forest than we are," replied Boulanger,good-humouredly. "I had one spell of sleep to begin with, and anotherhour's rest will set me up for a week to come." So saying he stoppedall further discussion by stretching himself on the floor, andapparently dropping off at once.

  Isidore rose and went out; then, seating himself on a great stump thatstood near the door, he gazed out upon the still and desolatelandscape, which was just distinguishable in the first grey light ofmorning. He had become absorbed in a reverie on the events that hadbrought him into so strange a locality when he felt his arm lightlytouched, and, looking round, beheld, to his great astonishment, a youngIndian girl standing by his side. His first impulse was to start upand give the alarm to his companions; then came a feeling of shame atsuch an idea as he scanned the girl's face, from which one might havesupposed her to be twelve or thirteen years old at most, although,judging from her stature and figure, she was probably some years older.There was, however, a strangely forlorn expression on her features thatwent to Isidore's heart as he looked at her. Perhaps she noticed theimpression she had made upon him, for she again laid her hand upon hisarm, saying, timidly, "The pale faces are very wise. Can the youngwarrior tell Amoahmeh where _they_ are?"

  This was much too mysterious for Isidore; in fact, it suggested to himat once all sorts of Indian wiles and stratagems. What if there was awhole tribe of red men in the next cover! Without more ado he calledto Boulanger and Pritchard, who instantly came rushing out of thebuilding rifle in hand.

  "Hola! what have we here?" exclaimed Boulanger, looking round as ifthe Indian girl had suggested to him the same possibility of an Indianattack as had occurred to Isidore.

  "Oh, 'tis only Amoahmeh," said Pritchard, quietly, as he recognised thecause of their alarm. "It is all right; she is the half-witted Indiangirl--if she has any wits at all--of whom I was telling you. I fancysome of the red skins with whom her tribe were at war butchered all herfamily in bygone days, and she is always bothering one to tell herwhere _they_ are--I suppose she means her kith and kin. I always tellher that it is of no use asking what has become of a lot of heathenslike them."

  "But," said Isidore, rather interested in the poor girl, "how was itshe escaped when all her friends were killed?"

  "Well," replied Pritchard; "perhaps she became crazy then, and wasspared on that account. The red skins are queer folk, and never harmcrazy people. For that matter, they might teach a lesson to some thatcall themselves Christians. They seem to think idiots somethingsupernatural, and call them 'Great Medicine.'"

  "Yes, that's true enough," said Boulanger; "I suppose the child has hadwit enough to keep out of the way of those New Englanders, and has beenhiding about in the woods during all this business. Well, if that isall, we may as well turn in again. Monsieur need have no fears," addedhe, addressing Isidore; "the best way is to take no notice of her. Atall events, if she does skulk about, she is more likely to warn us ofany danger than to bring it upon us." With these words the guide,followed by Pritchard, again entered the house, leaving Isidore alonewith Amoahmeh.

  During this little interlude the girl had eagerly watched each speakerin turn, apparently trying to follow what was said. It was but tooevident, however, that all was a blank to her except an occasionalword, at which her face would once and again lighten up withintelligence. Isidore could not help being touched by her desolatecondition, and when Pritchard and the guide had left them, he turnedtowards her to bestow on her a few kindly words, but Amoahmeh hadtimidly retreated to a little distance and had seated herself at thefoot of a tree, apparently absorbed in conning over what had passed.

  Let us be as tender-hearted and compassionate as we may, a pain in ourlittle finger must still come home to us more than another's loss of alimb, at least, if there is no special link between us. Isidore's pityfor the half-witted girl was presently lost sight of in what had firstbeen only the inconvenience, but had latterly become the positivesuffering inflicted on him by those unfortunate boots of his. Pridealone had restrained him from hinting at this to Boulanger during thelatter part of the day's march; but he now began to have somemisgivings as to whether he might not become wholly incapacitated fromproceeding further unless he put his pride in his pocket and adoptedthe suggestions of his guide. Here was, however, a chance of temporaryrelief at least, as he was likely to be unmolested for a couple ofhours, so he proceeded at once to divest himself of the said boots, abusiness that was not effected without much pain and exertion, and anunmistakable aggravation of the mischief. He was just debating withhimself on the advisability of bathing his swollen ankles in a temptingstream that rippled along only a few yards off, when he was surprisedto find Amoahmeh--who had been watching his proceedings with aninterest of which he was wholly unconscious--kneeling before him,evidently intent on applying to the inflamed and aching joints aquantity of large green leaves which she had just gathered for thepurpose.

