 | CHAPTER II. The King of the Hurons |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
A thousand forests, and on countless streams
Urge the swift bark, and dare the cataract's foam.”
—Mrs Sigourney.
The Baron Montaigne had long been a resident of French America.
An impaired fortune had originally induced him to serve his
sovereign in the New World, and long habit had rendered pleasing
what his increased wealth no longer made necessary. About a
year preceding his first arrival in Canada, and nearly sixteen years
prior to the time now spoken of, he had been bereaved of his wife,
an English lady of great merit, which, however, had failed of its
appreciation at the hands of her haughty lord. His infant daughter,
then scarcely three years of age, had been confided to the charge of
a kind maternal aunt in England, with whom she had resided until
the death of the latter, which occurred when Blanche had attained
the age of eighteen. A peculiarity of disposition and a desire to
shun society, which in his impoverished state imposed many mortifications
upon his proud spirit, had tempted him into the very depths
of the wilderness, where, by the liberality of his sovereign, he was
enabled to erect a castle of no mean pretensions both to elegance
and strength. The Indian warriors saw with surprise its turreted
walls and frowning battlements arising amidst their forest solitudes,
and marvelled deeply at the magnificence of their great father across
the water, who could bestow such state and wealth even on his inferior
nobles. The section of country thus selected for a residence by Montaigne
was about a hundred and fifty miles southwest of Quebec, on
the border of a stream which constitutes the outlet of Lake Champlain,
French and English territories than formed a distinct part of either,
Boundary lines, indeed, were drawn with no accuracy in those early
days, on a continent which was settled only on its edges, but at a
later period they became the subject of much controversy. Wars,
when waged, were rather for the sovereignty of the settlements and
the nominal conquest of vast inland regions, of which little was
known by either of the belligerent powers, excepting that they
stretched over a given number of degrees of latitude and longitude.
The Huron and Algonquin Indians had long been allies of the
French, as the Five Nations were of the English; and so important
did Louis consider their continued friendship to the welfare of his
American dominions, that no pains were spared to cement the
alliance. It was this purpose, and the additional hope of winning
over the Iroquois to his allegiance, and thus paving the way for a
complete conquest of New York, that had actuated the monarch in
the endowment of Castle Montaigne, and the liberal support of its
secluded lord. The baron, on his part, left no means untried to gain
the full confidence and respect of the savages,—an object of no difficult
attainment to a hardy soldier, who was capable of setting examples
both of bravery and fortitude even to their veteran warriors.
The Hurons, who resided in the vicinity of Quebec, and on the
banks of the Sorelle, were colonies of the principal nation of that
name, whose home and hunting grounds were much further west;
they had been transplanted early in the preceding century by the
influence of their European allies, and had themselves grown into a
considerable tribe, having one village near the French capital, and
another in the immediate vicinity of Castle Montaigne, where their
territorial possessions were extensive. The parent tribe were also in
league with France, and paid willing fealty to King Louis, in the
person of his valiant agent, who had spent many months among
them, had given them many valued lessons in the art of war, and
had led them to several victorious fields against their oppressive
bold savages, that they had formally elected him the principal chief
of their nation, denominating him, in imitation of his own sovereign's
title, a king, and enjoining upon their brethren nearer the seaboard
also to recognise him as such,—a mandate which the junior tribe,
equally impressed with his prowess, and proud of his alliance, zealously
obeyed.
But it was not by martial prowess alone that the hearts of the
Indians were always most effectually won: King Louis, at least, had
reason to acknowledge the efficacy of a very different warfare in
gaining their allegiance. The heralds of the Gospel were already
scattered everywhere through the French settlements, and had penetrated
in some instances to the most remote corners of the land.
The cross had glistened at intervals along that whole vast circuit of
waters which stretches from Quebec to the gulf of the Mississippi,
and not one of its golden links of lake and river but had furnished
the baptismal element for some dusky neophyte of the wilderness.
Self-denying men, bound by holy vows, but more by untiring love
and unfaltering faith, dared, aye, courted martyrdom in every shape,
that they might gain souls to Christ. Of these, one or more were
always stationed at the castle, where their time was devoted not
only directly to their calling, but, accessary to the same general end,
to the secular education of such of the Indian youth as could be
induced to submit to the restraints of study. It was to join this
spiritual cohort, as a resident missionary at the castle, that Father
Ledra had crossed the ocean, patiently enduring privation, and
softening by his unobtrusive piety the prejudices against his church,
with which a Protestant education had imbued both Blanche and
Emily.
Seventeen long years the baron had sojourned in his new home;
long at least they seemed to the gentle girl, who had been taught
her daily lesson of affection for an absent parent, and had spent a
thousand hours of childish wonder and expectation, in view of that
she had been taught to look forward—her father's return.
