Road to Frontenac

Samuel Merwin

Description

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Captain Daniel Menard leaned against the parapet at the outer edge of the citadel balcony. The sun was high, the air clear and still. Beneath him, at the foot of the cliff, nestled the Lower Town, a strip of shops and houses, hemmed in by the palisades and the lower battery. The St. Lawrence flowed by, hardly stirred by the light breeze. Out in the channel, beyond the merchantmen, lay three ships of war, Le Fourgon, Le Profond, and La Perle, each with a cluster of supply boats at her side; and the stir and rattle of tackle and chain coming faintly over the water from Le Fourgon told that she would sail for France on the morrow, if God should choose to send the wind.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819915720
• Langue: English

Extrait

CHAPTER I
CAPTAIN MENARD HAS A LAZY DAY.
Captain Daniel Menard leaned against the parapet atthe outer edge of the citadel balcony. The sun was high, the airclear and still. Beneath him, at the foot of the cliff, nestled theLower Town, a strip of shops and houses, hemmed in by the palisadesand the lower battery. The St. Lawrence flowed by, hardly stirredby the light breeze. Out in the channel, beyond the merchantmen,lay three ships of war, Le Fourgon , Le Profond , and La Perle , each with a cluster of supply boats at her side;and the stir and rattle of tackle and chain coming faintly over thewater from Le Fourgon told that she would sail for France onthe morrow, if God should choose to send the wind.
Looking almost straight down, Menard could see thelong flight of steps that climbed from the settlement on the waterfront to the nobler city on the heights. Halfway down the steps wasa double file of Indians, chained two and two, and guarded by adozen regulars from his own company. He watched them until theyreached the bottom and disappeared behind the row of buildings thatended on the wharf in Patron's trading store. In a moment theyreappeared, and marched across the wharf, toward the two boats from Le Fourgon that awaited them. Even from the height, Menardcould see that the soldiers had a stiff task to control theirprisoners. After one of the boats, laden deep, had shoved off,there was a struggle, and the crowd of idlers that had gatheredscattered suddenly. Two Indians had broken away, and were runningacross the wharf, with a little knot of soldiers close on theirheels. One of the soldiers, leaping forward, brought the stock ofhis musket down on the head of the nearer Indian. The fugitive wentdown, dragging with him his companion, who tugged desperately atthe chain. A soldier drew his knife, and cut off the dead Indian'sarm close to the iron wristlet, breaking the bone with his foot.Then they led back the captive and tumbled him into the boat, withthe hand of his comrade dangling at the end of the chain. Theincident had excited the soldiers, and they kicked and pounded theprisoners. A crowd gathered about the body on the wharf, the bolderones snatching at his beads and wampum belt.
Menard raised his eyes to the lands across the riverand to the white cloud-puffs above. After months of camp and canoe,sleeping in snow and rain, and by day paddling, poling, and wading,– never a new face among the grumbling soldiers or the stolidprisoners, – after this, Quebec stood for luxury and the pleasantdemoralization of good living. He liked the noise of passing feet,the hail of goodwill from door to door, the plodding shopkeepersand artisans, the comfortable priests in brown and gray.
The sound of oars brought his eyes again to theriver. The two boats with their loads of redskins were passing themerchantmen that lay between the men-of-war and the city. On thewharf, awaiting a second trip, was a huddled group of prisoners.Menard's face clouded as he watched them. Men of his experiencewere wondering what effect this new plan of the Governor's wouldhave upon the Iroquois. Capturing a hunting party by treachery andshipping them off to the King's galleys was a bold stroke, – toobold, perhaps. Governor Frontenac would never have done this; heknew the Iroquois temper too well. Governor la Barre, for all hisbluster, would not have dared. It was certain that this newgovernor, Denonville, was not a coward; but as Menard reflected,going back over his own fifteen years of frontier life, he knewthat this policy of brute force would be sorely tested by the tactand intrigue of the Five Nations. His own part in the capturelittle disturbed him. He had obeyed orders. He had brought the bandto the citadel at Quebec without losing a man (saving the poordevil who had strangled himself with his own thongs at LaGallette).
To such men as Menard, whose lives were wovenclosely into the fabric of New France, the present condition wasclear. Many an evening he had spent with Major d'Orvilliers, atFort Frontenac, in talking over the recent years of history intowhich their two names and their two lives had gone so deeply. Untilhis recall to France in 1682, Governor Frontenac had been for tenyears building up in the Iroquois heart a fear and awe of Onontio,the Great Father, at Quebec. D'Orvilliers knew that period thebetter, for Menard had not come over (from the little town of hisbirth, in Picardy) until Frontenac's policy was well established.But Menard had lived hard and rapidly during his first years in theprovince, and he was a stern-faced young soldier when he stood onthe wharf, hat in hand and sword to chin, watching New France'sgreatest governor sitting erect in the boat that bore him away fromhis own. Menard had been initiated by a long captivity among theOnondagas, and had won his first commission by gallant action underthe Governor's eye.
