[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D. W. ]

THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD

By Gilbert Parker

EPOCH THE THIRD

XIII. "AS WATER UNTO WINE"XIV. IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUTXV. IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAWXVI. IN THE TREASURE HOUSEXVII. THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVEXVIII. MAIDEN NO MORE

CHAPTER XIII

"AS WATER UNTO WINE"

Three months afterwards George Gering was joyfully preparing to taketwo voyages. Perhaps, indeed, his keen taste for the one had much to dowith his eagerness for the other--though most men find getting gold ascheerful as getting married. He had received a promise of marriage fromJessica, and he was also soon to start with William Phips for theSpaniards' country. His return to New York with the news of the captureof the Hudson's Bay posts brought consternation. There was no angrierman in all America than Colonel Richard Nicholls; there was perhaps nogirl in all the world more agitated than Jessica, then a guest atGovernment House. Her father was there also, cheerfully awaiting hermarriage with Gering, whom, since he had lost most traces of Puritanism, he liked. He had long suspected the girl's interest in Iberville; if hehad known that two letters from him--unanswered--had been treasured, read, and re-read, he would have been anxious. That his daughter shouldmarry a Frenchman--a filibustering seigneur, a Catholic, the enemy of theBritish colonies, whose fellow-countrymen incited the Indians to harassand to massacre--was not to be borne. 

Besides, the Honourable Hogarth Leveret, whose fame in the colony was nowoften in peril because of his Cavalier propensities, and whose losses hadaged him, could not bear that he should sink and carry his daughter withhim. Jessica was the apple of his eye; for her he would have borne all, sorts of trials; but he could not bear to see her called on to bear them. Like most people out of the heyday of their own youth, he imagined theway a maid's fancy ought to go. 

If he had known how much his daughter's promise to marry Gering wouldcost her, he would not have had it. But indeed she did not herself guessit. She had, with the dreamy pleasure of a young girl, dwelt upon anevent which might well hold her delighted memory: distance, differenceof race, language, and life, all surrounded Iberville with an engagingfascination. Besides, what woman could forget a man who gave her escapefrom a fate such as Bucklaw had prepared for her? But she saw thehopelessness of the thing, everything was steadily acting in Gering'sfavour, and her father's trouble decided her at last. 

When Gering arrived at New York and told his story--to his credit withno dispraise of Iberville, rather as a soldier--she felt a pang greaterthan she ever had known. Like a good British maid, she was angry at thedefeat of the British, she was indignant at her lover's failure and proudof his brave escape, and she would have herself believe that she wasangry at Iberville. But it was no use; she was ill-content while herfather and others called him buccaneer and filibuster, and she joyed thatold William Drayton, who had ever spoken well of the young Frenchman, laughed at their insults, saying that he was as brave, comely, and fine-tempered a lad as he had ever met, and that the capture of the forts wasgenius: "Genius and pith, upon my soul!" he said stoutly; "and if hecomes this way he shall have a right hearty welcome, though he come tofight. "

In the first excitement of Gering's return, sorry for his sufferings andfor his injured ambition, she had suddenly put her hands in his and hadgiven her word to marry him. 

She was young, and a young girl does not always know which it is thatmoves her: the melancholy of the impossible, from which she sinks in akind of peaceful despair upon the possible, or the flush of a deepdesire; she acts in an atmosphere of the emotions, and cannot thereforebe sure of herself. But when it was done there came reaction to Jessica. In the solitude of her own room--the room above the hallway, from whichshe had gone to be captured by Bucklaw--she had misgivings. If she hadbeen asked whether she loved Iberville, she might have answered no. Buthe was a possible lover; and every woman weighs the possible loveragainst the accepted one--often, at first, to fluttering apprehensions. In this brief reaction many a woman's heart has been caught away. 

A few days after Gering's arrival he was obliged to push on to Boston, there to meet Phips. He hoped that Mr. Leveret and Jessica wouldaccompany him, but Governor Nicholls would not hear of it just yet. Truth is, wherever the girl went she was light and cheerfulness, althoughher ways were quiet and her sprightliness was mostly in her looks. Shewas impulsive, but impulse was ruled by a reserve at once delicate andunembarrassed. She was as much beloved in the town of New York as inBoston. 

Two days after Gering left she was wandering in the garden, when thegovernor joined her. 

"Well, well, my pretty councillor, " he said--"an hour to cheer an oldman's leisure?"

"As many as you please, " she answered daintily, putting her hand withinhis arm. "I am so very cheerful I need to shower the surplus. " Therewas a smile at her lips, but her eyes were misty. Large, brilliant, gentle, they had now also a bewildered look, which even the rough oldsoldier saw. He did not understand, but he drew the hand further withinhis arm and held it, there, and for the instant he knew not what to say. The girl did not speak; she only kept looking at him with a kind ofinward smiling. Presently, as if he had suddenly lighted upon a piece ofnews for the difficulty, he said: "Radisson has come. "

"Radisson!" she cried. 

"Yes. You know 'twas he that helped George to escape?"

"Indeed, no!" she answered. "Mr. Gering did not tell me. " She wasperplexed, annoyed, yet she knew not why. 

Gering had not brought Radisson into New York had indeed forbidden himto come there, or to Boston, until word was given him; for while he feltbound to let the scoundrel go with him to the Spaniards' country, it wasnot to be forgotten that the fellow had been with Bucklaw. But Radissonhad no scruples when Gering was gone, though the proscription had neverbeen withdrawn. 

"We will have to give him freedom, councillor, eh? even though weproclaimed him, you remember. " He laughed, and added: "You would demandthat, yea or nay. 

"Why should I?" she asked. 

"Now, give me wisdom all ye saints! Why--why?

"Faith, he helped your lover from the clutches of the French coxcomb. "

"Indeed, " she answered, "such a villain helps but for absurd benefits. Mr. Gering might have stayed with Monsieur Iberville in honour and safetyat least. And why a coxcomb? You thought different once; and you cannotdoubt his bravery. Enemy of our country though he be, I am surely boundto speak him well--he saved my life. "

Anxious to please her, he answered: "Wise as ever, councillor. What anold bear am I: When I called him coxcomb, 'twas as an Englishman hatinga Frenchman, who gave our tongues to gall--a handful of posts gone, aship passed to the spoiler, the governor of the company a prisoner, andour young commander's reputation at some trial! My temper waspardonable, eh, mistress?"

The girl smiled, and added: "There was good reason why Mr. Gering broughtnot Radisson here, and I should beware that man. A traitor is ever atraitor. He is French, too, and as a good Englishman you should hate allFrenchmen, should you not?"

"Merciless witch! Where got you that wit? If I must, I kneel;" and hegroaned in mock despair. "And if Monsieur Iberville should come knockingat our door you would have me welcome him lovingly?"

"Surely; there is peace, is there not? Has not the king, because of hislove for Louis commanded all goodwill between us and Canada?"

The governor laughed bitterly. "Much pity that he has! how can we liveat peace with buccaneers?" Their talk was interrupted here; but a fewdays later, in the same garden, Morris came to them. "A ship entersharbour, " he said, "and its commander sends this letter. "

An instant after the governor turned a troubled face on the girl andsaid: "Your counsel of the other day is put to rapid test, Jessica. This comes from monsieur, who would pay his respects to me. "

He handed the note to her. It said that Iberville had brought prisonerswhom he was willing to exchange for French prisoners in the governor'shands. 

