Читать книгу Montlivet - Alice Prescott Smith - Страница 12

I found Cadillac in his private room at the fort, and said to myself that he looked like a man stripped for running. Not that his apparel had altered since I had met him swaggering upon the beach the day before, but his bearing had changed. He had dropped superfluities, and was hardened and sinewed for action.

I expected him to rate me for my tardiness in reporting my interview with the Englishman, but, instead, he greeted me with so much eagerness that I saw that some of my news must have run before.

"What do you know?" I cried.

He looked at the crowd swarming outside the window. "That we are in a hornets' nest," he said, with a wry smile. "But never mind that now. We must talk rapidly. I have been waiting for you. I could not act till I learned what you had done."

I bowed my regrets. "I was delayed. I saw the Englishman, and"——

He cut me short. "Never mind the Englishman," he cried, with a wave of his impatient hand. "Tell me of the Ottawa camp. You have been there an hour. I hear that you danced where they danced, and shared dog-meat and jest alike. In faith, Montlivet, I have a good will to keep you here in irons if I can do it in no gentler way. But what did Longuant say at the council fire?"

I made sure that we were alone, and dropped into a chair. My muscles were complaining, yet I knew that I had but begun my day's work. "It was a long council," I said, "and all the old men were there. Longuant was leader, but he was but one of many. The Ottawas are much stirred."

"About the prisoner?"

I shook my head. "The prisoner is the excuse—the touchstone. The real matter goes deep. You have not blinded these people. They know that England and France are at war, but they know, too, that peace may be declared any day. They know that the Baron has made an underground treaty with the English and the Iroquois, and they realize that the Iroquois may attack this place at any time with half the band of Hurons at their back. They have no illusions as to what such an attack would mean. They know that the French would make terms and be spared, but that the Ottawas and the loyal Hurons would be butchered. They are far-sighted."

Cadillac nodded heavily. "So they think that we would desert them, and hand them over to the Iroquois? We must reassure them."

I rapped on the table. "We did desert them once," I reminded him. "They know how we abandoned the refugee Hurons at Quebec, and they hold our word lightly. It shames us to say this, but we must see matters as they are. No, the Ottawas do not trust us, but they trust the English less. It is a choice of evils. But they are shrewd enough to see that their greatest peril lies in a truce between ourselves and the English. Then they would indeed be between two stools. Now, they see that there are two paths open."

Cadillac was breathing heavily. "You mean"—he asked.

I spoke slowly. "I mean," I said, "that they must either go over to the

English themselves, or succeed in embroiling us with the English."

"And they chose?"

"They did not choose. They temporized. They see the advantages of a union with the English. A better beaver market, and plenty of brandy. It goes hard with them that we are frugal with our muskets, while the English keep the Iroquois well armed. Longuant says, and justly, that it is difficult to kill men with clubs. On the other hand they like us, and find the English abhorrent. So they have virtually agreed to leave the casting vote with you. They will come after sundown and demand that the prisoner be given them for torture. If you agree, they will feel that you have declared your position against the English; if you refuse"—— I broke off, and leaned back in the chair. I had not realized, till my own voice stated it, how black a case we had in hand.

We sat in silence for a time. Cadillac scowled and beat his palm upon his knee as a flail beats grain, and I knew he needed no words of mine. I thought that he was going over his defenses in his mind, and I began to calculate how many rounds of shot I had in my canoes, and to hope that my men would not prove cravens. I knew, without argument with myself, that the beaver lands did not need me half as much as I was needed here.

At length Cadillac looked up. "Do you think the prisoner is a spy?" he asked.

I had dreaded this question. "I am afraid so, but judge of him yourself.

He speaks French."

Cadillac half rose. "He speaks French? Yet he is an Englishman?"

I nodded. "Undoubtedly an Englishman."

"And you made nothing of him?"

I could only shake my head. "Nothing. He tells the story that I should tell if I were lying—yet he may be telling the truth. He is a bundle of inconsistencies; that may be nature or art. He may be a hot-headed youth, who knows nothing beyond his own bitterness over his capture, or he may be a clever actor. I do not know."

Cadillac gave a long breath that was near a sigh. "Poor soul!" he said unexpectedly. "Well, spy or otherwise, it matters little for the few hours remaining."

I caught his arm across the table. "Cadillac!" I cried, with an oath.

"You would not do that!"

