The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 7, 1903, Page 2

ings who thus fled wide—¢ as they in t ng the g the water nearly teaching out ynge catch some t was Du Mesne urs. He emi-comma had been and she, without i over the thwarts r waves A little open space was quickly found tt f the.cove in which the dis- n was made, and here Du Mesne his followers soon kicked away the twigs and leveled out a smooth place upon the grass. Each man pro- ced from his belt a broad-bladed knife, and for the moment disappeared in the deep fringe of evergreens which lined the ehore. Fairly in the twinkling of an eye a rude frame of bent poles was made, at which were spread = of ur relled birch bark from the cargo of the canoe.- Over the spaces left uncovered by the supply of bark sheets there were lald down long ma made by Indian hands from dried reeds and bulrushes, affording mno - inconsiderable protection against the weather. Inside the lodge bales of goods and packages of provisions were quickly arranged in comfortable fashion. Gaudy blankets were spread upon leyers of soft skins of the buffalo. The Indian woman had meantime struck a fire, whose faint blue smoke curled jakeward in the soft evening alr. Quick- 1y, and with the system of experienced campaigners, the evening bivouac had been prepared; and wildly picturesque it must Rave seemed to a bystander, had there been indeed any possible spectator within many leagues Far enough was this from the turmoil of London, which Law and his compan- jon had left mearly a vear before; far enough still from the wild capital of New France, where they had spent the win- ter. after landing, as much by chance as through any plan, at.the port of the St. Lawrence, Ever a demon of unrest drove Law forward; ever there beckoned to him that irresistible West, of which he was one of the earliest to feel the charm. Farther and farther westward, swift and swifter than ever the boats of the fur before, he aders had made the journey g :\r;*d his party, led by Du, Mesne, the ex- and wanderer, whom Law had t again, and glndls"’ at Mon- made the long and dangerous run };:.‘dne Takes, past Michilimackinac, down the lake of Michiganon, headed to- by chance me interfor of a new centinent s then for generations after land of wondrous distances, of of magnificent prom- tulfiliments. The bales this bivouac belonged to , bought by gold from the gam- Montreal and Quebec, and in the one great hazard which ) him most irresistibly haz and fortune in a far land whe live unneighbored and where he forget. Gambler in Eng- i, gambler again in New France, now g fur merchant and voyageur, he wa a adventurer bu i hardy crew hailed him al- captain of the trails, a from the Old World by as a new ew coureur, wor the savage witchery of the new. He was their brother; and had he indeed owned nger years of training, his keer s of strength of arm, hi hardly ey seeme sus les printemps Tant des nouvelles, ed Du Mesne, as he busied himself t e camp, casting the while a cau- to note progress of the ning storm the Tous les amants les maitresses The Lest is before new, Monsieur said Du Mesne, joining Law at uredly the best is always which is ahead and which is un- but in point of fact the hardest journey is over, for henceforth we stretch our legs ashore, and hunt i make good camps for madame, who, as we both perceive, is much in neea f and care | make all safe We shall comfortable for this night, doubt that knowr ma and not “Meantime,” continued he, *let us see all is well with our men and arms, enceforth we must put out guards. hat Att ition, comrades! Present your pieces and answer the roll call. Pierre Ber- thier! i! monsieur,” replied the one better known as Plerre Noir, a tall and dark- visaged Canadian, clad in the common tume, half-Indian and half-civilized, marked his class. A shirt of soft dre d buckskin fell about his thighs: his legs were encased in moosekin leggins, dee fringed at the seams. About his middle was a broad sash, once red, and ug his head a scanty cap of similar color was pushed back. At his belt hung the great hunting knife of the voyageur, anced by a keen steel tomahawk such was in common use among the In- dians. In his hand he supported a long- barrzled musket, which he now examined carefully in the presence of the captain of the voyageurs. “Robert Challon!” next commanded Du Mesne, and in turn the one addressed looked over his piece, the captain also scrutinizing the®flint and priming with careful eye. “Naturally, mes enfants,” said he, our weapons are perfect, as ever. Ka- taikini, and vou, Kabd¥yan, my brothers, let me see,” sald he to the two Indians, the former a Huron and the latter an Ojibway, both from the shores of Super- jor. The Indians arose silently, and with- out protest submitted to the scrutiny which ‘ever