Montaigne had, meanwhile, contented himself with receiving annual
letters from his sister-in-law, giving information of Blanche's welfare;
his answers to which, always cold and formal, seldom contained any
direct message to his daughter, even after she had attained years of
discretion. The remembrance of some unforgiven wrong on the
part of the mother seemed to hang for ever like a cloud between the
baron and his child. It was not, indeed, without a degree of pleasure
that he read in all Mrs. Roselle's letters accounts of Blanche's
extraordinary beauty and grace, of her mild and gentle disposition,
and of her well cultivated and well stored mind; but if, at times, he
felt a longing to reclaim his child, the consciousness of circumstances
which must humble himself in her estimation continually intervened,
to chill and deaden all his better resolutions. Pride was his
master passion, and its baleful glare fell with a withering effect
upon all the gentler emotions of his nature. Beneath its congealing
blight, a young and innocent wife had passed speedily from
the altar to the tomb; and well had it been for Blanche that the
unfolding wealth of her young affections had not been chilled and
repressed by its cold commands or its still colder caresses.
The event to which allusion has been made, as one for which Montaigne
dreaded his daughter's scorn, as he had long endured his
own, related to his existing domestic establishment. A powerful
Huron warrior had early sought his alliance, and a dowry of measureless
acres had purchased the simulated affections of the baron
for the trembling daughter of the chief. They were married after
the savage mode, while the wily groom smiled at the simplicity of
his allies, and recked lightly of the fetters which bound him to the
Indian maid. She was not his wife, so thought the haughty noble,
for no sacramental tie existed between them, no priest had sanctioned
their union, no permission of Holy Church had made it
valid. Little did these things weigh with the trusting wife, who
obeying in all things the faintest token of his will, and submitting to
all the tramplings of his imperious temper without a murmur.
One gentle word, one kind smile, repaid her for every wrong, and
formed a treasure for memory to resort to, during all the long intervals
of coldness and neglect and scorn. Hers was, indeed, that
perfect love of woman, which exists alike in every clime. The
baron, conscious that rumors of his strange alliance must reach
Quebec, and thence pass to France, took every occasion to deny its
truth, and to censure the detractors who cast such obloquy upon his
ancient family; but circumstances soon occurred which made it a
more serious affair than he had anticipated. It became necessary
to obtain the royal confirmation to the grant which had been made
by the chief to his perfidious son-in-law, and Louis, who had
received tidings of the whole affair, refused to confirm the deed until
the marriage had been celebrated according to the rites of the
church. He went, indeed, further than this, and threatened his
distinguished subject with his displeasure and punishment if he
refused to ratify the contract with his Indian sponse. No words can
describe the anger and mortification of Montaigne at this unexpected
result; and, in the privacy of his retirement, he denounced
the aged king as a drivelling dotard, fit only to govern women and
priests. But rage and remonstrance were alike unavailing to nullify
the decree, and with the most galling sense of degradation he at
length submitted to its requirements. In a chapel adjacent to the
castle, the wedding was publicly solemnized, and an infant daughter
of the bride, who shared with her mother the contempt of the
baron, was at the same time admitted to the rite of baptism. The
baroness, for such had now become her legitimate title, became
thenceforth a personage of additional importance in the eyes of her
dusky relations, and, it need scarcely be said, an object of renewed
hatred to her husband. Nothing could atone to him for the
wounded vanity of which she had been the guiltless cause; and all
returning kindness, were repaid with increased coldness and scorn.
She was a cloud upon his heart, a blight upon his hopes, a barrier
betwixt himself and that bright world from which he had long been
immured, and to which he now felt that he never could return.
But many changes had taken place between that period and the
point of time at which the present narrative opens. The little
Myrtle, for such had been the baptismal name bestowed rather by
the priest than the parent, had grown to be a miracle of forest
beauty; and as the tendrils of the vine cling to the rock, so had her
infantile graces gained a foothold in the crevices of the baron's stony
heart. Despite his pride, his imagined wrongs, his tarnished name,
he had loved his daughter; and the neglected mother, who had long
despaired of any returning tenderness for herself, was still delighted
to enjoy the reflected beams of kindness which fell upon her child.
She exulted in Myrtle's beauty and grace, and watched every word
and look of love bestowed upon her, with an avarice of affection that
none but a mother's heart can parallel.
Years rolled by; and the baron, who had long been fully reinstated
in his sovereign's confidence, had become so engrossed in the
duties of his station, and in his growing wealth and power, that he
scarcely remembered the existence of Blanche, excepting when perusing
the letters from her aunt, or remitting the annual stipend for
her support. Myrtle attained her sixteenth year, a slight, straight
girl, with eyes and hair of unrelieved blackness, with long silken
lashes, and cheeks in which the rose of Europe triumphed over the
olive hue of the forest. She was, in short, a beautiful brunette,
sportive as the fawn, and scarcely less agile.
