The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 24, 1902, Page 3

\ THE SUNDAY CALL. taking out a small sheath. From this he de a point of steel spring like light- We will bring the wholesome lancet into_play, my lad,” said Doctor E walited in uncertainty with feet on the floor and my hands on the side of the couch, while he carefully removed coat and waistcoat and turned up his sleeves. “Ernestine, bring the basin,” he\com- manded. My father may have thought the doctor was about to inflict & vicarious puncture on himself. Skenedonk, with respect for civilized surgery, waited. I did n8t wait. The operator bared me to the elbow ar showed & piece of plaster already stick- ing on my arm. The conviction of being outraged in my person came upon me mightily, and snatching the wholesome lancet I turned its spring upon the doctor. He yelled. 1 leaped through the door like & deer, and ran barefooted, the loose robe curdling above my knees. I had the fieetest foot among the Indian racers, and was going to throw the garment away for the pure joy of feeling the air slide past my naked body, when I saw the girl and poppet baby who had looked at me Guring my first consciousness. They were sitting on a blanket under the trees of De Chaumont's park, which deepened into wilderness. The baby put up a lip, and the girl sur- younded it with her arm, dividing her sympethy with me. I must have been & charming object. Though ravenous for food and broken-headed, I forgot my state, and turned off the road of escape to stare at her like a tame deer. She lowered her eves wisely, and I got mear enough without taking fright to see & book spread open on the blanket, show- ing two illuminated pages. Something arted in me. I saw my mother, as I ad seen her in some past life:—not Mar- janne the Mohawk, wife of Thomas Williams, but & fair oval-faced mother with arched brows. I saw even sher ointed waist and puffed skirts, and the ace around her open neck. “She held the book in her hands and read to me from it. I dropped on my knees and stretched my arms above my head, crying aloud as women cry with gasps and chokings in sudden bereavement. Nebulous memories twisted all around me and I could grasp nothing. I raged for what had been mine—for some high estate out of which I had fallen into degradation. I clawed the ground in what must have seemed convulsions to the girl. Her poppet cried and she hushed it “Give me my mother's book!” I strangled out of the depths of my throat; and repeated, as if torn by a devil—" Give me my mother’s book!” She blanched so_ white that her lips Jooked seared, and instead of disputing my claim, or inquiring about my mother, or telling me to begone, she was up on her feet. Taking her dress in her finger tips and settling back almost to the ground in the most beautiful obelsance I she said: her in Iroquois nor in Iroquois- had such a name been given to e. I had a long title signifying which belonged to every of our family. But that word— chief “Sire”—and her deep reverence seemed to had lost. some way for what I quieting myself, still w -aves. She put the mis: e lep of m¥y single garment, and drew back & step, formally standing. My scarred an- Kkles, at whicn the Indian children used to point, were exposed to her gaze, for I never would sit on them after the manner of the tribe. There was o restraining th> tears that ran down my face. She might have mocked me, but she remained white and quiet; while I sat dumb as a dog, and as full of unuttered speech. Looking back now 1 can see what pas- slonate necessity shook me with throbs to e equal of her who had received me erior. aumont’s manor house, facing a winding avenue, could be seen from where we were. It was of stone, built to enclose 2 court on three sides, in the form that I afterward recognized as that of French palaces. There were a great many flowers in the court, and vines cov- ered the ends of the wings. All those misty half remembered hunting seasons that I had spent on Lake Georse were not without some knowledge. The chim- L€ and roofs of Le Ray de Chaumont’s manor often laoked at me through trees as I steered my boat among the islands. He was a great land owner, having more three hundred thousand acres of wilderness. And he was friendly with both Indians and Americans. His figure did not mean much to me when I saw it, being merely a type of wealth, and wealth extends little power into the wil- derness The poppet of a child climbed up and held to the girl's dr She stooped ov and kissed it, saying, “Sit down, The toy human being seemed fuil of in- telligence, and after the first protest ex- amined me fearlessly, with enchanting smiles about the mouth and eyes. I no- ticed even then an upward curling of the mouth corners and a kind of magic in the Iiquid blue gaze] of which Paul might rever be conscious, but which would work on every beholder. That a child should be the appendage of such a very young creature as the girl surprised me no more than if it had been a fawn or a dog. In the vivid moments of my first rousing to life I had seen her with Paul in her arms; and he remained part of her. We heard a rush of horses up the ave- nue, and out of the woods came Le Ray de Chaumont and his groom, the wealthy Jand owner equipped in a gentleman’s riding dress from his spurs