Entering New York harbour with a single vessel showed in a strong lightIberville's bold, almost reckless, courage. The humour of it was notlost on Jessica, though she turned pale, and the paper fluttered in herfingers. 

"What will you do?" she said. 

"I will treat him as well as he will let me, sweetheart. " Two hoursafterwards, Iberville came up the street with Sainte-Helene, De Casson, and Perrot, --De Troyes had gone to Quebec, --courteously accompanied byMorris and an officer of the New York Militia. There was no enmity shownthe Frenchmen, for many remembered what had once made Iberville popularin New York. Indeed, Iberville, whose memory was of the best, now andagain accosted some English or Dutch resident, whose face he recalled. 

The governor was not at first cordial; but Iberville's cheerfulsoldierliness, his courtier spirit, and his treatment of the Englishprisoners, soon placed him on a footing near as friendly as that of yearsbefore. The governor praised his growing reputation, and at last askedhim to dine, saying that Mistress Leveret would no doubt be glad to meether rescuer again. 

"Still, I doubt not, " said the governor, "there will be embarrassment, for the lady can scarce forget that you had her lover prisoner. Butthese things are to be endured. Besides, you and Mr. Gering seem aseasily enemies as other men are friends. "

Iberville was amazed. So, Jessica and Gering were affianced. And thebuckle she had sent him he wore now in the folds of his lace! How couldhe know what comes from a woman's wavering sympathies, what from herinborn coquetry, and what from love itself? He was merely a man withmuch to learn. 

He accepted dinner and said: "As for Monsieur Gering, your excellency, we are as easily enemies as he and Radisson are comrades-in-arms. "

"Which is harshly put, monsieur. When a man is breaking prison hechooses any tool. You put a slight upon an honest gentleman. "

"I fear that neither Mr. Gering nor myself is too generous with eachother, your excellency, " answered Iberville lightly. 

This frankness was pleasing, and soon the governor took Iberville intothe drawing-room, where Jessica was. She was standing by the greatfireplace, and she did not move at first, but looked at Iberville in something of her old simple way. Then she offered him her hand with a quietsmile. 

"I fear you are not glad to see me, " he said, with a smile. "You cannothave had good reports of me--no?"

"Yes, I am glad, " she answered gently. "You know, monsieur, mine is aconstant debt. You do not come to me, I take it, as the conqueror ofEnglishmen. "

"I come to you, " he answered, "as Pierre le Moyne of Iberville, who hadonce the honour to do you slight service. I have never tried to forgetthat, because by it I hoped I might be remembered--an accident of priceto me. "

She bowed and at first did not speak; then Morris came to say that someone awaited the governor, and the two were left alone. 

"I have not forgotten, " she began softly, breaking a silence. 

"You will think me bold, but I believe you will never forget, " was hismeaning reply. 

"Yes, you are bold, " she replied, with the demure smile which had charmedhim long ago. Suddenly she looked up at him anxiously, and, "Why did yougo to Hudson's Bay?" she asked. 

"I would have gone ten times as far for the same cause, " he answered, andhe looked boldly, earnestly, into her eyes. 

She turned her head away. "You have all your old recklessness, " sheanswered. Then her eyes softened, and, "All your old courage, " sheadded. 

"I have all my old motive. "

"What is-your motive?"

Does a woman ever know how much such speeches cost? Did Jessica quiteknow when she asked the question, what her own motive was; how much ithad of delicate malice--unless there was behind it a simple sincerity?She was inviting sorrow. A man like Iberville was not to be countedlightly; for every word he sowed, he would reap a harvest of some kind. 

He came close to her, and looked as though he would read her through andthrough. "Can you ask that question?" he said most seriously. "If youask it because from your soul you wish to know, good! But if you ask itas a woman who would read a man's heart, and then--"

"Oh, hush!--hush!" she whispered. Her face became pale, and her eyeshad a painful brightness. "You must not answer. I had no right to ask. Oh, monsieur!" she added, "I would have you always for my friend if Icould, though you are the enemy of my country and of the man--I am tomarry. "

"I am for my king, " he replied; "and I am enemy of him who stands betweenyou and me. For see: from the hour that I met you I knew that some day, even as now, I should tell you that--I love you--indeed, Jessica, withall my heart. "

"Oh, have pity!" she pleaded. "I cannot listen--I cannot. "

"You shall listen, for you have remembered me and have understood. Voila!" he added, hastily catching her silver buckle from his bosom. "This that you sent me, look where I have kept it--on my heart!"

She drew back from him, her face in her hands. Then suddenly she putthem out as though to prevent him coming near her, and said:

"Oh, no--no! You will spare me; I am an affianced wife. " An appealingsmile shone through her tears. "Oh, will you not go?" she begged. "Or, will you not stay and forget what you have said? We are little more thanstrangers; I scarcely know you; I--"

"We are no strangers, " he broke in. "How can that be, when for years Ihave thought of you--you of me? But I am content to wait, for my loveshall win you yet. You--"

She came to him and put her hands upon his arm. "You remember, " shesaid, with a touch of her old gaiety, and with an inimitable grace, "whatgood friends we were that first day we met? Let us be the same now--forthis time at least. Will you not grant me this for to-day?"

"And to-morrow?" he asked, inwardly determining to stay in the port ofNew York and to carry her off as his wife; but, unlike Bucklaw, with herconsent. 

At that moment the governor returned, and Iberville's question was neveranswered. Nor did he dine at Government House, for word came secretlythat English ships were coming from Boston to capture him. He had, therefore, no other resource but to sail out and push on for Quebec. He would not peril the lives of his men merely to follow his will withJessica. 

What might have occurred had he stayed is not easy to say--fortunesturn on strange trifles. The girl, under the influence of his masterfulspirit and the rare charm of his manner, might have--as many another has--broken her troth. As it was, she wrote Iberville a letter and sent itby a courier, who never delivered it. By the same fatality, of theletters which he wrote her only one was received. This told her thatwhen he returned from a certain cruise he would visit her again, for hewas such an enemy to her country that he was keen to win what did it mosthonour. Gering had pressed for a marriage before he sailed for theSpaniards' country, but she had said no, and when he urged it she hadshown a sudden coldness. Therefore, bidding her good-bye, he had sailedaway with Phips, accompanied, much against his will, by Radisson. Bucklaw was not with them. He had set sail from England in a tradingschooner, and was to join Phips at Port de la Planta. Gering did notknow that Bucklaw had share in the expedition, nor did Bucklaw guessthe like of Gering. 

Within two weeks of the time that Phips in his Bridgwater Merchant, manned by a full crew, twenty fighting men, and twelve guns, withGering in command of the Swallow, a smaller ship, got away to the south, Iberville also sailed in the same direction. He had found awaiting him, on his return to Quebec, a priest bearing messages and a chart fromanother priest who had died in the Spaniards' country. 

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT

Iberville had a good ship. The Maid of Provence carried a handful ofguns and a small but carefully chosen crew, together with Sainte-Helene, Perrot, and the lad Maurice Joval, who had conceived for Ibervillefriendship nigh to adoration. Those were days when the young wereencouraged to adventure, and Iberville had no compunction in giving theboy this further taste of daring. 

