 | CHAPTER III. The King of the Hurons |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
The ship draws near with slow and laboring sweep.”
—Dana.
It was quite too bad to leave the crippled brig tossing upon the
tempestuous waves of the bay of New York during so long a retrospective
chapter; but it all comes of beginning a story at the wrong
end, or rather, of beginning it in the middle,—a plan which, although
it has classic precept and example for its authority, remains of doubtful
utility. As the vessel had approached the harbor, the fears of
Miss Montaigne had rapidly increased. She knew enough of the
peculiar attitude in which her father stood in relation to the English
colonies, as the ally of the northern Indians, and the supposed instigator
of many of their atrocities, to understand that his life was now
in extreme peril; and notwithstanding his unreserved selfishness, she
felt the utmost solicitude for his escape. Captain Sill assembled his
officers and crew, and imposed upon them the strictest secresy in
relation to the distinguished passenger who now stood among them
as one of their number, and the baron strengthened the appeal by a
handsome gratuity to the men. The young ladies were to pass as
sisters, bearing the name of Roselle, who were travelling in charge
of Father Ledra to their friends in Canada, a fiction diverging at so
slight an angle from the truth, that the priest, although he would
by no means consent to assert, agreed not to contradict it.
The piers of the city, meanwhile, had become populous with an
eager crowd, watching the approach of the vessel, and speculating
with every variety of opinion upon the extraordinary event. Not a
of the fleet, which they fully believed was about to make its appearance
in a hostile attitude; and a classic old Dutchman, who had not
been at the university of Gottingen for nothing, talked mysteriously
about the Grecian horse, fatal to trusting Troy, and doubted, between
some most ominous whiffs of his pipe, whether the St. Cloud were a
wrecked vessel at all. It was an easy matter, he said, to cut down
masts and break away bulkheads, and come rolling sideways into
port in a storm, and yet have a thousand armed soldiers stowed
away in the hold, after all. Not that he cared much whether Louis
or Queen Anne held a city to which neither of them had any right,
but the destruction of life and property, he said, glancing at a six-sided
store-house of his own upon the wharf, was a thing not to be
disregarded. A number of listeners turned pale at these remarks,
and some suggested calling out the militia and the fire-engines for
the defence of the city; while others thought the guns of the fort
ought to be fired into the wreck, without delay, by way of ascertaining
the truth of the suspicions. But, as the troops from the fort
at this moment made their appearance, having been ordered out to
keep the peace and prevent the escape of the prisoners, it was considered
safe to quietly await the dénouement, the more prudent
retiring a little into the back-ground.
Governor Cornbury, in the meantime, with several members of
his council, prepared to pay an official visit to the strangers. He
exulted at the accident, because the vessel and its stores would
prove a valuable acquisition to the colony and to his private purse;
but he had no intention of detracting from these advantages, by
burdening the government with the expense of maintaining a large
number of prisoners of war. The unfortunate captain, having dropped
anchor at a little distance from shore, received his visitors upon his
quarter-deck with great urbanity, and tendering his sword to the
governor, formally surrendered his ship; while Cornbury, equalling
the Frenchman in politeness, courteously declined accepting his
requested that the crew should be assembled amidships, and having
expressed his sympathy for the hardships they had already undergone,
signified that they were to be unconditionally released, a
seeming magnanimity which was responded to with hearty cheers.
He had addressed the men in French, but with the commander, who
spoke English fluently, he conversed in that language, and turning
to him now, inquired if he had any passengers.
“We have a few non-combatants in the cabin,” responded Sill,
smiling, “a priest, and two young ladies who are travelling in his
charge; it will be hardly necessary to invoke your excellency's
clemency in their behalf.”
“Our laws,” returned the governor, more gravely, “impose the
penalty of death upon any Romish priest who shall voluntarily enter
the province, and the most that we can do in your friend's behalf
will be to allow him thirty days to depart. As to the ladies, they
are allowed the largest liberty under all circumstances. I had almost
hoped,” he continued, “that your accident might afford me the
pleasure of an introduction to some of the officers of His Majesty's
colonial government; there are pending differences between us which
such an interview might go far to arrange: have I your word of
honor that there is no such individual in your ship?”