to his hat. He made a fine show whip hand on his hip and back erect as a pine tree. He was a man in middle life, but he reined up and dismounted with the swift agility of a_youth, and sent his horse away with the groom as soon as he saw the girl run across the grass to meet him. Taking her hand he bowed over it and kissed it with pleasing ceremony, of which I approved. An Iroquois chief in full council had not better manners than Le Ray de Chaumont. ¥ Paul and I waiteg to see what was go- ing to happen, for the two came toward us, the girl talking rapidiy to the man. I saw my father and Skenedonk and the doctor aiso coming from the house, and they readily spied me sitting tame as a rabbit near the baby. You never can perceive yourself what figure you are making in the world, for when you think you are the admired of all eyés you may be displaying a fool; and when life seems prostrated in you it may be that you show as a monument on the heights. But I could not be mistaken in De Chaumont’s opinion of me. He Fninled his whip handle at me, exclaim- Pau What!—that scarecrow, madame?” I “But look at him,” she urged. “I recognize first,” sald £e Chaumont as he sauntered, “an old robe of my oW “His mother was reduced to e, I have been told.” “You speak of an august lady, my dear Eagle. But this is Chief Williams’ boy. He has been at the hunting lodges every summer since I came into the wilderness. There you see his father, the half-breed Mohawk.” “I saw the dauphin in London, Count. I was a little child, but his scarred an- kles and wrists and forehead are not eas- ily forgotten.” “The dauphin died in the Temple, Ea- le. b ‘My father and Philippe never believed tha coarse our father and Philippe were very mad royalists.” “And you have gone over to Bonaparte. They sald that boy had all the tralts of the Bourbons, even to the shaping of his ear.” “A Bourbon ear hears nothing but B naparte in these days,” said De Chau- mont. “How do you know this is the same boy you saw in London?” “Last night while he was lying un- conscious, after Dr. Chantry had ban- daged his head and bled him, I went in to see if 1 might be of use. He was like some one I had seen. But I did not know him.until a moment ago. He ran out of the house like a wild Indian. Then he saw us sitting here, and came and fell dewn on his knees at sight of that mis- sal. I saw his scars. He claimed the book as his mother’s—and you know, Count, it was his mother’s!” “My dear child, whenever an Indian wants a present he dreams that you give it to him, or he claims it. Chief Williams’ boy wanted your aluable illuminatea book. I only wonder he had the taste. The rings on your hands are more to an Indian’s liking.” “But he is not an Indian, Count. He s as white as we are.” “That signifies nothing. Plenty of white children have been brought up among the trites. Chief Williams” grandmother, I bave beard, was a Yankee woman. Not one word of their rapid talk had escaped an ear trained to faintest noises in the woods. I felt like a tree, well set up and sound, but rooted and voiceless in my ignorant helplessness before the two so frankly considering me, My father stopped when he saw Mad- ame de Ferrier, and called to me in Iro- quois. It was plain_that he and Dr. Chantry disagreed. Skenedonk, put out of countenance by my behavior, and the stubbernness of the chief, looked ready to lay his hand upon his mouth in sign of being confounded before white men; for his learning had altered none of his inherited instincts, But as for me, I was as De Chaumont had said, Chief Williams' boy, faint from blood letting and twenty-four hours’ fast- irg; and the father's command reminded me of the mother's dinner pot. stood up erect and drew the flowered silk robe around me. It would have been easier to walk on burning coals, but I felt obliged to return the book to Madame de Ferrier. She would not take it. I closed her grasp upon it, and stooping, saluted her hand with courtesy as De Chaumont had done.: If he had roared I must have done this devoir. But all he did was to widen his eyes and strike his leg with his riding whip. My father and I seldom talked. An In- dian boy, who lives in water and forest all summer and on snowshoes all winter, finds talk enough in the natural world without falling back upon his family. Dignified manners wereq not lacking among my elders, but speech had seemed of little account to me before this day. The chief paddled and I sat naked in our canoe—for we left the flowered rol with a horse boy at the stables—the sx?& warm upon my sKkin, the lake’s blued glamour affecting me like enchantment. ' Nelther love nor aversion was assoclat- ed with my father. I took my head be- tween my hands and tried to remember a face that was associated with aversion. ather,” I inquired, “was anybody ever very cruel to me?” He looked startled, but spoke harshly. “What have you got in your head? These white people have been making a fool of you.” - “I remember better to-day than I ever remembered before. I am different. I was a_child, but to-day manhood has come. Father, what is a dauphin?’ The chief made no answer. “What is a temple? Is it a church, like ours at St. Regis?”’ “Ask the priest.” “Do you know what Bourbon is, father —particularly a Bourbon ear?" “Nothing that concerns you.” “But how could I have a Bourbon ear if it didn’t concern me?"’ ““Who said you had such an ear?’ “Madame de Ferrier.” The chief grunted. “At least she told De Chaumont,” T re- peated exactly, “I was the boy she saw in London, that her father said had all the traits of the Bourbons. Where is London?” The chief paddled without replying. Finding him so ignorant on all points of the conversation, or so determined to put me down. I gazed a while at our shadow glldling in the water, and then began again. “Father, do you happen to know who Eonaparte is?"” This time he answered. “Bonaparte is a great soldier.” “Is he a white man or an Indlan?” “He is a Frenchman.” I meditated on the Frenchmen I dimly. remembered about St. Regis. They wer= undersized fellows, very apt to wee when their emotions were stirred. I couxs whip them all Iould XV1 AND s HIS FAMILY IN THE PRISON ©oF THE TEMPLE PAINTED BY E.M WARD R.A. = “Did he ever come to St. Regis?” The chief again grunted. ‘“Does France come to St. Regis?” he retorted with an impatfent question. ‘““What is France, father?” “A country.” all we ever go there to hunt?” ‘Shall we ever go to the other side of the sunrise to hunt? France is the other side of the sunrise. Talk to the squaws.” Though rebuked, I determined to do it if any information could be got out of them. The desire to know things was constming. I had the belated feeiing of one who waked to consciousness late in hife and found the ‘world had run away from him. The camp seemed strange, as if 1 had been gone many years, but every object. was so wonderfully distinct. My mother Marianne fed me, and when I lay down dizzy in the bunk, covered me. The family must have thought it was natural sieep. But it was a fainting col- lapse, which took me more than once af- terward as suddenly as a blow on the head, when my faculties were most need- ed. Whether this was caused by the {J)unge upon the rock or the dim ife from which I had emerged I do not know. One moment I saw the children, and mothers from the nelghboring lodges, more interested than my own mother, our smoky rafters and the fire pit in the center of unfloored ground; my clothes, hanging over the bunk and even a dog with ‘his nose in the kettle. And then, as it had been the night before, I waked after many hours. By that time the family sawed the air within the v_lal}zsreg;!‘;lng fine starlight showed through the open door, for we had no window. Out. side the oak trees were pattering their leaves like rain, reminding me of our cool gpring in the woods. My bandaged head Wa? vert)" ha:.h 1nl th-’:,t dl?rk lair of ani- mals, where the log bunks str deepéned shadow. Sichea ana If Skenedonk had been ther have asked him to bring me weatir,wg'li‘lg confidence in his natural service. The chief's family was a large one, but not one of my brothers and sisters seemed as near to me as Skenedonk. The apathy of fraternal attachment never caused me any pain. The whole tribe was held dear. 1 stripped off Dr. Chantry’s unendurable bandages and put on my clothes, for there were brambles along the path. The lodges and the dogs were still and I crept like a hunter after game, to avoid awakening them. Our village was an irregular camp, each house standing where its owner had pleased to build it on the lake shore. Be- hind it the blackness of wooded wilder- ness seemed to stretch to the end of the bl N de a disth e spring made a distinct tinkle the rush of low sound through the tolrr.A est. A rank night sweetness of mints and other lush plants mixed its spirit with the body of leaf earth. I felt happy in be- ing a part of all this and the woods were to me as safe as the bed chamber of a mother. It was fine to wallow, damming the span of escaping water with my fevered head. Physical relief and deli- clous shuddering coolness ran through me. From that wet pillow I looked up and thought again of what had happened that day and particularly of the girl whom De Chaumont had called Madame de Ferrier and Eagle. Every word that she had spoken passed again before my mind. Possibilities that I had never imagined rayad out from my Tecumbent body as from the hub of a vast wheel. 1 was white. I was not an Indlan. I had a Bourbon ear. She belleved I was a daupmn. Wnat was a dauphin, that she should make such a deep obeisance to it? My father the chief, recommending me to the squaws, had appeared to know noth- ing about it. / All that she belleved De Chaumont de- nied. The rich book which stirred such torment in me—‘you know it was his mother’s!” she said—De Chaumont thought I merely coveted. I can see now that the crude half-savage boy wallowing in the spring stredm set that woman as high as _the highest star above his head and made her the hope and symbol of his possible best. A woman's long ery, like the appeal of that one on whom he meditated, echoed through the woods and startled him out of his wallow. i I sat up with the water trickling down my back. The cry was repeated, out of the west. 1 knew the woods, but night alters the most famjliar places. It was so dark in vaults and tunnels of trees and thickets that I might have burrowed through the ground almost as easily as thresh a path. The million scarcely audible noises thal fill a forest rounded me, and twigs not broken by me cracked or shook. till I made directly toward