Iberville, thorough sailor as he was, had chosen for his captain one whohad sailed the Spanish Main. He had commanded on merchant-ships whichhad been suddenly turned into men-of-war, and was suited to the presententerprise: taciturn, harsh of voice, singularly impatient, but a perfectseaman and as brave as could be. He had come to Quebec late the previousautumn with the remnants of a ship which, rotten when she left the portof Havre, had sprung a leak in mid-ocean, had met a storm, lost hermainmast, and by the time she reached the St. Lawrence had scarce a stickstanding. She was still at Quebec, tied up in the bay of St. Charles, from which she would probably go out no more. Her captain--Jean Berigord--had chafed on the bit in the little Hotel Colbert, making himself morefeared than liked, till one day he was taken to Iberville by Perrot. 

A bargain was soon struck. The nature of the expedition was not known inQuebec, for the sailors were not engaged till the eve of starting, andPerrot's men were ready at his bidding without why or wherefore. Indeed, when the Maid of Provence left the island of Orleans, her nose seawards, one fine July morning, the only persons in Quebec that knew herdestination were the priest who had brought Iberville the chart ofthe river, with its accurate location of the sunken galleon, Iberville'sbrothers, and Count Frontenac himself--returned again as governor. 

"See, Monsieur Iberville, " said the governor, as, with a fine show ofcompliment, in full martial dress, with his officers in gold lace, perukes, powder, swords, and ribbons, he bade Iberville good-bye--"See, my dear captain, that you find the treasure, or make these greedy Englishpay dear for it. They have a long start, but that is nothing, with aship under you that can show its heels to any craft. I care not so muchabout the treasure, but I pray you humble those dull Puritans, who turnbuccaneers in the name of the Lord. "

Iberville made a gallant reply, and, with Sainte-Helene, received ahearty farewell from the old soldier, who, now over seventy years of age, was as full of spirit as when he distinguished himself at Arras fiftyyears before. In Iberville he saw his own youth renewed, and foretoldthe high part he would yet play in the fortunes of New France. Ibervillehad got to the door and was bowing himself out when, with a quickgesture, Frontenac stopped him, stepped quickly forward, and clasping hisshoulders kissed him on each cheek, and said in a deep, kind voice: "Iknow, mon enfant, what lies behind this. A man pays the price one timeor another: he draws his sword for his mistress and his king; bothforget, but one's country remains--remains. "

Iberville said nothing, but with an admiring glance into the aged, iron face, stooped and kissed Frontenac's hand and withdrew silently. Frontenac, proud, impatient, tyrannical, was the one man in New Francewho had a powerful idea of the future of the country, and who loved herand his king by the law of a loyal nature. Like Wolsey, he had found hisking ungrateful, and had stood almost alone in Canada among his enemies, as at Versailles among his traducers--imperious, unyielding, and yetforgiving. Married, too, at an early age, his young wife, caring littlefor the duties of maternity and more eager to serve her own ambitionsthan his, left him that she might share the fortunes of Mademoiselle deMontpensier. 

Iberville had mastered the chart before he sailed, and when they werewell on their way he disclosed to the captain the object of their voyage. Berigord listened to all he had to say, and at first did no more thanblow tobacco smoke hard before him. "Let me see the chart, " he said atlast, and, scrutinising it carefully, added: "Yes, yes, 'tis rightenough. I've been in the port and up the river. But neither we nor theEng lish'll get a handful of gold or silver thereabouts. 'Tis throwinggood money after none at all. "

"The money is mine, my captain, " said Iberville good-humouredly. "Therewill be sport, and I ask but that you give me every chance you can. "

"Look then, monsieur, " replied the smileless man, "I'll run your ship forall she holds from here to hell, if you twist your finger. She's as gooda craft as ever I spoke, and I'll swear her for any weather. Thefighting and the gold as you and the devil agree!"

Iberville wished nothing better--a captain concerned only with his ownduties. Berigord gathered the crew and the divers on deck, and in half adozen words told them the object of the expedition, and was followed byIberville. Some of the men had been with him to Hudson's Bay, and theywished nothing better than fighting the English, and all were keen withthe lust of gold even though it were for another. As it was, Ibervillepromised them all a share of what was got. 

On the twentieth day after leaving Quebec they sighted islands, andsimultaneously they saw five ships bearing away towards them. Ibervillewas apprehensive that a fleet of the kind could only be hostile, formerchant-ships would hardly sail together so, and it was not possiblethat they were French. There remained the probability that they wereSpanish or English ships. He had no intention of running away, but atthe same time he had no wish to fight before he reached Port de la Plantaand had had his hour with Gering and Phips and the lost treasure. Besides, five ships was a large undertaking, which only a madman wouldwillingly engage. However, he kept steadily on his course. But therewas one chance of avoiding a battle without running away--the glass hadbeen falling all night and morning. Berigord, when questioned, grimlyreplied that there was to be trouble, but whether with the fleet or theelements was not clear, and Iberville did not ask. 

He got his reply effectively and duly however. A wind suddenly sprang upfrom the north-west, followed by a breaking cross sea. It as suddenlyswelled to a hurricane, so that if Berigord had not been fortunate as tohis crew, and had not been so fine a sailor, the Maid of Provence mighthave fared badly, for he kept all sail on as long as he dare, and took itin none too soon. But so thoroughly did he know the craft and trust hismen that she did what he wanted; and though she was tossed and hammeredby the sea till it seemed that she must, with every next wave, go down, she rode into safety at last, five hundred miles out of their course. 

The storm had saved them from the hostile fleet, which had fared ill. They were first scattered, then two of them went down, another was sodisabled that she had to be turned back to the port they had left, andthe remaining two were separated, so that their only course was to returnto port also. As the storm came up they had got within fighting distanceof the Maid of Provence, and had opened ineffectual fire, which she--occupied with the impact of the storm--did not return. Escaped thedangers of the storm, she sheered into her course again, and ran away tothe south-west, until Hispaniola came in sight. 

CHAPTER XV

IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW

The Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow made the voyage down with no set-backs, having fair weather and a sweet wind on their quarter all the way, to the wild corner of an island, where a great mountain stands sentineland a bay washes upon a curving shore and up the. River de la Planta. There were no vessels in the harbour and there was only a smallsettlement on the shore, and as they came to anchor well away from thegridiron of reefs known as the Boilers, the prospect was handsome: thelong wash of the waves, the curling, white of the breakers, and therainbow-coloured water. The shore was luxuriant, and the sun shoneintemperately on the sea and the land, covering all with a fine beautifulhaze, like the most exquisite powder sifted through the air. All onboard the Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow were in hearty spirits. There had been some sickness, but the general health of the expeditionwas excellent. 

It was not till the day they started from Boston that Phips told Geringhe expected to meet some one at the port who had gone to prepare the way, to warn them by fires in case of danger, and to allay any oppositionamong the natives--if there were any. But he had not told him who theherald was. 

Truth is, Phips was anxious that Gering should have no chance ofobjecting to the scoundrel who had, years before, tried to kidnap his nowaffianced wife--who had escaped a deserved death on the gallows. It wasa rude age, and men of Phips's quality, with no particular niceness as towomen, or horror as to mutiny when it was twenty years old, compromisedwith their conscience for expediency and gain. Moreover, in his humorousway, Bucklaw, during his connection with Phips in England, had madehimself agreeable and resourceful. Phips himself had sprung from thelower orders, --the son of a small farmer, --and even in future days whenhe rose to a high position in the colonies, gaining knighthood and otherhonours, he had the manners and speech of "a man of the people. " Bucklawunderstood men: he knew that his only game was that of bluntness. Thiswas why he boarded Phips in Cheapside without subterfuge or disguise. 