seemed to them unnecessary. “Jean Breboeuf!" called Du Mesne, and in resporse there arose from the shadows a wiry -little Frenchman, who might have been of any age from 20 to 45, so sunburnt and wrinkled, yet so active and sald Du Mesne to him, chidingly, ‘“‘see now, here is your flint all but, out of its engagement. Pray you, have better care of your piece. For this you shall gtand the long watch of the night. A now let us all to bed.” One by one the little party was lost to view within the dark interior of the hut which they had arranged for themselves. Du Mesne retired a distance frem the fire and seated himself upon a fallén log, his pipe glowing like a coal in the enveloping aarkness. Law himself did not' so soon leave the outer air. He remained gazing out at the wild scene about him, at the rolling waves dasbing on the shore, their crests whitening in the glare now approaching more of the lightning, - closely. He harkened to the roll of the far-off thunder reinforced by the thunder of the waves upon the shore, and noted the sweep of the black forest about, of the black sky overhead, unlit save for one far-off, faint and feeble star. w world, this that lay around him, a new and savage world. 1t there were a world behind him, a world which once held sunlight and flowers and 16ve and hope—why then, it was a world lost and gone forever, and it was very well that this new world should be so different and so_stern. In the darkness John Law heard a voice, the voice of a woman in terror. Swiftly he stepped to the door of the rude lodge. “Don’t let them sing it again—never any —that song.” And what, madam?"” That ong—‘Tous les amants changent des malitresses 4 A moment later she whispered, *I am afraid.” It was a m CHAPTER THE STORM. Mayshaling to the imperious orders of the tempest and crowding close upon the flaming standards of the lightning, the armies of the clouds came on. The sea- wide surface of the lake went dull and above it bent a sky appalling in its black- ness. The wind at first was light, then fitful and gusty, like the rising choler of a man affronted and nursing his own an- ger. It gained in volume and swept on acr the tops of the fope€f trees, as though with a hand contemptuous in tis strength, forbearing only by reason of its own whimsy. Now and again the cohorts of the clouds just hinted atyparting, let- ting through a pale radiance from the western sky, where lingered the departing day. This light, as did the flluminating glare of the forked flames above, disclos- ed the white helmets of the trooping wa- ters, rushing on with thunderous unison of tread; and the rattling thunder shocks, intermittent, though coming steadily nearer, served but to emphasize these foot strokes of the waves. The heavens above. and the waters under the earth— these conspired, these marched together, to assail, to overwhelm, to utterly de- stroy. , To destroy what? Why this wild protest of the wilderness? Was it this wide- blown, scattered fire, whose sparks and ashes were sown broadcast, till but stub- born remnants clung under the sheltering backlog of the bivouac hearth? Was it this frail lodge, built upon pliant, yield- ing poles, covered cunningly with mats and bark, carpeted with robe of elk and buffalo? Yet why should the elements rage at a tiny fire, and why should they. tear at a little house of nomad man, since these things were old upon the earth? This might have been; for surely, builder of this hearth-fire which would not quench, master of this house which would not yield, there was now come up 16 the door of the wilderness the white man, risen from the sea, heralding the day. which the tribes had for generations blindly prophesied! The ~white man, stern, stubborn, fruitful, had come to de- 1L * straits? THE SUNDAY CALL. spoil the West of its secrets, Let all the elements therefore join in riotous revolt! let earth and- sky make common cause! Rage, waves, and blaze, ye flery tongues, and threaten, forests, with all your ominous voic Smite, destroy or terrify into swift re- treat this little band! Crush out their tenement! Loosen and brush “off this feeble finger-grasp at the ancient thresh- old! With banners of flame, with armies of darkness, with shoutings of the cap- tains of the storms, assail, denude, de- stroy, if even by the agony of their ter- rors, these feeble folk now come hither! And by this more especially, since they would set the seal of fruitfulness upou the land and bring upon the earth a gen- Hover about this swaying > most eration yet to follow. bed in the frail and bark and boughs, all rits! Let not t sther of God!" c bending low and pulling his tunic tighter by the belt, as he came gasping into the faint circle of light hich still re at the fire log., " murderous storm! Ah, Monsieur dead men! But what E well now ds later. Said I not so to you all the way down Michiganon from the A rabbit crossed my path at the last camp before Michilimackinac, and when we took boat to leave the mission at the straits three crows flew directly across our way. Did I not beseech of all that we had no right, uonest voyageurs that we are, to leave for the woods with- out confessing to the good father? 