In those days no insult went unpunished; no tribefailed twice in its obligations. The circle of French influence wasfirmly extended around the haunts of the Iroquois in New York andalong the Ohio. From Frontenac, on Lake Ontario, north to Hudson'sBay, was French land. To the westward, along the Ottawa River, andskirting the north shore of Lake Huron to Michillimackinac andGreen Bay, were the strong French allies, the Hurons, Ottawas,Nipissings, Kiskagons, Sacs, Foxes, and Mascoutins. Down at thelower end of Lake Michigan, at the Chicagou and St. Josephportages, were the Miamis; and farther still, the Illinois, whomthe Sieur de la Salle and Henri de Tonty had drawn close under thearm of New France.
This chain of allies, with Du Luth's fort at Detroitand a partial control over Niagara, had given New France nearly allthe fur trade of the Great Lakes. The English Governor Dongan, ofNew York, dared not to fight openly for it, but he armed theIroquois and set them against the French. Menard had laughed whenthe word came, in 1684, from Father de Lamberville, whose influenceworked so far toward keeping the Iroquois quiet, that Dongan hadpompously set up the arms of his king in each Iroquois village,even dating them back a year to make his claim the more secure.Every old soldier knew that more than decrees and coats of armswere needed to win the Five Nations.
When La Barre succeeded Frontenac, lacking the tactand firmness which had established Frontenac's name among foes andallies alike, he fell back upon bluster (to say nothing of thecommon talk in Quebec that he had set out to build up his privatefortune by the fur trade). Learning that, by his grant of FortFrontenac, La Salle was entitled to a third of the trade thatpassed through it, he seized the fort. He weakened La Salle'scommunications so greatly that La Salle and Tonty could not makegood their promises of French protection to the Illinois. This madeit possible for the Iroquois, unhindered, to lay waste the Illinoiscountry. By equally shortsighted methods, La Barre so weakened theties that bound the northern allies, and so increased the arroganceof the Iroquois, that when Governor Denonville took up the task,most of the allies, always looking to the stronger party, were onthe point of going over to the Iroquois. This would give the furtrade to the English, and ruin New France. Governor Dongan seizedthe moment to promise better bargains for the peltry than theFrench could offer. It remained for the new governor to make ademonstration which would establish firmly the drooping prestige ofNew France.
Now the spring of 1687 was just ending. SinceFebruary it had been spread abroad, from the gulf seignories toFort Frontenac, that preparations were making for a great campaignagainst the Iroquois. Champigny, the new Intendant, had scoured thecountry for supplies, and now was building bateaux and buyingcanoes. Regulars and militia were drilling into the semblance of anarmy, and palisades and defences were everywhere built orstrengthened, that the home guard might keep the province secureduring the long absence of the troops. Menard wondered, as hesnapped bits of stone off the parapet, and watched the lastboatload of galley slaves embarking at the wharf, whether theGovernor's plans would carry. He would undoubtedly act withprecision, he would follow every detail of campaigning to thedelight of the tacticians, he would make a great splash, – andthen? How about the wily chiefs of the Senecas and Onondagas andMohawks? They had hoodwinked La Barre into signing the meanesttreaty that ever disgraced New France. Would Denonville, too, blindhimself to the truth that shrewd minds may work behind paintedfaces?
But above all else, Menard was a soldier. He snappedanother bit of stone, and gave up the problem. He would fight atthe Governor's orders, retreat at the Governor's command, – to theGovernor would belong the credit or the blame. Of only one thingwas he sure, – his own half hundred men should fight as they hadalways fought, and should hold their posts to the end. There endedhis responsibility. And did not the good Fathers say that God waswatching over New France?
Meantime the breath of summer was in the air. Thespring campaign was over for Menard. So he rested both elbows onthe parapet, and wondered how long the leaves had been out inPicardy. Over beyond the ships and the river were waves of thenewest green, instead of the deep, rich colour and the bloom offull life he had left behind at Fort Frontenac but two weeks back.The long journey down the St. Lawrence had seemed almost a descentinto winter. On the way to Quebec every day and every league hadbrought fewer blossoms. Even Montreal, sixty leagues to the south,had her summer before Quebec.
On the wharf below him the crowd were still pluckingthe dead Indian. Menard could hear their laughter and shouts. Theirfigures were small in the distance, their actions grotesque. Oneman was dancing, brandishing some part of the Indian's costume.Menard could not distinguish the object in his hand. A priestcrossed