“My lord,” replied Sill, slightly coloring, and glancing at the
crew, who remained amidships watching the interview, while the
baron's figure towered conspicuously among them, “my lord, the
individuals now before you, and the three passengers below, are the
only persons on board my ship—for this you have my word of honor;
if you still doubt —”
“I doubt nothing that Captain Sill asserts,” answered the
governor, whose suspicions were aroused by the embarrassed air of
the other; “but there is something that looks like mystery here;
let me see this priest of whom you speak; I much fear his ordination
has not been strictly canonical. Clerical robes have been used as
succession, Mother Church will, doubtless, thank me for unmasking
him.”
“You will scarcely doubt Father Ledra after you have seen him,”
said Sill, motioning to an officer to call up the passengers; “I wish
the church had no representatives whose sanctity is more questionable.”
A few moments' pause ensued, during which the eyes of the
governor wandered among the crew, and seemed to fix inquiringly
upon the prominent figure of the baron; but a rustling in the cabin
gangway, and the appearance of the priest, accompanied by the
ladies, at once recalled his attention. Miss Montaigne was closely
veiled, and hung tremblingly upon the arm of Father Ledra; while
Emily, unalarmed and unveiled, walked boldly at her cousin's side,
and seemed bent on setting her friend a pattern of courage, if not of
modesty. The evident interest excited by the approach of the ladies
justified the sagacity of the commandant, who had summoned them
to accompany the priest on deck with a view to a diversion of Lord
Cornbury's somewhat dangerous attack.
“Captain Sill has much misconceived my meaning,” said the
governor, politely removing his hat, “if he understood me as requiring
the attendance of the ladies on deck; let them return if they
choose, or let them at least be seated.”
“My sister is much frightened,” answered Miss Roselle, hastily,
and glancing at Blanche, “and is afraid to quit the side of her protector;
we must be excused, therefore, for coming into your presence
unbidden.”
“I am much beholden to Miss Roselle's fears since they procure
me the honor of this interview,” returned Lord Cornbury, bowing
formally to the speaker, but scarcely removing his eyes from the
slight and graceful figure of her companion; “and yet,” he continued,
smiling, “it devolves a somewhat unpleasant duty upon me:
the commissions of his Most Christian Majesty rest at times upon
hide a moustache. Your sister, if such she be, will doubtless favor
us with a view of her face.”
“Which will at least be primâ facie evidence in her behalf,”
interposed a punning notary, who was in attendance in his official
capacity.
Emily whispered a moment to Blanche, who, sinking into a seat
which had been placed for her, drew aside her veil with trembling
hand, revealing, by the act, charms which seemed like a gleam of
sunlight to the beholders. Miss Montaigne's beauty was of that
perfect order which admits of no cavil, even from the lips of envy or
rivalry; it impressed the eye with a whelming sense of loveliness,
both in feature and expression, and seemed, as it was, the reflection
of a gentle and unsullied heart. Pale with agitation, her eyes
rested upon the deck, and it was not until some moments that
Cornbury, startled at the pleasing vision, recovered his self-possession.
“Here is no soldier, certainly,” he said, gaily, “unless it may be
a field officer of Cupid; my inquisition is at an end in this quarter,
and I can only beg pardon of Miss Roselle for having given her
such evident pain. The ladies will consider themselves entirely at
liberty.”
The governor had been surprised at the facility with which Emily
conversed in the English language, and on seeking an explanation
from that lady, was informed that both she and her sister were
educated in England, and were, on the maternal side, of English
descent. The captain's familiarity with the same tongue was less a
matter of marvel, his profession being one which rendered such an
acquirement almost indispensable. But Father Ledra, though
learned in the ancient tongues, conversed only in French, and Cornbury
was compelled to address him in that dialect; but a very
brief conversation convinced the governor that his suspicions were
groundless, and he even declined the proffered inspection of the luggage
little else than books of devotion and instruments of penance.
“I am indeed a soldier,” he said, when the governor's suspicions
were explained to him, raising his mild eyes upwards, while his
white locks fell like snow upon his shoulders; “I am indeed a soldier,
but it is of the cross of Christ; my warfare is with spiritual
evil, and my coat of mail,” pressing his hands upon his breast, “is
one that inflicts wounds, but does not ward them.”