the woman’'s voice, which guided me more plainly, but left off running as my ear detected that she Was only in perplexity. She called at in- tervals, imperatively, but not in continu- ous screams. She was a white woman, for no squaw would publish her discom- fort. A squaw if lost would camp sensi- bly on a bed of leaves and find her way back to the village in the morning. The wilderness was full of dangers, but when You are elder brother to the bear and the wildcat you learn their habits and avoid or outwit them. Climbing' over rocks and windfalls I came against a solid log wall and heard the woman talking in a very pretty chat- ter the other side of it. She only left off talking to call for help, and left off call- ing for help to scold and laugh again. There was a man imprisoned with her and they were speaking English, a lan- guage I did not then understand. But what had happened to them was very lain. They had wandered into a pen uilt by hunters to trap bears and could not find the bush-masked and winding opening, but were traveling around the walls. - It was lucky for them that a bear had not arrived first, though in that ¢ase their horses must have smelled him. I heard the beasts shaking their bridles. I found my Wway to the opening and whistled. At once the woman ceased her chatter and drew in her breath, and they both asked me a question that needed no interpretation. I told them where they were, and the woman began talking at once in my own tongue, and spoke it as well as I could myself. “In a bear pen? George, he says we are in a, bear pen! Take us out, dear chief, before the bear family arrive home from their ball. I don’t know whether you are a chief or not, but most Indians are. My nurse was a chief’s daughter™ ‘Where are you? I can’t see anything but chunks of blackness. I took her horse by the bridle and led him, and so got both the riders outside. They had no tinder, and neither had I; and all of us groped for the way by which they had come to the bear pen. The young man spurred his horse in every direction, and turned back unable to get through. Though we.could not see one another I knew that both the adventurers were young and that they expected to be called to severe account for the lawless act they were committing. The girl, talking English, or French, or Mohawk almost in one breath, took the blame upon herselt and made light of the boy’s self-re- proaches. She laughed and sald: “My father thinks I am with Miss Chantry and Miss Chantry thinks I am with my father. He will blame her for letting me ride with George Croghan to meet him and lose the way and so get into the bear pen. And she will blame my father and your dear- est Annabel will let the Count de Chau- mont and Miss Chantry fight it out. It is not an affair for youth to meddle ym:. George.” Having her for interpreter the boy and I consulted. I might have led him back to our hunting camp, but it was & hard road for a woman and an impossible one for horses. There was no inhabited house nearer than De Chaumont’s own. He decided they must return to the road Ly which they had come into the béar pem, and gladly accepted my offer to go with him; dismounting and leading Annabel de Chaumont’s horse while I led his. We passed over rotten logs and through black tangles, the girl bending to her saddle bow, unwearied and full of laughter. It was plain that he could not find any out- let, and falling behind with the cumbered horse he let me guide the party. I do not know by what instinct I felt my way, conscious of slipping between the wild citizens of that vast town of trees; but we finally reached a clearing and saw across the open space a lighted cabin. Its sashless windows and defective chinks were gilded with the yellow light that comes from a glowing hearth. 1 know this place!” exclaimed Annabel. “It is where the Saint-Michels used to live before they went to my father's set- tlement at Le Rayville. Look at the house! Nobody lives there. It must be full of witches.” Violin music_testified that the witche: ‘were merry. We halted and the horses neighed and were answered by others of their kind. “George Croghan's struck by a witch ball. And here her grandson stands, too tired to run. But perhaps there aren’t any witches in the house. I don’t believe wicked things would be allowed to enter -it, the Saint- Michels were so pious and ugly and re- signed to the poverty of refugees. Their soclety was so good for me, my mother, when she was alive, made me venerate them until I hated them. Holy Sophie died and went to heaven. I shall never lei her again. She was, Indeed, excellent. ‘THis can’'t be a nest of witches. George, why don’t you go and knock on the doot 2" It was not necessary, for the door opened and a man appeared, holding his violin by the neck. e stepped out to look around the cabin at some hord§s fastened there and saw and hailed us. 1 was not sorry to be allowed to enter, for I was tired to exhaustion and sat down on the floor away from the fire. andmother . was The man looked at me suspiciously, though he was ruddy and good natured. _But he bent quite over before De Chaumont’s daughter, and made a flourish with his hand in re- ceiving young Croghan. There were in the cabin with him two women and two little girls; and a Canadian servant like a fat brown