The Hunters of the Hills, Joseph A. Altsheler [ereader ebook TXT] 📗

a roll and butter and a cup of coffee after the French custom which even then prevailed.

"I see that you've slept well," he said, "and that the inn of Monsieur
Jolivet is as kind to the Bostonnais as it is to the French and the
Canadians."

"Its hospitality to us could be no finer if we came from Paris itself, instead of the Province of New York," said Robert. "Our stay in Canada has been short, but most interesting."

Monsieur Jolivet had gone into the inn, and de Galisonnière said:

"Montreal is a fine town and I would not depreciate it in the presence of our host, but as I have told you before, our Quebec to which you are going is the true glory of New France. My knowledge that you're going there is the reason why I've come here this morning."

"How is that?" asked Robert

"Because I received orders last night to depart in the Frontenac for Quebec, a journey that I undertake with great willingness, since it takes me where I wish to go. I have also the authority of the commandant to ask your presence as guests for the voyage on board my vessel. Until we French and you English actually go to war we might as well be friends."

Robert glanced at Tayoga and Willet and they nodded slightly. Then he replied warmly that they accepted the invitation and would go with much pleasure in the Frontenac. After breakfast they sold the canoe and embarked presently, having first said goodby to Monsieur Jolivet, who with his best napkin, waved them farewell.

Robert was more than pleased at their good luck. The Frontenac offered them a better passage than any boat they could buy and have to row perhaps with their own strength. Moreover, they were already on excellent terms with de Galisonnière, and it would be a good thing for them to arrive at Quebec in his company.

A strong wind was blowing, and the Frontenac moved swiftly over the surface of the great stream which was like liquid green glass that morning. The three had put their weapons, including Tayoga's bow and arrows, in the cabin, and they sat on deck with de Galisonnière, who looked with pride at the magnificent river which was the very artery of life in the New France of the chevaliers. Robert's own heart throbbed as he knew that this last stage of their journey would take them to famous Quebec.

"If the St. Lawrence didn't freeze over for such a long period," said de Galisonnière, "this region would become in time the greatest empire in the world."

"But isn't that a huge 'if'?" asked Robert, laughing.

De Galisonnière smiled.

"It is," he said, "but New France is the chief jewel in the French crown, nevertheless. In time the vice-regal court at Quebec will rule an empire greater than that of France itself. Think of the huge lakes, the great rivers, the illimitable forests, beyond them the plains over which the buffalo herds roam in millions, and beyond them, so they say, range on range of mountains and forests without end."

"I have been thinking of them," said Robert, "but I've been thinking of them in a British way."

De Galisonnière laughed again and then grew serious.

"It's natural," he said, "that you should think of them in a British way, while I think of them in a French way. I suppose we shall have war, Mr. Lennox, but doesn't it seem strange that England and France should fight about American territory, when there's so much of it? Here's a continent that civilized man cannot occupy for many generations. Both England and France could be hidden away in its forests, and it would take explorers to find them, and yet we must fight over a claim to regions that we cannot occupy."

Robert decided then that he liked young de Galisonnière very much. Some such thoughts had been passing through his own mind, and he was glad that he could talk frankly about the coming war with one who would be on the other side, one who would be an official but not a personal enemy. As the Frontenac slid on through the tumbling green current they talked earnestly. Willet, sitting near, glanced at them occasionally, but he too had plenty of thoughts of his own, while Tayoga, saying nothing, gazed at the high green southern shore. This, so the old men said, had once been the land of the Mohawks, one of the great nations of the Hodenosaunee, and now the children of Onontio, who had come with firearms against bows and arrows, spoke of it as theirs since Manitou first made the land rise from the deep. Tayoga was silent but he had many thoughts, and they were thoughts that came to him often and stayed long.

"De Courcelles and Jumonville, whom you met in the forest," said de
Galisonnière, at length, "arrived in Montreal early last night, and
after a stay of only two or three hours sailed in a schooner for
Quebec."

"Did you see them at all while they were in Montreal?" asked Robert, who seemed to detect significance in the young Frenchman's tone.

"Only for a few moments," replied de Galisonnière, and Robert, judging that he wished to avoid more talk on the subject, made no further reference to de Courcelles. But the knowledge that he had gone on ahead to Quebec troubled him. De Courcelles was not so young and frank as de Galisonnière, nor did he seem to have the fine soul and chivalric spirit of St. Luc. Robert felt the three had cause to fear him.

But the journey down the St. Lawrence continued without serious delay, although the wind failed now and then and they took to the oars. It was a voyage full of variety and interest to Robert. He slept that night with his comrades on the deck of the Frontenac, and the next morning he found a strong wind again blowing.

In time they approached Quebec, and saw the increasing signs of population that betokened proximity to what was then in the eyes of North Americans a great capital. On either shore they saw the manor houses of the seigneurs, solid stone structures, low, steep of roof and gabled, with clustering outhouses, and often a stone mill near by. The churches also increased in numbers, and at one point the Frontenac stopped and took on a priest, a tall strongly built man of middle years, with a firm face. De Galisonnière introduced him as Father Philibert Drouillard, and Robert felt his penetrating gaze upon his face. Then it shifted to Willet and Tayoga, resting long upon the Onondaga.

