Cameron of Lochiel
"We are going to take the prisoner to the camp at Petit-Marigotte,
where we will wait three days for my brother and the warriors from the
Portage, and then go to the camp of Captain Launière."
For the first time Lochiel perceived that the voice of the man with
the fox-skin cap was not like that of the other two men, although he
spoke their language fluently. Hitherto he had suffered in silence the
torments of a burning thirst. It was a veritable torture of Tantalus,
with the crystal lake waters lapping at his feet, but, under the
impression that the man might be a Frenchman, he made bold to say:
"If there is a Christian among you, for God's sake let him give me a
drink."
"What does the dog want?" said Grand-Loutre to his companion.
The man addressed made no answer for some moments. His whole body
trembled, his face became pale as death, a cold sweat bathed his
forehead; then, controlling himself sternly, he answered in his natural
voice:
"The prisoner asks for a drink."
"Tell the dog of an Englishman," said Talamousse, "that he shall be
burned to-morrow; and that if he is very thirsty he shall have boiling
water to drink."
"I am going to tell him," replied the Canadian presently, "that my
brothers permit me to give their captive a little water."
"Let my brother do as he will," said Talamousse; "the pale faces have
hearts like young girls."
The Canadian curled a piece of birch bark into the form of a cup,
filled it with fresh water, and handed it to the prisoner, saying:
"Who are you, sir? In the name of God who are you? Your voice is like
that of a man who is very dear to me."
"I am Archibald Cameron, of Lochiel," came the answer, "once the friend
of your countrymen; now their enemy, and well deserving the fate which
is in store for him."
"Mr. Archie," replied Dumais, for he it was, "although you had slain my
brother, although it should be necessary for me to cut down these two
red rascals with my tomahawk, in an hour you shall be free. I shall try
persuasion before resorting to violent measures. Now silence."
Dumais resumed his place with the Indians, and after a time he remarked:
"The prisoner thanks the red-skins for promising him the death of a
man; he says that the song of the pale face will be that of a warrior."
"Houa!" said Grand-Loutre, "the Englishman will screech like an owl
when he sees the fires of our wigwams." And he went on smoking and
casting glances of contempt upon Lochiel.
"The Englishman," said Talamousse, "speaks like a man while the stake
is yet far off. The Englishman is a coward who could not suffer thirst.
He has begged his enemies for a drink like a baby crying for its
mother." And the Indian spit upon the ground contemptuously.
Dumais opened a wallet, took out some provisions, and offered a portion
to the savages, who refused to eat. Then he stepped into the woods,
and after a short search brought out a bottle of brandy. He took a
drink and began to eat. The eyes of one of the Indians dwelt longingly
on the bottle.
"Talamousse is not hungry, my brother," said he, "but he is very
thirsty. He has made a long march to-day and he is very tired. The
fire-water is good to rest one's legs."
Dumais passed him the bottle. The Indian seized it with a trembling
hand and gulped down a good half of the contents.
"Ah, but that's good," said he, handing back the bottle; and presently
his piercing eyes grew glazed, and a vacant look began to creep into
his face.
"Dumais does not offer any to his brother Grand-Loutre," said the
Canadian; "he knows that he does not drink fire-water."
"The Great Spirit loves Grand-Loutre," said the latter, "and made him
throw up the only mouthful of fire-water he ever drank. The Great
Spirit made him so sick that he thought he was going to visit the
country of souls. Grand-Loutre is very thankful, for the fire-water
takes away man's wisdom."
"It is good fire-water," said Talamousse after a moment's silence,
stretching out his hand toward the bottle, which Dumais removed from
his reach. "Give me one more drink, my brother, I beg you."
"No," said Dumais, "not now; by and by, perhaps." And he put the bottle
back into his knapsack.
"The Great Spirit also loves the Canadian," resumed Dumais after a
pause; "he appeared to him last night in a dream."
"What did he say to my brother?" asked the Indians.
"The Great Spirit told him to buy back the prisoner," answered Dumais.
"My brother lies like a Frenchman," replied Grand-Loutre. "He lies like
all the pale faces. The red-skins do not lie to them."
"The French never lie when they speak of the Great Spirit," said the
Canadian; and, opening his knapsack, he took a small sip of brandy.
"Give me, my brother, give me one little drink," said Talamousse,
stretching out his hand.
"If Talamousse will sell me his share of the prisoner," said Dumais,
"he shall have another drink."
"Give me all the fire-water," said Talamousse, "and take my share of
the English dog."
"No," said Dumais, "one more drink and that will be all;" and he made a
movement to put away the bottle.
"Give it to me, then, and take my share of him."
He seized the bottle in both hands, took a long pull at the precious
fluid, and then fell asleep on the grass.
"There's one of them fixed," thought Dumais.
Grand-Loutre had been watching all this with an air of defiance, but
had kept on smoking indifferently.
"Now will my brother sell me his share of the prisoner?" asked Dumais.
"What do you want of him?" replied the savage.
"To sell him to Captain D'Haberville, who will have him hung for
burning his house. The prisoner will endure like a warrior the tortures
of the stake, but at sight of the rope he will weep like a girl."