bear came from the rear of the house to look at .us and then went back to the horses. All the women began to speak, but An- nabel de Chaumont could talk faster than the four others combined, so they knew our plight before we learned that they wege the Grignon and Tank familtes, who were going into the West to figd settle- ment and had made the house their camp for one night. The Dutch maid, dark and round eyed, and the flaxen little Grig- non had respect for their elders and he!d their tongues while Madame Tank and Madame Grignon spoke, but Annabel de Chaumont was like a grove of sparrows. The world seemed swarming with young maids. The travelers were mere children, while the Count’s daughter was startling as_an angel. Her clothing fitted her body like an exquisite sheath. I do not know what it was, but it made her look as slim as a dragon fly. Her white and rose pink face had a high arched nose, and was proud and saucy. She wore her Lair beaten out like mist, with rich curly shreds hanging in front of her ears to her shoulders. She shook her head to set her hat straight and turned her eyes in rapid Smiling sweeps. I knew as well then as I ever did afterward that she was bound to befool every man that came near her. There were only two benches in the cabin, but it was floored and better made than our hunting lodges. The temporary inmates and their guests sat down in a long row before the fire. I was glad to make a pillow of a saddle near the wall and watch their backs, as an outsider. Mademoiselle de Chaumont absorbed all eyes and all attention. She told about & ball to which she had ridden with he: governess and servants, a three days’ Jjourney, and from which all the dancers were riding back a three days’ journey to join in another ball at her father's house. With the hospitality which made Le Ray de Chaumont’s manor the palace of the wilderness as it existed then, she invited the hosts who sheltered her for the night to come to the ball and stay all summer. And they lamented that they could not accept the invitation, bein; obliged to hurry on to Albany, where larger party would give them escort om 2 long westward journey. The head of the house took up his bow, as if musing on the ball, an Annabel de Chaumont wriggled her feet faster and faster. Tireless as thistledown that rolls here and there at the will of the wind, up she sprang and began to dance, The children watched her speilbound. None of us had ever seen the many fig- ures throggh which she passed, or such wonderfu¥ dancing. The chimney wa: built of logs and clay, forming terraces. As if it was no longer possible for her to stay on the ground, she darted from the bench end to the lows log and stepped on up as fearlessly as a thing of air, until her head touched the roof. Monsieur Grignon played like mad, and the others clapped their hands. she posed so I sat up to watch her, and lulho noticed me for the first time by fire- ght. “Look at that boy—he has been hurt— the blood is running down his cheek!" he cried. “I thought he was an Indian —and he is white!™ She came down as lightly as she had gone up, and caused me to be haled against my will to the middle of a bench. I wanted the women to leave me alone, and told them my head had been broken two days before, and was nearly weil. The mothers, too keen to wash and ban- dage to let me escape, opened a saddle pack and tore a good linen. George Croghan stood by the chimney, slim and tall and handsome. His head and face were long, his halr was of a 'sunny color, and his mouth corners were shrewd and good natured. I ltked him the mecment I saw him. Younger in years than I, he was older In wit and manly carriage. While he looked on it was hard to bave Madame Tank seize my head in fer hands and examine my eyebrows. Sne pext took my wrists, and not satisfled stripped up the right sleeve and exposetl a crescent-shaped scar, one of the rare vaccination marks of those days. I did not Know what it was. Her animated dark eyes drew the brows together so that a pucker came between them. I looked at Croghan, and wanted to ex- claim—*“Help yourself! Anybody may handle me!” “Ursule Grignon!” she sald sharply, and Madame Grignon answered: “Eh, what, Katarina?" “This is the boy,” “But what boy?” “The boy I saw on the ship.” “The one who was sent to America—"" Madame Tank put up her hand, and the other stopped. “But that was a child,” Madame Grig- non then objected. He would be about “Nine years ago. 13 now.” “How old are you?” they both put to me. Remembering what my father had told Dr. Chantry, 1 was obliged to own I was ebout 18. Annabel de Chaumont sat on the lowest log of the chxmne{ with her feet on a bench, and her chin in her hand, interesied to the point of silence. Something in her eyes made it very gall- ing to be overhauled and have my blem- ishes enumerated before her and €roghan. ‘What had uplifted me to Madame de Fer- rire’s recognition now mocked, and found it hard to submit. It would not go well with the next stranger who declar- ed he knew me by my scars. “What do they call you in this coun- try?” inquired Madame Tank. 1 sald my name was Lazarre Willlams., “It is not!” she said in an undertone, shaking her head. 1 made bold to ask with lfln:h:umt. then, and ‘whis- pered—*‘Poor child!"™ It seemed that I was to be pitled in