  There are probably few amongst us who have not, at one time or another,experienced that ineffably exquisite sensation caused by the suddencessation of intense and wearing pain. For a minute or two Isidorecould, only look down complacently on his ministering angel, givingforth more than one deep and long drawn sigh of relief; then naturallyenough pity for her once more awoke within him, and he exclaimed, "Poorchild! now this is very thoughtful of you. Really one must admit thatthere are some things in which even a mere savage has the advantage ofus. Yes," he added thoughtfully, "I wish I could do something tolighten your troubles and hardships."

  The girl looked up in his face. His words had fallen dead, but thetone in which they were spoken reached her heart.

  "You can tell me where they are," she said softly, but very earnestly.

  "Where they are," repeated Isidore. "Ah, well. Do you mean yourfather or your kindred?"

  "Tsawanhonhi is in the happy hunting grounds--Amoahmeh knows that,"answered the girl, quietly yet firmly. "Yes, and Wacontah is withhim--I know that too. But--but the little ones, Tanondah and Tsarahes,my brothers--where are they? Oh! who will tell me where they are?"

  Isidore was silent. "I suppose," thought he, "these must be the littleones that she has loved and lost; Pritchard said something of herfriends having been all killed."

  He looked at her sorrowfully, for the eager, inquiring face troubledhim, he scarce knew why.

  "The pale faces know what the Great Spirit says about all things. Willthe young brave hide this from poor Amoahmeh?" said she with a yet morewistful look.

  "Now what is this fellow Pritchard," said Isidore to himself, "or whatam I, ay, or what is even Monseigneur the Archbishop for that matter,that we should take upon ourselves to say what a loving Father in Hiswisdom may choose to do with these red skins after they leave thisworld?"

  "My good girl," he blurted out, after a short pause, "the Great Spirithas taken your little brothers, and keeps them safe enough in a placethat He has made on purpose for them. The Great Spirit is a goodSpirit, and you may be quite sure that He would not hurt your littlebrothers. You have found trouble and sorrow enough already in thisworld to enable you to believe that the poor little fellows may be allthe better for being taken out of it."

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p; "Ah, yes!" replied Amoahmeh, looking gratefully up in the youngsoldier's face, "I was sure the pale face knew where they were. But,"she added earnestly, "can he tell me whether I shall see them again?"

  "See them again!" rejoined Isidore, apparently somewhat puzzled for themoment. "Ah, well, I don't know why you should not. I think," hemuttered, "I may go as far as that, though she is but a heathen. Atall events it will be some comfort to the poor thing."

  It did comfort her indeed. Perhaps she only understood it verypartially, but the one absorbing uncertainty that had troubled her wascleared away. She took Isidore's hand and kissed it; no tears fellupon it--perhaps it would have been well with her could she have wept.Then she arose, and before he could call to her, she had disappeared.

  With a pleasant sense of relief from bodily suffering, and with a mindnot particularly pre-occupied by any anxiety, Isidore passed theremainder of his watch in recollections now of the courtly assemblagesat Versailles, now of the voyage out to New France, now of the assaultat Oswego, as the current of his ideas was swept hither and thither bysome casual link of association, and he was only aroused from hismeditations by the appearance of the guide, who came to warn him thatbreakfast was ready within, and that they would have to start in aquarter of an hour so as to make good way daring the cool of themorning.

  As Boulanger said this his eyes lighted on the green bandages thatstill enveloped Isidore's ankles. The facts were of course soon told,and Boulanger was loud in his praises of the girl's thoughtfulness,though he did not disguise his fears that the resumption of the bootsand a day's march in them would be a serious matter. At this junctureAmoahmeh once more made her appearance, bringing with her a pair ofIndian moccasins, with leggings to match, on the manufacture of whichout of materials found in one of the deserted dwellings she had beenbusily employed since her interview with the young soldier. Great wasBoulanger's delight, while Isidore on donning the new made, and by nomeans unornamental moccasins, declared that nothing could be morecomfortable, and that he felt able to accomplish any journey that theguide might think fit to lay out for the day. He would have expressedhis thanks to the girl, and indeed he would have made her a handsomepresent, and bestowed on her a kind word at parting, but she wasnowhere to be seen. The morning meal did not occupy much time, andafter taking leave of Pritchard, Isidore and the guide set out on theirday's march.

  Tailpiece to Chapter III]

  Headpiece to Chapter IV]