Nor had Phips told Bucklaw of Gering's coming; so that when theBridgwater Merchant and the Swallow entered Port de la Planta, Bucklawhimself, as he bore out in a small sail-boat, did not guess that he waslikely to meet a desperate enemy. He had waited patiently, and hadreckoned almost to a day when Phips would arrive. He was alongsidebefore Phips had called anchor. His cheerful countenance came up betweenthe frowning guns, his hook-hand ran over the rail, and in a moment hewas on deck facing--Radisson. 

He was unprepared for the meeting, but he had taken too many chancesin his lifetime to show astonishment. He and Radisson had fought andparted; they had been in ugly business together, and they were likely tobe, now that they had met, in ugly business again. 

Bucklaw's tiger ran up to stroke his chin with the old grotesque gesture. "Ha!" he said saucily, "cats and devils have nine lives. "

There was the same sparkle in the eye as of old, the same buoyant voice. For himself, he had no particular quarrel with Radisson; the more sobecause he saw a hang-dog sulkiness in Radisson's eye. It was ever hiscue when others were angered to be cool. The worst of his crimes hadbeen performed with an air of humorous cynicism. He could have greatadmiration for an enemy such as Iberville; and he was not a man to fightneedlessly. He had a firm belief that he had been intended for a highposition--a great admiral, or general, or a notable buccaneer. 

Before Radisson had a chance to reply came Phips, who could not help butshow satisfaction at Bucklaw's presence; and in a moment they were ontheir way together to the cabin, followed by the eyes of the enragedRadisson. Phips disliked Radisson; the sinister Frenchman, with his evilhistory, was impossible to the open, bluff captain. He had been placedupon Phips's vessel because he knew the entrance to the harbour; but tryas he would for a kind of comradeship, he failed: he had an ugly vanityand a bad heart. There was only one decent thing which still clung tohim in rags and tatters--the fact that he was a Frenchman. He had madehimself hated on the ship--having none of the cunning tact of Bucklaw. As Phips and Bucklaw went below, a sudden devilry entered into him. Hewas ripe for quarrel, eager for battle. His two black eyes were likeburning beads, his jaws twitched. If Bucklaw had but met him withoutthis rough, bloodless irony, he might have thrown himself with ardourinto the work of the expedition; but he stood alone, and hatred and warrioted in him. 

Below in the cabin Phips and Bucklaw were deep in the chart of theharbour and the river. The plan of action was decided upon. A canoe wasto be built out of a cotton-tree large enough to carry eight or ten oars. This and the tender, with men and divers, were to go in search of thewreck under the command of Bucklaw and the captain of the Swallow, whose name Phips did not mention. Phips himself was to remain on theBridgwater Merchant, the Swallow lying near with a goodly number of mento meet any possible attack from the sea. When all was planned, Phipstold Bucklaw who was the commander of the Swallow. For a moment thefellow's coolness was shaken; the sparkle died out of his eye and he shotup a furtive look at Phips, but he caught a grim smile on the face of thesturdy sailor. He knew at once there was no treachery meant, and heguessed that Phips expected no crisis. It was ever his way to act withpromptness, being never so resourceful as when his position was mostcritical: he was in the power of Gering and Phips, and he knew it, buthe knew also that his game must be a bold one. 

"By-gones are by-gones, captain, " he said; "and what's done can't behelped, and as it was no harm came anyhow. "

"By-gones are by-gones, " replied the other, "and let's hope that Mr. Gering will say so too. "

"Haven't you told him, sir?"

"Never a word--but I'll send for him now, and bygones let it be. "

Bucklaw nodded, and drummed the table with his tiger. He guessed whyPhips had not told Gering, and he foresaw trouble. He trusted, however, to the time that had passed since the kidnapping, and on Gering's hungerfor treasure. Phips had compromised, and why not he? But if Gering wasbent on trouble, why, there was the last resource of the peace-lover. Hetapped the rapier at his side. He ever held that he was peaceful, and itis recorded that at the death of an agitated victim, he begged him to"sit still and not fidget. "

He laid no plans as to what he should do when Gering came. Like the truegamester, he waited to see how he should be placed; then he could drawupon his resources. He was puzzled about Radisson, but Radisson couldwait; he was so much the superior of the coarser villain that he gave himlittle thought. As he waited he thought more about the treasure at handthan of either--or all--his enemies. 

He did not stir, but kept drumming till he knew that Gering was aboard, and heard his footsteps, with the captain's, coming. He showed noexcitement, though he knew a crisis was at hand. A cool, healthy sweatstood out on his forehead, cheeks and lips, and his blue eyes sparkledclearly and coldly. He rose as the two men appeared. 

Phips had not even told his lieutenant. But Gering knew Bucklaw at thefirst glance, and his eyes flashed and a hand went to his sword. 

"Captain Phips, " he said angrily, "you know who this man is?"

"He is the guide to our treasure-house, Mr. Gering. "

"His name is Bucklaw--a mutineer condemned to death, the villain whotried to kidnap Mistress Leveret. "

It was Bucklaw that replied. "Right--right you are, Mr. Gering. I'mBucklaw, mutineer, or what else you please. But that's ancient--ancient. I'm sinner no more. You and Monsieur Iberville saved the maid I meant noharm to her; 'twas but for ransom. I am atoning now--to make yourfortune, give you glory. Shall by-gones be by-gones, Mr. Gering? Whatsay you?"

Bucklaw stood still at the head of the table. But he was very watchful. What the end might have been it is hard to tell, but a thing occurredwhich took the affair out of Gering's hands. 

A shadow darkened the companion-way, and Radisson came quickly down. Hisface was sinister, and his jaws worked like an animal's. Coming to thetable he stood between Gering and Bucklaw, and looked from one to theother. Bucklaw was cool, Gering very quiet, and he misinterpreted. 

"You are great friends, eh, all together?" he said viciously. "Alltogether you will get the gold. It is no matter what one English do, the other absolve for gold. A buccaneer, a stealer of women--no, it isno matter! All English--all together! But I am French--I am the dirt--I am for the scuppers. Bah! I will have the same as Bucklaw--you see?"

"You will have the irons, fellow!" Phips roared. 

A knife flashed in the air, and Bucklaw's pistol was out at the sameinstant. The knife caught Bucklaw in the throat and he staggered againstthe table like a stuck pig, the bullet hit Radisson in the chest and hefell back against the wall, his pistol dropping from his hand. Bucklaw, bleeding heavily, lurched forwards, pulled himself together, and, stooping, emptied his pistol into the moaning Radisson. Then he sank onhis knees, snatched the other's pistol, and fired again into Radisson'sbelly; after which with a last effort he plunged his own dagger into thethroat of the dying man, and, with his fingers still on the handle, fellwith a gurgling laugh across the Frenchman's body. 

Radisson recovered for an instant. He gave a hollow cry, drew the knifefrom his own throat and, with a wild, shambling motion, struck at themotionless Bucklaw, pinning an arm to the ground. Then he muttered anoath and fell back dead. 

The tournament of blood was over. So swift had it been there was nochance to interfere. Besides, Gering was not inclined to save the lifeof either; while Phips, who now knew the chart, as he thought, as wellas Bucklaw, was not concerned, though he liked the mutineer. 

For a moment they both looked at the shambles without speaking. Sailorsfor whom Phips had whistled crowded the cabin. 

"A damned bad start, Mr. Gering, " Phips said, as he moved towards thebodies. 