It was at this period that events occurred which marked an epoch
in the life of Montaigne, and which were productive of important
results to all with whom he was immediately connected. Political
movements relating to the colony required his presence in France,
and the same arrival which brought his sovereign's summons for his
of the homeless situation of Blanche. He repaired to Quebec, and
while awaiting the sailing of the ship which was to convey him to
Havre, sojourned with his friend, the aged Marquis Vaudreuil, who
was then viceroy of New France, and to whose exalted post, when it
should become vacant, the baron expected promotion. Here he
became acquainted with a nephew of the governor, one Count Carlton,
a young man of prepossessing person and manners, of whom
the marquis spoke in terms of the warmest eulogy. Rank, wealth,
wit, valor, and every accomplishment, if the governor's word was to
be taken, belonged to this extraordinary man, who had fled from the
gaieties of Parisian life to seek excitement and adventure in the new
world. Himself deceived, Vaudreuil little dreamed how erroneous a
portraiture he had drawn of his nephew, who was, in fact, a mere
adventurer, bankrupt in purse and reputation, and totally devoid of
principle. He had recently arrived in the colony, and by the profoundest
dissimulation had gained the good graces of his uncle,
which he hoped by some means to transmute into the current coin
of the realm. Montaigne's great wealth and political importance of
course made him also a desirable acquaintance for the scheming
youth; and, long fasting from the adulation and deference which
his exorbitant vanity craved, he became a ready dupe to the
specious flatteries of the count. If he had up to this period hesitated
about bringing home Blanche on his return from France, he
no longer did so. Here, he argued to himself, was a ready way of
disposing of her in marriage, and at once relieving his mind of its
responsibility in her behalf. So strongly did this idea take possession
of his mind, that, on parting with his friends, he repeated an invitation
which he had already extended to Carlton, to visit Castle Montaigne
after his own return from Europe; and added, in a jocular
way, that he had a marriageable daughter, and if the young people
should chance to fancy each other, he would not object to the alliance.
The marquis bowed coldly at this remark, which he suspected
supposed it to allude to Myrtle, and he thought it a poor compliment
to a gallant for whom half the belles of Paris were pining, to be
offered the hand of a half Huron maid, and who was even legitimate
only by the royal grace. But it was in the moment of departure,
and Montaigne did not dream of the erroneous construction which
was put upon his language. If, however, the Marquis Vaudreuil
derided the proposal of his friend, it was not so with Carlton, who,
while seeming to outdo his uncle in making sport of the affair,
secretly resolved to visit Castle Montaigne during the absence of its
lord, and acquaint himself with the Indian heiress.
The baron reached Paris in safety, and thence, while awaiting the
tardy action of the French cabinet, despatched a letter to England,
whither he could not safely proceed in person, summoning his
daughter to meet him, by an appointed day, at the neutral port of
Ostend, and notifying her of his intentions in regard to her change
of abode. Although the stiff and frigid sentences in which this
intelligence was conveyed were almost sufficient to repress the filial
promptings of her heart, Blanche was still delighted at the news; for
her home, since the death of her aunt, had been of the most comfortless
description, and she was prepared to welcome any change which
gave promise of relief. She was authorized to procure a maid, or
companion, if practicable; and this privilege resulted in the selection
of her cousin Emily, less from any congeniality of feeling between
them, than from a sense of duty to the nearly destitute daughter of
her deceased aunt. Miss Roselle gladly accepted the proposal, for
she possessed the most romantic views of life, despite the dull realities
to which her experience had been confined, and the new world
seemed to her only a field for the exploits of chivalry, and the
triumphs of distressed beauty. She was of good family, and her
lineal claim to gentility was a subject on which her friends were
seldom left unenlightened. That these advantages would be of vast
importance in her new home she did not allow herself to doubt, and
her poverty, to fortify her pretensions by a display of
dress and ornament often more gaudy than becoming.
A week sufficed for the needful preparations, and when everything
was in readiness the ladies proceeded to a neighboring seaport, and
took passage for Ostend, where they arrived prior to the appointed
day, and awaited the coming of their distinguished relative. He
did not prove unpunctual; and although his arrival was with that
ceremony of equipage and attendants which might be supposed
gratifying to a young lady, Blanche's mind was engrossed by emotions
which left little room for vanity. The interview was singularly
awkward and embarrassing; and the frightened daughter, after
several ineffectual attempts to break through the air of stateliness
and reserve which encompassed her parent, submitted at length
silently to its influence. Time, she thought, would work a change,
and nature yet re-assert its power in her father's breast. Visions of
artless devices, by which she would win his attention and regard,
passed rapidly through her mind, and she looked forward with joy
to the anticipated light of affection which was yet to beam upon her
long desolate heart. But, as there had been no pretence of consulting
her wishes in relation to the proposed change in her life, the
timid girl scarcely felt at liberty to give expression to her feelings,
and the father saw in her silence only signs of moroseness and dissatisfaction.
The party set out at once for Paris, where they arrived in a few
days, and where Miss Roselle fully expected to be snatched up by
some ardent admirer before the baron was ready to resume his
journey. This event not occurring, they proceeded, after about a
month's delay, to Havre, and, in company with the missionary priest,
Father Ledra, embarked in the doomed St. Cloud, for Quebec. Of
the wreck and suffering which forced that ill-fated vessel to seek
shelter in an enemy's port, the reader is already aware.
| CHAPTER II. The King of the Hurons | |