He shook off my hand, and looked at me with more regret than anger. "I am the rat in the trap," he said simply. "What did you expect me to do?"

I rose. "Do you mean," I cried, my voice rasping, "that you will not attempt a defense? that you will hand a man, a white man, over to those fiends of hell? Good God, man, you are worse than the Iroquois!"

He came over, and seized my arm. "I could run you through for that speech," he said, his teeth grating. "Are you a child, that you cannot look beyond the moment? Suppose I defy the Ottawas. Then I must call on the Baron to help me, since it was his men who brought the prisoner to camp. Why, man, are you crazed? Look at the situation. Kondiaronk, the Huron, will reason as the Ottawas have done, and throw his forces on their side. I should be left with only the Baron to back me—the Baron, who has been whetting his knife for my throat for the last year. Why, this is what he wants; this is why he brought the prisoner here! Would you have me walk into his trap? Would you have me sacrifice my men, this garrison, why, this country even, to save the life of one puny Englishman, who is probably himself a spy?" He stopped a moment. "Why, man, you sicken me!" he cried, and he slashed at me with his sword as if I were a reptile.

I took my own sword, and laid it on the table. "I am a fool," I said, not for the first time that day. "But how will Frontenac look at your handing a white man over to torture?"

Cadillac put up his sword. "My orders are plain," he said, tapping a sheaf of papers on his desk. "They came in the last packet. I am to treat all prisoners in the Indian manner. As you say, the Indians have come to think us chicken-hearted. We must give them more than words if we are to hold them as allies."

I seized sword and hat. "You are a good servant," I said. "I wish you joy of your obedience," and I plunged toward the door.

But an orderly stopped me on the threshold. "Is Monsieur de la Mothe-Cadillac within?" he asked. "The Baron desires an audience with him."

Cadillac pushed up behind me. "I am here," he called to the orderly.

"Tell the Baron that I will see him when the sun touches the water-line."

Then he pulled me back into the room. "How much do you think the Baron

knows?" he demanded.

I felt shame for my forgetfulness. "Pemaou was in the Ottawa camp," I said, and I told him what had happened.

Cadillac's face hardened. "Then they have sent to demand the prisoner," he pondered moodily. "I had hoped for a few hours' respite. There might have been some way for the prisoner to escape."

I had been walking the floor, grinding my mailed heels into the pine wood. "Escape!" I cried at him. "Escape! To starve or be eaten by wolves! The torture of the Ottawas were kinder. Now it is your turn to play the child. Escape? Yes, but not alone. Go, go, monsieur! Go and meet the Baron. Go before I change my mind. Tell the Baron he can have the prisoner. Then go to Longuant, and make what terms you will with him. Make any concessions. Feather your nest while you can. I want some one to win at this, since I must lose. I will take the prisoner west with me."

Cadillac seized me. "Montlivet, you mean this?" he demanded. His grip ate into my arm.

I reached up, and unclasped his fingers. "Unhand me!" I grumbled. "I must be on my way."

But he paid no heed. "You mean this?" he reiterated, taking a fresh grip. "The prisoner will hamper you."

I tore my arm away. "Hamper me!" I jerked out. "He will clog me, manacle me! But it is the only thing to do. Now go, while this mood holds with me. Five minutes hence I may not see things in this way. Go! I will arrange the escape. You, as commandant, must not connive with me at that. Go to the Indians, and make your terms. If you can hold them off till moonrise, I promise you the prisoner shall be gone."

But Cadillac would not hasten. He gave me the long estimating glance that I had seen him use once before. "Montlivet," he said, with his arm across my shoulder, "you are doing a great thing; a great thing for France. No man could serve his country more fully than you are doing at this moment. It is an obscure deed, but a momentous one. No one can tell what you may be doing for the empire by helping us through this crisis."

But I was in no mood for heroics. "I am not doing this for France," I cried irritably. "I live to serve France, yes; but I want to serve her in my own way. Not to have this millstone tied around my neck, whether I will or no. Don't think for a moment that I do this because I wish."

Cadillac removed his arm and looked at me. "Then you do it from liking for the Englishman?"

I should have had the grace to laugh at this, but now it was the torch to the magazine. "Like him! No!" I shouted, with an oath. "He is bitter of tongue, and, I think, a spy. He is obnoxious to me. No, I am doing this because I am, what the Ottawas call us all—chicken-hearted!" and sick with myself and what I had undertaken, I flung out of the door.