Part 41 (1/2)

Would my men be loyal? Then the signal,--it had been hastily agreed upon,--would they understand it? I had to push myself around like a dead body to face what I might find.

For a moment I thought that I had found nothing. But I looked again, and saw that my eyes had been made blank by fear. For my men were ma.s.sed to east and west. They pressed nearer and nearer, and the moon picked out points of light that marked knives and arquebuses. Some wore uniforms, and some were naked and vermilion-dyed, but all were watching me. I could not see their eyes, but I was conscious of them.

I pointed the chiefs to the prospect. ”You see. I have only to whistle, and we shall settle this question of who is master here.

Seize me, and I shall whistle. But I shall do nothing till you move first. If we are to have war, you must begin it. Are you ready?”

Silence followed. It was a hard silence to me to get through calmly, for I knew that my men were not so numerous as they appeared, and I feared to be taken at my word. Pemaou glided up and spoke to his father. I had not seen him since the night in the Seneca camp, and I argued with myself to keep my head cool so that I should not spring on him. His body was blackened with charcoal, and he wore a girdle of otter skin with the body of a crow hanging from it. I had sometimes been called the crow because of my many tongues, and I understood his meaning. But I could only stand waiting, and the moments went on and on.

It was a small thing that determined the issue. In the distance Pierre began to whistle,--Pierre, the bridegroom of the morrow, the merry bully of the night. He had a whistle in keeping with his breadth of shoulder, and he used it like a mating c.o.c.k. He whistled my tune, the signal. It was not accident, I think, neither was it design. It was his unconscious, blundering black art, his intuition that was witchcraft.

The Baron drew himself up. He put out a protesting hand, and his dignity of gesture would have shamed an Israelitish patriarch.

”We called our brother to council. What does our brother mean? He is moon-mad when he talks of war in the house of his friends, the Hurons.”

I yawned in his face. ”You called me to council? But the council is to-morrow night. The commandant calls it. Save your fair words for him.”

I turned on my heel to leave, but the Baron held me. He eyed me above his blanket.

”My brother has been called the man who steals the Indian's heart from his body,” he purred at me. ”He has stolen mine. The commandant is a fool; I cannot talk to him. But to you, my brother, I can open my heart. Come with me to my lodge and listen. You shall be safe. In token of my love I give you this calumet,” and he took his great feathered pipe--the pipe that means honor to the lowest of savages--and would have thrust it in my hands.

I was too nonplussed to remember to laugh. An offer to buy me, and from the Indian who hated me most! They must indeed be afraid of me,--and with what little cause. Where had my reputation come? I knew my own weakness. Well, I must play on my fame while it lasted. So, without deigning to answer, I turned away. My troops hedged me like a wall as I went back to the French camp, but I did not speak to them.

It was strange to see them melt before me. I did not wonder that the Hurons smelled witchcraft where, in fact, there was only bl.u.s.ter and a pleading tongue.

I stood for a moment and looked at the garrison. The moon had crept high and the place was very still. We were safe for the night. I lit my pipe, and the smoke that spiraled above me did not seem more filmy than the chance that had saved us. I suddenly s.h.i.+vered. But we were safe. I gave the troops the signal to disband.

I stopped for a moment at Cadillac's door. ”Sleep well,” I said, with my hand on his; ”we have bridged to-night. Now for the council tomorrow.”

CHAPTER XXVII

IN COUNCIL

The next morning showed the face of War without her mask. The Indians sat in open council, and the tom-toms sounded from lodge to lodge. In the Huron camp there were council rings of the women; it was a tribal crisis and was met by a frenzy of speech-making. As a rival interest Singing Arrow's wedding made little stir.

I went to the wedding and saw Pierre the savage transformed into Pierre the citizen, the yoke-bearer. I feared the transformation was not final. Yet I could never read my giant. There were unexpected ridges of principle in the general slough of his makeup and perhaps the Indian girl was resting on one of them.

The woman came to the wedding, Starling with her. I bowed to them both, but I would do no more, for the Indians were watching. The woman looked pale and grave. I had seen her angry and I had seen her despairing, but I had never before seen her dispirited. She looked so now.

And then came the general council with Cadillac in the chair. It was held in a barrack room and the tribes had forty chiefs in waiting.

There were Ottawas, Hurons, and the party of Senecas. Feathered and painted, they were as expressionless as the stone calumets in their hands; by contrast, our French faces were childishly open and expressive.

Cadillac looked them over and began his speech. Commonly his tongue ran trippingly, but with the opening words his speech halted. I knew he was moved. With all his volubility the man took responsibility heavily, and these strange bronze men with their cruel eyes and impa.s.sive faces were his wards. He spoke in French, and I translated first to the Hurons, then to the Ottawas. He called the tribes to aid him in brightening the covenant chain, and his rhetoric mounted with his theme till I felt my blood heat with admiration for him. He concluded with a plea for loyalty, and he gave each nation a belt to bind his words.

And then the chiefs rose in reply. The Hurons spoke first, and though they hedged their meaning by look and word I could feel the sentiment swaying toward our side. They brought up many minor points and gave belts in confirmation. Kondiaronk's clan were openly friendly, openly touched by Cadillac's speech, and when one of the Baron's band took the cue and gave a wampum necklace, ”to deter the French brothers from unkind thoughts,” I felt that the worst of the day was over, and welcomed the Ottawa speakers with a relaxation of the tension that had held me, for I had been upon the rack. Mind and ear had been taxed to miss no word or intonation, for a slighted syllable might lose our cause. The speeches had droned like flies at midday, but all the verbiage had been heavy with significance. I spoke French, Huron, and Ottawa in turn, and through it all I listened, listened for the opening of the door.

For Cadillac had told me that Madame de Montlivet had asked if she might come in for a moment and listen to the council, and he had referred the matter to me. It had seemed a strange request, but I could see no reason for refusing it. The woman had seen Indians in camp and field; it was perhaps no wonder that she wished to see the machinery of their politics. It was agreed that Dubisson should bring her in for a short time.

Yet when she did come in I could not look at her. Longuant had just finished speaking, and I had all my mind could handle to do him justice as I wished. He spoke as the moderate leader who desired that his people leave the hatchet unlifted if they could do so with safety. He gave a robe stained with red to show that his people remembered the French who had died for them.