"For them, yes; but they might have given us a bad ending. "

"For the Frenchman, he's got less than was brewing for him, but Bucklawwas a humorous dog. "

As he said this he stooped to Bucklaw and turned him over, calling to thesailors to clean the red trough and bring the dead men on deck, butpresently he cried: "By the devil's tail, the fellow lives! Here, a handquick, you lubbers, and fetch the surgeon. "

Bucklaw was not dead. He had got two ugly wounds and was bleedingheavily, but his heart still beat. Radisson's body was carried on deck, and within half an hour was dropped into the deep. The surgeon, however, would not permit Bucklaw to be removed until he had been cared for, andso Phips and Gering went on deck and made preparations for the treasure-hunt. A canoe was hollowed out by a dozen men in a few hours, the tenderwas got ready, the men and divers told off, and Gering took command ofthe searching-party, while Phips remained on the ship. 

They soon had everything ready for a start in the morning. Word wasbrought that Bucklaw still lived, but was in a high fever, and that thechances were all against him; and Phips sent cordials and wines from hisown stores, and asked that news be brought to him of any change. 

Early in the morning Gering, after having received instructions fromPhips, so far as he knew (for Bucklaw had not told all that wasnecessary), departed for the river. The canoe and tender went up thestream a distance, and began to work down from the farthest pointindicated in the chart. Gering continued in the river nearly all day, and at night camped on the shore. The second day brought no better luck, nor yet the third the divers had seen no vestige of a wreck, nor any signof treasure--nothing except four skeletons in a heap, tied together witha chain, where the water was deepest. These were the dead priests, forwhom Bucklaw could account. The water was calm, the tide rising andfalling gently, and when they arrived among what was called the Shallows, they could see plainly to the bottom. They passed over the Boilers, a reef of shoals, and here they searched diligently, but to no purpose;the divers went down frequently, but could find nothing. The handful ofnatives in the port came out and looked on apathetically; one or twoSpaniards also came, but they shrugged their shoulders and pitied thefoolish adventurers. Gering had the power of inspiring his men, andPhips was a martinet and was therefore obeyed; but the lifeless days andunrewarded labour worked on the men, and at last the divers shirked theirtask. 

Meanwhile, Bucklaw was fighting hard for life. 

As time passed, the flush of expectancy waned; the heat was great, thewaiting seemed endless. Adventure was needed for the spirits of the men, and of this now there was nothing. Morning after morning the sun rose ina moist, heavy atmosphere; day after day went in a quest which becamedreary, and night after night settled upon discontent. Then camethreats. But this was chiefly upon the Bridgwater Merchant. Phips hadpicked up his sailors in English ports, and nearly all of them werebrutal adventurers. They were men used to desperate enterprises, and they had flocked to him because they smelled excitement and booty. Of ordinary merchant seamen there were only a few. When the Duke ofAlbemarle had come aboard at Plymouth before they set sail, he hadshrugged his shoulders at the motley crew. To his hint Phips had onlyreplied with a laugh: these harum-scarum scamps were more to his mindthan ordinary seamen. At heart he himself was half-barbarian. It ispossible he felt there might some time be a tug-of-war on board, but hedid not borrow trouble. Bucklaw had endorsed every man that he hadchosen; indeed, Phips knew that many of them were old friends of Bucklaw. Again, of this he had no fear; Bucklaw was a man of desperate deeds, buthe knew that in himself the pirate had a master. Besides, he would pickup in Boston a dozen men upon whom he could depend; and cowardice had noplace in him. Again, the Swallow, commanded by Gering, was fitted outwith New England seamen; and on these dependence could be put. 

Therefore, when there came rumblings of mutiny on the BridgwaterMerchant, there was faithful, if gloomy, obedience, on the Swallow. Had there been plenty of work to do, had they been at sea instead ofat anchor, the nervousness would have been little; but idleness begotirritation, and irritation mutiny. Or had Bucklaw been on deck, insteadof in the surgeon's cabin playing a hard game with death, matters mightnot have gone so far as they did; for he would have had immediatepersonal influence repressive of revolt. As it was, Phips had to workthe thing out according to his own lights. One afternoon, when Geringwas away with the canoes on the long search, the crisis came. It was aday when life seemed to stand still; a creamy haze ingrained withdelicate blue had settled on land and sea; the long white rollers slowlytravelled over the Boilers, and the sea rocked like a great cradle. Indefiniteness of thought, of time, of event, seemed over all; on boardthe two ships life swung idly as a hammock; but only so in appearance. 

Phips was leaning against the deck-house, watching through his glass thesearch-canoes. Presently he turned and walked aft. As he did so thesurgeon and the chief mate came running towards him. They had not timeto explain, for came streaming upon deck a crowd of mutineers. Phips didnot hesitate an instant; he had no fear--he was swelling with anger. 

"Why now, you damned dogs, " he blurted out, "what mean you by this?What's all this show of cutlasses?"

The ringleader stepped forwards. "We're sick of doing nothing, " heanswered. "We've come on a wild goose chase. There's no treasure here. We mean you no harm; we want not the ship out of your hands. "

"Then, " cried Phips, "in the name of all the devils, what want you?"

"Here's as we think: there's nothing to be got out of this hunt, butthere's treasure on the high seas all the same. Here's our offer: keepcommand of your ship and run up the black flag!"

Phips's arm shot out and dropped the man to the ground. 

"That's it, you filthy rogues!" he roared. "Me to turn pirate, eh?You'd set to weaving ropes for the necks of every one of us--blood of mysoul!"

He seemed not to know that cutlasses were threatening him, not to beaware that the man at his feet, clutching his weapon, was mad with rage. 

"Now look, " he said, in a big loud voice, "I know that treasure is here, and I know we'll find it; if not now, when we get Bucklaw on his feet. "

"Ay! Bucklaw! Bucklaw!" ran through the throng. 

"Well, then, Bucklaw, as you say! Now here's what I'll do, scoundrelsthough you be. Let me hear no more of this foolery. Stick to me tillthe treasure's found--for God take my soul if I leave this bay till Ihave found it!--and you shall have good share of booty. "

He had grasped the situation with such courage that the mutineershesitated. He saw his advantage and followed it up, asking for three oftheir number to confer with him as to a bond upon his proposal. After atime the mutineers consented, the bond was agreed to, and the search wenton. 

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE TREASURE HOUSE

The canoes and tender kept husking up and down among the Shallows, finding nothing. At last one morning they pushed out from the side ofthe Bridgwater Merchant, more limp than ever. The stroke of the oars waslistless, but a Boston sailor of a merry sort came to a cheery song:

 "I knows a town, an' it's a fine town, And many a brig goes sailin' to its quay; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn, An' a lass that's fair to see. I knows a town, an' it's a fine town; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn But O my lass! an' O the gay gown, Which I have seen my pretty in!

 "I knows a port, an' it's a good port, An' many a brig is ridin' easy there; I knows a home, an' it's a good home, An' a lass that's sweet an' fair. I knows a port, an' it's a good port, I knows a home, an' it's a good home But O the pretty that is my sort, That's wearyin' till I come!

 "I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, The day a sailor man comes back to town. I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide, The tide that gets you quick to anchors down. I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, I knows a tide, an' its' a good tide And God help the lubber, I say, That's stole the sailor man's bride!"