'Tis two years now since I have been properly shriven, and two years is too long for a voyageur to remain unabsoived. Mother of God! When I see the lightnings and listen to that wind I bethink me of my sins—my sins! I vow a bale of beaver—" “Pish! Jean," responded Du Mesne, who had come in from the cover of the wood and was casting about in the darkness as best he might to see that all was made secure., “Thou'lt feel better when the sun shines again. Call Pierre Noir, and hurry, or our canoe will pound to bits upon the beach. Come!” All three went now knee-deep in the surf, and Du Mesne, clinging to the gun- wale as he passed out, was soon walst deep and time and again lost his footing in the flood. “Pull!” he cried at. last. avant!” He had flung himgelf over the stern and with his knife cut’the hide rope of the anchor-stone. Overboard again in an instant, he joined the others in their rush up the beach, and the three bore their ship upon their shoulders above the reach of the waves. lodge of terrifying “Myself,” said Plerre Noir, “shall sleep, beneath the hoat to-night, for since she sheds water from below she may do as well from above.” “Even so, Plerre Noir,”” said Du Mesne, “but get you the boat farther toward your own camp to-night. Do you not see that Monsieur L'as is not with us?” “Eh, blen “And were he not surely with us at such time unless—"" *Oh, agsuremient!”” replied Pierre Noir. “Jean Breboeuf, aid me in taking the boat back to our camp in thé woods."” Now came the rain. Not ih steady and even downpour, not with . intermittent showers, but in a sidelong. terrifying tor- Tent, drenching, biting, cutting In its vio. lence. The swift weight of the rain gave to the trees more burden than they could “Now, en- hear. As before the storm, when all was still, there had come time and again - the warning boc of a falling tree, stricken with mysterious mortal ‘dread of that which was to come, so now, in the riot of 'that danger, first one and then another wide-armed monarch of the wood crashed down, adding with its own fall to the testimony of the assaillng tem- fury. The came not only iIn ragged blazes and long ripping lines of light, but in bursts and shocks and in bomblike balls, ploding with elemental detonations. Balls of this tense, surcharged es- sence rolled out over the tomb of the bluff, fell upon the shadows of the water, and seemed to bound from crest to white-capped crest, till at last they split and burst asunder like some omi- nous missiles from engines of wrath ana destruction. And now, suddenly, all grew still again. The sky took on a lighter, livid tone, one of pure venom. There came a whisper, 2 murmur, a rush as of mighty waters, a sighing as of an army of the condemned, a shrieking as of legions of the lost, a roaring as of all the soul-felt tortures of a world. From the forest rose a continuous rending crash. The whiplash of the tempest cracked the tree trunks as a child be- heads a row of daisies. Piled up, falling, riven asunder, torn out by the wind, the glant trees joined the toys which the cynic storm gathered in its hands and bore dlong until such time as it should please to crush and rob them. There passed out over the ex- black sea of Michiganon a vast black wraith; a thihg horrible, tremendous, titanic in organic power. It howled, exe- crated, menaced; missed its aim, and passed. The little swaying house still stood! Under.the sheltered log some tiny spark of fire still burned, omen of the un- quenchable hearthstones which the land was yet to know! “Holy God! what was it? What was that which passed?”’ cried Jean Breboeuf, crawling out from beneath his shelter. “Sajnt Mary defend us all this night! 'Twas the great Canoe of 'the Damned running at large across the sky! Mary, Mother of God, hear my vow! From this time Jean Breboeuf shall lead a better Ifel” The storm, baffled, passed on. The rain, unsatisfied, sullenly Ceased In its attack. The waves, hopeless but still vindictlve, began to call back their legions from the narrow shote. The lightnings, unsated in their wrath, flared and flickered on and out across the eastward sea. With wild laughter and shrieks, and imprecations, the spirit of the tempest wailed on its furious way. The red West had raised its hand to smite, but it had not smitten sure. In the silence of the night, in the hush following the uproar of the storm, there came a little walling cry; so faint, so feeble, yet so