Part 28 (1/2)

”Whom do you make them out to be, Ramsay?” he called. ”Is not yon Le Borgne?”

I looked to the Indians. Le Borgne it was, thin and straight, like a mast-pole through mist, in conference with another man--a man with a beard, a man who was no Indian.

”Sir!” I shouted back. ”Those are the inland pirates. They are leading the Indians against Ben Gillam, and not against us at all.”

At that M. Radisson extends a handkerchief on the end of his sword as flag of truce, and the bearded man waves back. Down from the wall jumps M. Radisson, running forward fearlessly where Indians lay wounded, and waving for the enemy to come. But the two only waved back in friendly fas.h.i.+on, wheeled their forces off, and disappeared through the frost.

”Those were Ben Gillam's cut-throats trying to do for him! When they saw us on the walls, they knew their mistake,” says M. de Radisson as he re-entered the gate. ”There's only one way to find those pirates out, Ramsay. Nurse these wounded Indians back to life, visit the tribe, and watch! After Chouart's re-enforcements come, I'll send you and Jack Battle, with G.o.defroy for interpreter!”

To Governor Brigdar and his four refugees M. de Radisson was all courtesy.

”And how comes Your Excellency to be out so late with ten men?” he asked, as we supped that night.

”We heard that you were here. We were coming to visit you,” stammered Governor Brigdar, growing red.

”Then let us make you so welcome that you will not hasten away! Here, Jack Battle, here, fellow, stack these gentlemen's swords and pistols where they'll come to no harm! Ah! No? But I must relieve you, gentlemen! Your coming was a miracle. I thank you for it. It has saved us much trouble. A pledge to the pleasure--and the length--of your stay, gentlemen,” and they stand to the toast, M. de Radisson smiling at the lights in his wine.

But we all knew very well what such welcome meant. 'Twas Radisson's humour to play the host that night, but the runaway lieutenant was a prisoner in our guard-house.

CHAPTER XVI

WE SEEK THE INLANDERS

In the matter of fighting, I find small difference between white-men and red. Let the l.u.s.t of conquest but burn, the justice of the quarrel receives small thought. Your fire-eating prophet cares little for the right of the cause, provided the fighter come out conqueror; and many a poet praises only that right which is might over-trampling weakness. I have heard the withered hag of an Indian camp chant as spirited war-song as your minstrels of butchery; but the strange thing of it is, that the people, who have taken the sword in a wantonness of conquest, are the races that have been swept from the face of the earth like dead leaves before the winter blast; but the people, who have held immutably by the power of right, which our Lord Christ set up, the meek and the peace-makers and the children of G.o.d, these are they that inherit the earth.

Where are the tribes with whom G.o.defroy and Jack Battle and I wandered in nomadic life over the northern wastes? Buried in oblivion black as night, but for the lurid memories flashed down to you of later generations. Where are the Puritan folk, with their cast-iron, narrow creeds d.a.m.ning all creation but themselves, with their foibles of snivelling to attest sanct.i.ty, with such a wolfish zeal to hound down devils that they hounded innocents for witchcraft? Spreading over the face of the New World, making the desert to bloom and the waste places fruitful gardens? And the reason for it all is simply this: Your butchering Indian, like your swas.h.i.+ng cavalier, founded his _right_ upon _might_; your Puritan, grim but faithful, to the outermost bounds of his tragic errors, founded his _might_ upon _right_.

We learn our hardest lessons from unlikeliest masters. This one came to me from the Indians of the blood-dyed northern snows.

”Don't show your faces till you have something to report about those pirates, who led the Indians,” was M. Radisson's last command, as we sallied from the New Englanders' fort with a firing of cannon and beating of drums.

G.o.defroy, the trader, muttered under his breath that M. Radisson need never fear eternal torment.

”Why?” I asked.

”Because, if he goes _there_,” answered G.o.defroy, ”he'll get the better o' the Nick.”

I think the fellow was smarting from recent punishment. He and Allemand, the drunken pilot, had been draining gin kegs on the sly and replacing what they took with snow water. That last morning at prayers G.o.defroy, who was half-seas over, must yelp out a loud ”Amen” in the wrong place. Without rising from his knees, or as much as changing his tone, M. de Radisson brought the drunken knave such a cuff it flattened him to the floor.

Then prayers went on as before.

The Indians, whom we had nursed of their wounds, were to lead us to the tribe, one only being held by M. Radisson as hostage for safe conduct.

In my mind, that trust to the Indians' honour was the single mistake M.

Radisson made in the winter's campaign. In the first place, the Indian has no honour. Why should he have, when his only standard of right is conquest? In the second place, kindness is regarded as weakness by the Indian. Why should it not be, when his only G.o.d is victory? In the third place, the l.u.s.t of blood, to kill, to butcher, to mutilate, still surged as hot in their veins as on the night when they had attempted to scale our walls. And again I ask why not, when the law of their life was to kill or to be killed? These questions I put to you because life put them to me. At the time my father died, the gentlemen of King Charles's court were already affecting that refinement of philosophy which justifies despotism. From justifying despotism, 'twas but a step to justifying the wicked acts of tyranny; and from that, but another step to thrusting G.o.d's laws aside as too obsolete for our clever courtiers. ”Give your unbroken colt tether enough to pull itself up with one sharp fall,” M. Radisson used to say, ”and it will never run to the end of its line again.”

The mind of Europe spun the tissue of foolish philosophy. The savage of the wilderness went the full tether; and I leave you to judge whether the _might_ that is _right_ or the _right_ that is _might_ be the better creed for a people.

But I do not mean to imply that M. Radisson did not understand the savages better than any man of us in the fort. He risked three men as p.a.w.ns in the game he was playing for mastery of the fur trade.