The song had its way with them and they joined in and lay to their oarswith almost too much goodwill. Gering, his arms upon the side of thecanoe, was looking into the water idly. It was clear far down, andpresently he saw what seemed a feather growing out of the side of a rock. It struck him as strange, and he gave word to back water. They were justoutside the Boilers in deep water. Drawing back carefully, he saw thefeather again, and ordered one of the divers to go down. They could seethe man descend and gather the feather, then he plunged deeper still andthey lost sight of him. But soon he came up rapidly, and was quicklyinside the boat, to tell Gering that he had seen several great guns. Atthis the crew peered over the boat-side eagerly. Gering's heart beathard. He knew what it was to rouse wild hope and then to see despairfollow, but he kept an outward calm and told the diver to go down again. Time seemed to stretch to hours before they saw the man returning withsomething in his arm. He handed up his prize, and behold it was a pig ofsilver!

The treasure was found; and there went up a great cheer. All wasactivity, for, apart from the delight of discovery, Phips had promised ashare to every man. The place was instantly buoyed, and they hastenedback to the port with the grateful tidings to Phips. With his glass hesaw them coming and by their hard rowing he guessed that they had news. When they came within hail they cheered, and when they saw the silver theair rang with shouts. 

As Gering stepped on board with the silver Captain Phips ran forwards, clasped it in both hands, and cried: "We are all made, thanks be to God!"

Then all hands were ordered on board, and because the treasure lay in asafe anchorage they got the ships away towards it. 

Bucklaw, in the surgeon's cabin, was called out of delirium by the noise. He was worn almost to a skeleton, his eyes were big and staring, his facehad the paleness of death. The return to consciousness was sudden--perhaps nothing else could have called him back. He wriggled out of bedand, supporting himself against the wall, made his way to the door, andcrawled away, mumbling to himself as he went. 

A few minutes afterwards Phips and Gering were talking in the cabin. Phips was weighing the silver up and down in his hands. 

"At least three hundred good guineas here!" he said. There was ashuffling behind them, and, as Phips turned, a figure lunged on him, clutched and hugged the silver. It was Bucklaw. 

"Mine! mine!" he called in a hoarse voice, with great gluttonous eyes. "All mine!" he cried again. Then he gasped and came to the ground in aheap, with the silver hugged in his arms. All at once he caught at histhroat; the bandage of his wound fell away and there was a rush of bloodover the silver. With a wild laugh he plunged face forward on the metal--and the blood of the dead Bucklaw consecrated the first-fruits of thetreasure. 

As the vessel rode up the harbour the body was dropped into the deep. 

"Worse men--worse men, sir, bide with the king, " said Phips to Gering. "A merry villain, that Bucklaw. " The ship came to anchor at the buoys, and no time was lost. Divers were sent down, and by great good luckfound the room where the bullion was stored. The number of divers wasincreased, and the work of raising the bullion went on all that day. There is nothing like the lust for gold in the hearts of men. From stemto stern of the Bridgwater Merchant and the Swallow, this wild will hadits way. Work went on until the last moment of sun. That night talk waslong and sleep short, and work was on again at sunrise. In three daysthey took up thirty-two tons of bullion. In the afternoon of the thirdday the store-room was cleared, and then they searched the hold. Herethey found, cunningly distributed among the ballast, a great many bags ofpieces-of-eight. These, having lain in the water so long, were crustedwith a strong substance, which they had to break with iron bars. It wasreserved for Phips himself to make the grand discovery. He donned adiving-suit and went below to the sunken galleon. Silver and gold hadbeen found, but he was sure there were other treasures. After muchsearching he found, in a secret place of the captain's cabin, a chestwhich, on being raised and broken open, was found stocked with pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones. 

And now the work was complete, and on board the Bridgwater Merchant wastreasure to the sum of three hundred thousand pounds, and more. Joyfullydid Phips raise anchor. But first he sent to the handful of people inthe port a liberal gift of money and wine and provisions from the ship'sstores. With a favourable breeze he got away agreeably, and was clear ofthe harbour and cleaving northwards before sunset--the Swallow leadingthe treasure-ship like a pilot. All was joy and hilarity; but thereremained one small danger yet: they had raised their treasure unmolested, but could they bring it to Boston and on to England? Phips would haveasked that question very seriously indeed had he known that the Maid ofProvence was bowling out of the nor'-east towards the port which he hadjust left. 

The Maid of Provence had had a perilous travel. Escaping the Englishwar-ships, she fell in with a pirate craft. She closed with it, pluggedit with cannon-shot, and drew off, then took the wind on her beam andcame drifting down on her, boarded her and, after a swift and desperatefight, killed every pirate-rogue save one--the captain--whom for reasonsthey made a prisoner. Then they sank the rover, and got away to Port dela Planta as fast as they were able. But by reason of the storm and thefighting, and drifting out of their course, they had lost ten days; andthus it was they reached the harbour a few hours after the BridgwaterMerchant and the Swallow had left. 

They waited till morning and sailed cautiously in to face disappointment. They quickly learned the truth from the natives. There was but one thingto do and Iberville lost no time. A few hours to get fresh water andfruit and to make some repairs, for the pirate had not been idle in thefight--and then Berigord gave the nose of the good little craft to thesea, and drove her on with an honest wind, like a hound upon the scent. Iberville was vexed, but not unduly; he had the temper of a warrior whois both artist and gamester. As he said to Perrot: "Well, Nick, they'vesaved us the trouble of lifting the treasure; we'll see now who shallbeach it. "

He guessed that the English ships would sail to Boston for better armingere they ventured to the English Channel. He knew the chances wereagainst him, but it was his cue to keep heart in his followers. For daysthey sailed without seeing a single ship; then three showed upon thehorizon and faded away. They kept on, passing Florida and Carolina, hoping to reach Boston before the treasure-ships, and to rob them attheir own door. Their chances were fair, for the Maid of Provence hadproved swift, good-tempered, and a sweet sailer in bad waters. 

Iberville had reckoned well. One evening, after a sail northwards asfine as the voyage down was dirty, they came up gently within forty milesof Boston, and then, because there was nothing else to do, went idling upand down all night, keeping watch. The next morning there was a mist inthe air, which might become fog. Iberville had dreaded this; but he wasto have his chance, for even when Berigord's face lowered most the look-out from the shrouds called down that he sighted two ships. They weremaking for the coast. All sail was put on, they got away to meet thenewcomers, and they were not long in finding these to be their quarry. 

Phips did not think that any ship would venture against them so nearBoston, and could not believe the Maid of Provence an enemy. He thoughther an English ship eager to welcome them, but presently he saw the whiteensign of France at the mizzen, and a round shot rattled through therigging of the Bridgwater Merchant. 

But he was two to one, and the game seemed with him. No time was wasted. Phips's ships came to and stood alongside, and the gunners got to work. The Bridgwater Merchant was high in the water, and her shot at first didlittle damage to the Maid of Provence, which, having the advantage of thewind, came nearer and nearer. The Swallow, with her twenty-odd guns, didbetter work, and carried away the foremast of the enemy, killing severalmen. But Iberville came on slowly, and, anxious to dispose of theSwallow first, gave her broadsides between wind and water, so that soonher decks were spotted with dying men, her bulwarks broken in, and hermainmast gone. The cannonade was heard in Boston, from which, a fewhours later, two merchantmen set out for the scene of action, eachcarrying good guns. 

But the wind suddenly sank, and as the Maid of Provence, eager to closewith the Bridgwater Merchant, edged slowly down, a fog came between, andthe firing ceased on both sides. Iberville let his ship drift on herpath, intent on a hand-to-hand fight aboard the Bridgwater Merchant; thegrappling-irons were ready, and as they drifted there was silence. 