Lord Cornbury was satisfied with his inquiries, and would have been
contented to withdraw at this stage of the affair, leaving the vessel in
charge of the proper governmental officer; but another and more dangerous
inquisition had unfortunately been going on for some minutes
previous, in a different part of the vessel. Mr. Attorney Nabb,
the notary, of whom mention has been made, was one of those little,
restless, waspish men, who are never content to act in a subordinate
capacity; and after chafing for some time under his forced restraint,
he had slipped out of the shadow of his superiors, for the purpose of
acting the little great man in another quarter. His field of operation
was amidships, where he blustered around among the crew for
some time, with no well defined aim beyond that of impressing the
sailors with a sense of his importance; but after much peering about,
and many wise looks, he came suddenly to a stand in front of Montaigne,
and remained looking up at the portly figure before him
with a singular air of admiration and contempt. The disproportion
of physical power between the two, which was ludicrously great, perhaps
suggested to the pigmy the idea of displaying a little official
authority, by way of balancing accounts.
“Who are you?” he said, addressing the supposed sailor in
French.
“Jack Beans, if it please your honor,” said the baron, twirling his
cap, with an admirable appearance of embarrassment.
Nabb pulled out a pencil from his pocket, and noted down the
answer with great gravity; an action which, of course, attracted the
and when he next threw back his head for the purpose of putting
another question, he had the satisfaction of seeing that Mr. Jack
Beans seemed a little alarmed. Several interrogatories succeeded in
regard to the age, residence, and occupation of the supposed sailor,
all of which were carefully written down, and the practised eye of the
attorney could not fail to perceive at each additional inquiry renewed
tokens of apprehension. Satisfied, however, at length, with having
frightened the giant and displayed his own importance, he was
about turning away, when his eye was arrested by the edge of a fine
linen wristband protruding from beneath the coarse flannel sleeve of
the sailor's shirt. Startled at the sight, suspicion at once took possession
of his mind, and several minute circumstances to which he
had before paid little heed, gave it confirmation. Stepping a few
paces backward, to gain a better view of the Frenchman's head, he
noticed the soft and silky appearance of the hair, and the fine face
and neck, which gave no evidence of exposure to the sun; while
Montaigne, in the effort to avoid quailing, had inadvertently resumed
his usual air of authority, and met the gaze of the other with the
look of a chained eagle. Convinced that he had stumbled upon a
prize of some kind, the attorney's delight knew no bounds; he continued
complacently gazing upon his victim for some moments,
running over in his mind the probable magnitude of the service
which he was about to render to government, and the extent of his
reward. He must be, thought Nabb, an officer of the army at
least, and possibly a nobleman; it might even be the Marquis Vaudreuil,
or one of the royal family, or, for soaring fancy seldom stops
midway in her flight, the very majesty of France himself. Gloating
over his discovery, he reached upwards, and tapping Montaigne upon
the shoulder, said:
“Lord Cornbury has released the crew of the St. Cloud, but not
any officer or gentleman who sees fit to assume a seaman's dress:
Monsieur will please to consider himself under arrest.”
So saying, he turned away to inform the governor of his discovery,
but had scarcely communicated his information, before a slight
commotion was perceived amidships, and three figures bounded over
the gunwale, and descended the vessel's side. The boat by which
the governor and his suite had approached the ship was waiting at
the foot of the man-ropes, the waterman in whose charge it had
been left having been attracted by curiosity on board the vessel.
A moment of consternation prevailed, and the attorney, furious with
the fear of losing his prize, seemed altogether demented: shouting,
“an escape! stop him! stop him!” he flew rather than ran towards
the place where the baron had disappeared, and calling loudly for
the “posse comitatus” to follow, he leaped upon the gunwale. The
last of the fugitives was at that moment entering the skiff, and Nabb,
gliding down the ropes like a squirrel, pitched into the boat, just as
they had succeeded in casting her loose. Recovering his feet, he
darted to the side of the stalwart baron, and grasping him by the
arm, exclaimed, “I arrest you in the Queen's name!” but Montaigne,
seating himself without reply, drew the little man forcibly to his lap,
and shouted,
“Pull now for your lives! a thousand pounds if we escape!”