"My brother lies again," replied Grand-Loutre. "All the English that
we have burned cried out like cowards, and not one of them sang his
death-song like a man. They would have thanked us to hang them. It is
only the red warrior who prefers the stake to the disgrace of being
hung like a dog."
"Let my brother heed my words," said Dumais. "The prisoner is not an
Englishman, but a Scotchman, and the Scotch are the savages of the
English. Let my brother observe the prisoner's clothing, and see how
like it is to that of a savage warrior."
"That is true," said Grand-Loutre. "He does not smother himself in
clothes like the other soldiers whom the Great Ononthio sends across
the water. But what has that to do with it?"
"Why," replied the Canadian, "a Scotch warrior would rather be burned
than be hung. Like the red-skins of Canada, he considers that one hangs
only dogs, and that if he were to go to the country of souls with the
rope about his neck the savage warriors would refuse to hunt with him."
"My brother lies again," said the Indian, shaking his head
incredulously. "The Scotch savages are nevertheless pale faces, and
they can not have the courage to endure pain like a red-skin." And he
went on smoking thoughtfully.
"Let my brother hearken, and he will see that I speak the truth," said
Dumais.
"Speak, thy brother gives ear."
"The English and the Scotch," continued the Canadian, "dwell in a great
island beyond the great water. The English dwell on the plains, while
the Scotch inhabit the mountains. The English are as many as the grains
of sand about the shores of this lake, while the Scotch are but as the
sands of this little island. Yet the Scotch have withstood the English
in war for as many moons as there are leaves on this great maple. The
English are rich, the Scotch poor. When the Scotch beat the English,
they return to their mountains laden with booty; when the English beat
the Scotch, they get nothing. The profit is all on one side."
"If the English are so numerous," said Grand-Loutre, "why do they not
pursue their enemies into the mountains and kill every man of them?
They could not escape, since, as my brother says, they live on the same
island."
"Houa!" cried Dumais, after the fashion of the savages, "I will show my
brother why. The Scotch mountains are so high that if an army of young
Englishmen were to ascend them but half way, they would be an army of
graybeards before they got down again."
"The French are always tomfools," said the Indian. "They can't do
anything but talk nonsense. Soon they will put on petticoats and go
and sit with our squaws, and amuse them with their funny stories. They
never talk seriously like men."
"My brother ought to understand," said Dumais, "that what I said was
merely to impress upon him the remarkable height of the Scottish
mountains."
"Let my brother continue. Grand-Loutre hears and understands," said the
Indian, accustomed to this figurative style of speech.
"The Scotch legs are as strong as those of a moose and active as those
of a roebuck," continued Dumais.
"True," said the Indian, "if they are all like the prisoner here, who,
in spite of his bonds, kept right on my heels all the way. He has the
legs of an Indian."
"The English," said Dumais, "are large and strong, but they have soft
legs and huge bellies. When they pursue their more active enemies into
the mountains the Scotchmen lie in ambush and kill them by the score.
The war seemed as if it would last forever. When the English took
prisoners they used to burn many of them; but these would sing their
death-song at the stake and heap insult on their torturers by telling
them that they had drunk out of the skulls of their ancestors."
"Houa!" cried Grand-Loutre, "they are men these Scotch."
"The Scotch had a great chief named Wallace, a mighty warrior. When he
set out for war the earth trembled under his feet. He was as tall as
yonder fir-tree and as strong as an army. An accursed wretch betrayed
him for money, he was taken prisoner and sentenced to be hung. At
this news a cry of rage and grief went up from all the mountains of
Scotland. All the warriors painted their faces black, a great council
was held, and ten chiefs bearing the pipe of peace set out for England.
They were conducted into a great wigwam, the council fire was lighted,
and for a long time every one spoke in silence. At length an old chief
took up the word, and said: 'My brother, the earth has drunk enough of
the blood of these two great nations, and we wish to bury the hatchet.
Give us back Wallace and we will remain hostages in his place. You
shall put us to death if ever again he lifts the tomahawk against you.'
With these words he handed the pipe of peace to the Great Ononthio of
the English, who waved it aside, saying sternly, 'Within three days
Wallace shall be hung.' 'Listen my brother,' said the great Scotch
chief, 'if Wallace must die let him die the death of a warrior. Hanging
is a death for dogs.' And again he presented the pipe of peace, and
Ononthio refused it. The deputies withdrew and consulted together. On
their return the great chief said: 'Let my brother hearken favorably
to my last words. Let him fix eleven stakes to burn Wallace and these
ten warriors, who will be proud to share his fate and will thank their
brother for his clemency.' Once more he offered the pipe of peace, and
once more Ononthio rejected it."
"Houa!" cried Grand-Loutre, "those were noble and generous words. But
my brother has not told me how the Scotch are now friends with the
English and fighting against the French."
"With rage in their hearts, the deputies returned to their mountains.
At their death-cries, which they uttered at the gate of every town and
village to announce the fate of Wallace, every one rushed to arms; and
the war between the two nations continued for as many moons as there
are grains of sand here in my hand," said Dumais, picking up a handful.
"The Scotch were generally beaten by their swarming enemies, and their