Every eye was strained. Suddenly a shape sprang out of the grey mist, and the Maid of Provence struck. There was a crash of timbers as thebows of the Swallow--it was she--were stove in, and then a wild cry. Instantly she began to sink. The grappling-irons remained motionless onthe Maid of Provence. Iberville heard a commanding voice, a cheer, andsaw a dozen figures jump from the shattered bow towards the bow of hisown ship intent on fighting, but all fell short save one. It was a greatleap, but the Englishman made it, catching the chains, and scrambling ondeck. A cheer greeted him-the Frenchmen could not but admire so brave afeat. The Englishman took no notice, but instantly turned to see his ownship lurch forwards and, without a sound from her decks, sink gently downto her grave. He stood looking at the place where she had been, butthere was only mist. He shook his head and a sob rattled in his throat;his brave, taciturn crew had gone down without a cry. He turned andfaced his enemies. They had crowded forwards--Iberville, Sainte-Helene, Perrot, Maurice Joval, and the staring sailors. He choked down hisemotion and faced them all like an animal at bay as Iberville steppedforwards. Without a word Gering pointed to the empty scabbard at hisside. 

"No, pardon me, " said Iberville drily, "not as our prisoner, monsieur. You have us at advantage; you will remain our guest. "

"I want no quarter, " said Gering proudly and a little sullenly. 

"There can be no question of quarter, monsieur. You are only oneagainst us all. You cannot fight; you saved your life by boarding us. Hospitality is sacred; you may not be a prisoner of war, for there is nowar between our countries. "

"You came upon a private quarrel?" asked Gering. 

"Truly; and for the treasure--fair bone of fight between us. "

There was a pause, in which Gering stood half turned from them, listening. But the Bridgwater Merchant had drifted away in the mist. Presently he turned again to Iberville with a smile defiant andtriumphant. Iberville understood, but showed nothing of what he felt, and he asked Sainte-Helene to show Gering to the cabin. 

When the fog cleared away there was no sign of the Bridgwater Merchantand Iberville, sure that she had made the port of Boston, and knowingthat there must be English vessels searching for him, bore away to Quebecwith Gering on board. 

He parted from his rival the day they arrived--Perrot was to escort him adistance on his way to Boston. Gering thanked him for his courtesy. 

"Indeed, then, " said Iberville, "this is a debt--if you choose to call itso--for which I would have no thanks--no. For it would please me betterto render accounts all at once some day, and get return in differentform, monsieur. "

"Monsieur, " said Gering, a little grandly, "you have come to me threetimes; next time I will come to you. "

"I trust that you will keep your word, " answered Iberville, smiling. 

That day Iberville, protesting helplessly, was ordered away to France ona man-of-war, which had rocked in the harbour of Quebec for a monthawaiting his return. Even Frontenac himself could not help him, for theorder had come from the French minister. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE

Fortune had not been kind to Iberville, but still he kept a stoicalcheerfulness. With the pride of a man who feels that he has impressed awoman, and knowing the strength of his purpose, he believed that Jessicashould yet be his. Meanwhile matters should not lie still. In thosedays men made love by proxy, and Iberville turned to De Casson andPerrot. 

The night before he started for France they sat together in a littlehouse flanking the Chateau St. Louis. Iberville had been speaking. 

"I know the strength of your feelings, Iberville, " said De Casson, "butis it wise, and is it right?" Iberville made an airy motion with hishand. "My dear abbe, there is but one thing worth living for, and thatis to follow your convictions. See: I have known you since you took mefrom my mother's last farewell. I have believed in you, cared for you, trusted you; we have been good comrades. Come, now, tell me: what wouldyou think if my mind drifted! No, no, no! to stand by one's own heart isthe gift of an honest man--I am a sad rogue, abbe, as you know, but Iswear I would sooner let slip the friendship of King Louis himself thanthe hand of a good comrade. Well, my sword is for my king. I must obeyhim, I must leave my comrades behind, but I shall not forget, and theymust not forget. " At this he got to his feet, came over, laid a hand onthe abbe's shoulder, and his voice softened: "Abbe, the woman shall bemine. "

"If God wills so, Iberville. " "He will, He will. "

"Well, " said Perrot, with a little laugh; "I think God will be good to aFrenchman when an Englishman is his foe. "

"But the girl is English--and a heretic, " urged the abbe helplessly. 

Perrot laughed again. "That will make Him sorry for her. "

Meanwhile Iberville had turned to the table, and was now reading aletter. A pleased look came on his face, and he nodded in satisfaction. At last he folded it up with a smile and sealed it. "Well, " he said, "the English is not good, for I have seen my Shakespeare little this timeback, but it will do--it must do. In such things rhetoric is nothing. You will take it, Perrot he said, holding up the letter. 

Perrot reached out for it. 

"And there is something more. " Iberville drew from his finger a costlyring. It had come from the hand of a Spanish noble, whose place he hadtaken in Spain years before. He had prevented his men from despoilingthe castle, and had been bidden to take what he would, and had chosenonly this. 

"Tell her, " he said, "that it was the gift of a captive to me, and thatit is the gift of a captive to her. For, upon my soul, I am prisoner tonone other in God's world. "

Perrot weighed the ring up and down in his hand. "Bien, " he said, "monsieur, it is a fine speech, but I do not understand. A prisoner, eh?I remember when you were a prisoner with me upon the Ottawa. Only a boy--only a boy, but, holy Mother, that was different! I will tell her howyou never gave up; how you went on the hunt after Grey Diver, theIroquois. Through the woods, silent--silent for days and days, Indiansall round us. Death in the brush, death in the tree-top, death from theriver-bank. I said to you, Give up; but you kept on. Then there weredays when there was no sleep--no rest--we were like ghosts. Sometimes wecome to a settler's cabin and see it all smoking; sometimes to a fort andfind only a heap of bones--and other things! But you would not give up;you kept on. What for? That Indian chief killed your best friend. Well, that was for hate; you keep on and on and on for hate--and you hadyour way with Grey Diver; I heard your axe crash in his skull. All forhate! And what will you do for love?--I will ask her what will you dofor love. Ah, you are a great man--but yes! I will tell her so. "

"Tell her what you please, Perrot. "

Iberville hummed an air as at some goodly prospect. Yet when he turnedto the others again there grew a quick mist in his eyes. It was not somuch the thought of the woman as of the men. There came to him withsudden force how these two comrades had been ever ready to sacrificethemselves for him, and he ready to accept the sacrifice. He was notashamed of the mist, but he wondered that the thing had come to him allat once. He grasped the hands of both, shook them heartily, then dashedhis fingers across his eyes, and with the instinct of every imperfectman, --that touch of the aboriginal in all of us, who must have a sign foran emotion, he went to a cabinet and out came a bottle of wine. 

An hour after, Perrot left him at the ship's side. 

They were both cheerful. "Two years, Perrot; two years!" he said. 

"Ah, mon grand capitaine!"

Iberville turned away, then came back again. "You will start at once?"

"At once; and the abbe shall write. "

Upon the lofty bank of the St. Lawrence, at the Sault au Matelot, a tallfigure clad in a cassock stood and watched the river below. On the highcliff of Point Levis lights were showing, and fires burning as far off asthe island of Orleans. And in that sweet curve of shore, from the St. Charles to Beauport, thousands of stars seemed shining. Nearer still, from the heights, there was the same strange scintillation; the greatpromontory had a coronet of stars. In the lower town there was likeillumination, and out upon the river trailed long processions of light. It was the feast of good Sainte Anne de Beaupre. All day long had therebeen masses and processions on land. Hundreds of Jesuits, with thousandsof the populace, had filed behind the cross and the host. And now therewas a candle in every window. Indians, half-breeds, coureurs du bois, native Canadians, seigneurs, and noblesse, were joining in the function. But De Casson's eyes were not for these. He was watching the lights ofa ship that slowly made its way down the river among the canoes, and hiseyes never left it till it had passed beyond the island of Orleans andwas lost in the night. 