The whole scene up to this point had occupied scarcely thirty
seconds, and the tumult and excitement on deck were still too great
to admit of any deliberate action. Blanche had swooned, Miss
Roselle was in hysteries, and Captain Sill, fearful of an outbreak
among his crew, was calling loudly to them to remain quiet. Lord
Cornbury himself was far from being self-possessed, and, gesticulating
with his sword, he called to the commander of the troops on the
adjacent wharf, and ordered him to fire a volley into the boat—a
command which was about being executed, when a shriek of agony
from the skiff arrested general attention.
“For Heaven's sake don't let them fire, my lord,” exclaimed one
of Cornbury's companions, “it will be certain death to Mr. Nabb.”
All eyes were turned towards the skiff, where the prominent
attorney before him, like a shield, was plainly visible. He was
near the stern of the vessel, thus at the same time protecting the
two sailors, who were bending meanwhile lustily to their oars, while
the little bark was making such headway as the heavy billows would
allow. It was a critical moment; the troops had taken aim, and
the order to fire was trembling on the lips of their officer, when a
reluctant countermand from the governor brought down their guns.
Boats were next in requisition for the chase, but the advantage of
the start, and the desperate vigor of the fugitives, left little to fear
from the pursuit of oars alone, and before a sail-boat could be procured
and got under weigh they were well out from the land.
Sagaciously taking a route nearly in the wind's eye, they had the
satisfaction of seeing the last-named vessel compelled to describe an
are of an immense circle, before she could even begin to bear down
upon them. The baron, in the meantime, took his turn at the
oars, and even compelled the notary to duty in the same line, under
penalty of being left behind. Frequent changes at this labor, with
stout hearts and strong arms, worked wonders, and in less than
twenty minutes, notwithstanding the roughness of the water, they
reached the Jersey shore, while their pursuers were yet more than a
mile distant. Nabb had grown much terrified in contemplating the
probable disposition which was to be made of himself after he had
ceased to be serviceable; and his alarm was not abated on landing,
by hearing some cool inquiries made by the sailors of their principal,
as to the manner in which he should be dispatched. But Montaigne
entertained no such design, and reminding the notary that he was a
prisoner of war, released him on his parole of honor not to aid or
assist, by information or otherwise, in the pursuit. Impressed with
the importance of retaining his skiff, the baron caused it to be skilfully
concealed in a ravine in the woods, and then, with the sailors,
plunged into the thicknesses of the forest to await the approach of
only to find the half-exhausted attorney alone upon the
beach. Still impetuous in the chase, they plied him with a dozen
questions at once, as to the course of the fugitives and the disposition
made of the boat; but Nabb rigidly preserved his parole. If ridiculous
and conceited at times, he was not wanting in honor as he had
proved himself not deficient in courage. The pursuers, therefore,
after much ineffectual search, returned to the city, contenting themselves
with the belief that the Frenchmen would be starved in the
wilderness, or be murdered by the Indians.
Lord Cornbury was much chagrined at the affair, and the more
so when he had succeeded in extorting from the fears of some of the
crew the name and rank of the fugitive. That he had had so
coveted a prize within his very grasp, and yet had suffered him to
escape, was a most galling reflection. Rage for a while became
dominant in his breast, and he had nearly resolved on a revocation
of his clemency towards the remaining prisoners; but reflection
induced him to follow out the line of policy which he had before
adopted. They were all set at liberty on the terms which have
already been named, and Father Ledra was allowed ample time to
quit the province. The governor, for a while, lost sight of the
minor incidents connected with the affair in the attempt at regaining
the baron, an object for the accomplishment of which, by proclamation
and pursuit, he left no means untried. Troops were sent up the river,
and Indians through the forest; and extra posts and runners were
flying in every direction, proclaiming the escape and the princely
reward of re-capture. That the lion was in the jungle somewhere
between New York and Albany, there could be little doubt; and so
confident were the anticipations of his being taken, that the council
in New York several times debated the subject of his doom. But
the vigilance and valor which had planned so extraordinary an
escape were not easily to be circumvented. A protracted journey,
arrival at Castle Montaigne, an event to which others of great
moment were subsequently linked, as the diligent reader of the following
pages will discover.
| CHAPTER III. The King of the Hurons | |