mighty, so conquering, this sign of the coming generation, the volce of the new-born babe. At this little hu- man voice, born of sorrow and sin, bm:n to suffering and knowledge, born to life in all its wonders and to dea!rl;l in all :;s ystery—the elements perchance - {:r’nted ylnd averted theif fury. Not yet was there to be punished sin, or Wrong. or doubt, or weakness. Not at once wouéi justice punish the parents of this b;]a e and blot out at once the record of t ed fault. Storm and lightning, durkne:ns n‘r:‘i the night yielded to the volice of the fant and allowed the old story of human- ity and sin and hope and mercy to rua on. be walled faintly in the silence 12;,1:: night. Under the hearlhAloz there still endured ‘the flre.‘ n the red West, seeing itself con- quered, smiled and flung wide its arms and greeted them with Ithe burgeoning dawn and the \‘o.ce; of birds, with a sky blue m’\:1 repentant, & sun smiling an not unkind. Al CHAPTER 1L U LARGE. . eeks after the the great the “atill held its place en the shore O the great Green Bay. The wild game and the abundant fishes of the lake gave ample pro- vender for the party, and the little bivouac had been rendered more comfortable In many ways best known to those dwellers of the forest. The light jest, the burst of laughter, the careless ease of at- titude showed the light-hearted vovageurs content with this, their last abode, nor for the time did any word issue which threatened to end their tarrying Law one merning strolled. out from.the lodge and seated himself on a bit of drift- wood at the edge of the forest's fringe of cedars, where, seemingly half-forgetting himself in the witchery of the scene, he gazed outidly over the wide pros- pect which lay before him. He was the same young man as ever. Surely this increased gauntness was but the result of long hours at the paddle, the h cheeks but betokéned hard fare and th defining winds of the outdoor ajr. If tr eye were a trace more dim, that co be due but to the reflectiveness induc to the eve low N by ithe quiet scene and hour. Yet w should John Law, young and refresh drop chin in hand and sit there moo looking ahgad of him, comprehending n at all that which he behold? Indeed there appeared nmow of this young man not the white sho! and black crowned bluffs and dista islands, not the sweep of broad-w 3 birds circling near waters, n. shadow of the high-poised eagle dr far above. He feit not the soft wind bis cheek, nor no e warmth of the on-coming sun even he > thres ew world 3 a he was going back, at the r of that world which he had to him n bla ace of pausir life and that There appeared undulations of not the tossing s he | 1 sea ved b nor the white-pebbied beach ! s pulsing waters. He saw instead a white and dusty road, lined by green F s hedge rows. Back, there. ) over these rolling blue waves 1 over whi th ape st, e world w forever. ut back of the wild sion, back of the straggling settlements Montreal and Quebe: waters of the o church and minister; back of there, and the b too, there dweit eyes, part of this ment white road lined with the A hand was laid he haif started Before him, the su hair, her eyes dark in the shadow, Mary Connynge. A fair woman indeed comely, round of form, soft-eyed, light of touch, she e the have been a very savage she stood there, clad‘ no longer in the dress of elvilization, but in the soft native gard of skins, ornamented with the stained quills of the porcupine and the bt adornments of the native bead wor! her hair dull metal bands, Ifke any I dian woman, upon her feet littls beaded moccasins—the very moccasin, it migh have been, which Law had first seen in anclent London town and which had played so strange & part in his lifs since then. ‘“You startled me,™ sald Law simply. “I ‘was thinking.” ¥ A sudden jealous wave of woman's divining intuition came upon the woman hedges of g on his shoulder, up in sudden su shining throug! at his side. “I doubt not,” sald she bit- terly, that I could name the sub- ject of your thought! Why ait here and dream of her, when hers am L who deserve everything that you can give?” She stood erect, her eyes flashing, her arms outstretched, her bosom panting tringed garments, her voice ringing as it might have been With"ihe very essence of truth and passion. Law looked at her steadily. But the shadow did not lift from his brow, though he looked long and pondered. Come,” said he, at length, gently. None the less we are as we are. In every game we take our changes, and in every game we pay our debts. Let us go back to the camp.’ As they turned back down the beach Law saw standing at a lttle distance his leutenant, Du Mesne, who Hesitated as under - the though he would speak. “What is Du Mesne?” asked Law, excusing himself with a gesture and Joining the voyageur where he stood.