Robert, knowing the great power of the church in Canada, was curious about Father Drouillard, whom he knew at once to be no ordinary man. His lean ascetic face seemed to show the spirit that had marked Jogues and Goupil and those other early priests whom no danger nor Indian torture could daunt. But he was too polite to ask questions, feeling that time would bring him all the information he wanted, in which he was right, as de Galisonnière said later in the day when Father Drouillard was sitting in the little cabin out of hearing:

"A man of influence at Quebec. He has no parish, nor seems to wish any, but he is deep in the councils of the Church. It is known, too, that he corresponds with Rome, with the Holy Father himself, 'tis said, and there are men high in office at Quebec who wish that he might be called from New France back to the old land. François Bigot, the Intendant, does not love him, nor does anyone of the group about Bigot, neither his commissary general, Cadet, nor Pean, the Town Mayor of Quebec, nor Descheneaux, nor the others of that group. It's a gorgeous life that our own court circle leads at Quebec, and at the great Chateau Bigot, in the midst of its walks and flowers and gardens. I don't know why I'm telling you these things, Mr. Lennox! It seems they should be the very last to say to one's official enemy, but I can't feel that I'm doing anything wrong when I do tell them to you."

His bright face was in gloom for a few moments, and Robert, quick in perception, had a sudden feeling that this brilliant Quebec, enveloped in so much color and glamour, might not be so sound within as the English towns to the south, despite their wrangling. But it merely increased his anxiety to see Quebec. Life would be all the more complex there.

The great river spread before them, blue now under a dazzling blue sky, and the stout Frontenac left a long white trailing wake. A stone house, larger than usual, showed through the green foliage on the south bank. Father Drouillard gazed at it, and his face darkened. Presently he arose and shook his hand towards the house, as if he were delivering a curse.

"The chateau that you see belongs to the young Count Jean de Mézy, a friend of the Intendant, Bigot. Sometimes they come from their revels at Beaumanoir to the Chateau de Mézy, and continue them there. Now you can see why Father Drouillard, who sympathizes with our honnêtes gens, delivers his malediction."

The priest returned to his seat, and averted his face. An hour later the mighty rock of Quebec rose before them.

CHAPTER IX AT THE INN

When Quebec came into view Robert stood up and looked long at the great rock and the town that crowned it, hung on its slopes and nestled at the foot of the cliffs below. Brilliant sunshine gilded its buildings of stone and gray wood, and played like burnished gold on the steeples of its many churches. In the distance the streets leading up the steep cliffs looked like mere threads, but in the upper town the great public buildings, the Intendant's Palace, the Cathedral, Notre Dame de la Victoire, the convents of the Ursuline Nuns and the Recollet Friars, the Bishop's Palace, and others raised for the glory and might of France, were plainly visible.

In more than one place he saw the Bourbon lilies floating and from the little boat on which he stood in the stream it looked like a grim and impregnable fortress of the Old World. The wonderful glow of the air, and the vast river flowing at its feet, magnified and colored everything. It was a city ten times its real size and the distance turned gray wood to gray stone. Everything was solid, immovable, and it seemed fit to defy the world.

Robert felt a catch in his breath. He had often seen Quebec, great and beautiful, in his dreams, but the reality was equal to it and more. To the American of that day Quebec was one of the vital facts of life. From that fortress issued the daring young French soldiers of fortune who led the forays against New York and New England. It was the seat of the power that threatened them continually. Many of the Bostonnais, seized in their fields, had been brought here as prisoners to be returned home only after years, or never. From this citadel, too, poured the stream of arms and presents for the Indians who were to lie in ambush along the English border, or to make murderous incursions upon the villages. From it flowed the countless dangers that had threatened the northern provinces almost continually for a century and a half. The Bostonnais themselves, mark of the initiative and energy that were to distinguish them so greatly later on, made a mighty effort against it, and doubtless would have succeeded, had they been allowed to carry the fight to a finish.

No man from New York or New England could look upon it without a mingling of powerful emotions. It was the Carthage to their Rome. He admired and yet he wished to conquer. He felt that permanent safety could never come to the northern border until the Bourbon lilies ceased to float over the great fortress that looked down on the St. Lawrence. Robert was not the only one who felt strong emotion. Tayoga stood beside him, his nostrils expanding and his gaze fierce:

"Stadacona!" he said under his breath, "Stadacona of the Ganeagaono, our great brother nation!"

But the emotion of de Galisonnière was of pleasure only. His eyes sparkled with joy and admiration. He was delighted to come back to Quebec, the gay city that he beheld through the eyes of youth and glowing recollections. He knew the corruption and wickedness of Bigot and of Cadet and of Pean and of the whole reckless circle about the Intendant, but Quebec, with its gallant men and its