"Mon cher!" he said, "mon enfant! She is not for him; she should notbe. As a priest it were my duty to see that he should not marry her. As a man" he sighed--"as a man I would give my life for him. "

He lifted his hand and made the sign of the cross towards that spot onthe horizon whither Iberville had gone. 

"He will be a great man some day, " he added to himself--"a great man. There will be empires here, and when histories are written Pierre's shallbe a name beside Frontenac's and La Salle's. "

All the human affection of the good abbe's life centred upon Iberville. Giant in stature, so ascetic and refined was his mind, his life, that hehad the intuition of a woman and, what was more, little of the bigotryof his brethren. As he turned from the heights, made his way along thecliff and down Mountain Street, his thoughts were still upon the samesubject. He suddenly paused. 

"He will marry the sword, " he said, "and not the woman. "

How far he was right we may judge if we enter the house of GovernorNicholls at New York one month later. 

CHAPTER XVIII

MAIDEN NO MORE

It was late mid-summer, and just such an evening as had seen theattempted capture of Jessica Leveret years before. She sat at a window, looking out upon the garden and the river. The room was at the top ofthe house. It had been to her a kind of play-room when she had visitedGovernor Nicholls years before. To every woman memory is a kind ofreligion; and to Jessica as much as to any, perhaps more than to most, for she had imagination. She half sat, half knelt, her elbow on herknee, her soft cheek resting upon her firm, delicate hand. Her beautywas as fresh and sweet as on the day we first saw her. More, somethingdeep and rich had entered into it. Her eyes had got that finesteadfastness which only deep tenderness and pride can give a woman: shehad lived. She was smiling now, yet she was not merry; her brightnesswas the sunshine of a nature touched with an Arcadian simplicity. Suchan one could not be wholly unhappy. Being made for others more than forherself, she had something of the divine gift of self-forgetfulness. 

As she sat there, her eyes ever watching the river as though for some oneshe expected, there came from the garden beneath the sound of singing. It was not loud, but deep and strong:

 "As the wave to the shore, as the dew to the leaf, As the breeze to the flower, As the scent of a rose to the heart of a child, 343 As the rain to the dusty land-- My heart goeth out unto Thee--unto Thee! The night is far spent and the day is at hand. 

 "As the song of a bird to the call of a star, As the sun to the eye, As the anvil of man to the hammers of God, As the snow to the north Is my word unto Thy word--to Thy word! The night is far spent and the day is at hand. "

It was Morris who was singing. With growth of years had come increase ofpiety, and it was his custom once a week to gather about him such of theservants as would for the reading of Scripture. 

To Jessica the song had no religious significance. By the time it hadpassed through the atmosphere of memory and meditation, it carried adifferent meaning. Her forehead dropped forward in her fingers, andremained so until the song ended. Then she sighed, smiled wistfully, andshook her head. 

"Poor fellow! poor--Iberville!" she said, almost beneath her breath. 

The next morning she was to be married. George Gering had returned toher, for the second time defeated by Iberville. He had proved himself abrave man, and, what was much in her father's sight, he was to have hisshare of Phips's booty. And what was still more, Gering had prevailedupon Phips to allow Mr. Leveret's investment in the first expedition toreceive a dividend from the second. Therefore she was ready to fulfilher promise. Yet had she misgivings? For, only a few days before, shehad sent for the old pastor at Boston, who had known her since she was achild. She wished, she said, to be married by him and no other atGovernor Nicholls's house, rather than at her own home at Boston, wherethere was none other of her name. 

The old pastor had come that afternoon, and she had asked him to see herthat evening. Not long after Morris had done with singing there came atapping at her door. She answered and old Pastor Macklin entered, awhite-haired man of kindly yet stern countenance, by nature a gentleman, by practice a bigot. He came forward and took both her hands as sherose. "My dear young lady!" he said, and smiled kindly at her. After aword of greeting she offered him a chair, and came again to the window. 

Presently she looked up and said very simply: "I am going to be married. You have known me ever since I was born: do you think I will make a goodwife?"

"With prayer and chastening of the spirit, my daughter, " he said. 

"But suppose that at the altar I remembered another man?"

"A sin, my child, for which should be due sorrow. " The girl smiledsadly. She felt poignantly how little he could help her. 

"And if the man were a Catholic and a Frenchman?" she said. 

"A papist and a Frenchman!" he cried, lifting up his hands. "My daughter, you ever were too playful. You speak of things impossible. I pray you listen. " Jessica raised her hand as if to stop him and tospeak herself, but she let him go on. With the least encouragement shemight have told him all. She had had her moment of weakness, but now itwas past. There are times when every woman feels she must have aconfidant, or her heart will burst--have counsel or she will die. Such a time had come to Jessica. But she now learned, as we all mustlearn, that we live our dark hour alone. 

She listened as in a dream to the kindly bigot. When he had finished, she knelt and received his blessing. All the time she wore that strange, quiet smile. Soon afterwards he left her. 

She went again to the window. "A papist and a Frenchman--unpardonablesin!" she said into the distance. "Jessica, what a sinner art thou!"

Presently there was a tap, the door opened, and George Gering entered. She turned to receive him, but there was no great lighting of the face. He came quickly to her, and ran his arm round her waist. A greatkindness looked out of her eyes. Somehow she felt herself superior tohim--her love was less and her nature deeper. He pressed her fingers tohis lips. "Of what were you thinking, Jessica?" he asked. 

"Of what a sinner I am, " she answered, with a sad kind of humour. 

"What a villain must I be, then!" he responded. "Well, yes, " she saidmusingly; "I think you are something of a villain, George. "

"Well, well, you shall cure me of all mine iniquities, " he said. "Therewill be a lifetime for it. Come, let us to the garden. "

"Wait, " she said. "I told you that I was a sinner, George; I want totell you how. "

"Tell me nothing; let us both go and repent, " he rejoined, laughing, andhe hurried her away. She had lost her opportunity. 

Next morning she was married. The day was glorious. The town wasgarlanded, and there was not an English merchant or a Dutch burgher butwore his holiday dress. The ceremony ended, a traveller came among thecrowd. He asked a hurried question or two and then edged away. Soon hemade a stand under the trees, and, viewing the scene, nodded his head andsaid: "The abbe was right. "

It was Perrot. A few hours afterwards the crowd had gone and thegovernor's garden was empty. Perrot still kept his watch under the tree, though why he could hardly say--his errand was useless now. But he hadthe gift of waiting. At last he saw a figure issue from a door and godown into the garden. He remembered the secret gate. He made a detour, reached it, and entered. Jessica was walking up and down in the pines. In an hour or so she was to leave for England. Her husband had gone tothe ship to do some needful things, and she had stolen out for a moment'squiet. When Perrot faced her, she gave a little cry and started back. But presently she recovered, smiled at him, and said kindly: "You comesuddenly, monsieur. "

"Yet have I travelled hard and long, " he answered. 

"Yes?"

"And I have a message for you. "

"A message?" she said abstractedly, and turned a little pale. 

"A message and a gift from Monsieur Iberville. " He drew the letter andthe ring from his pocket and held them out, repeating Iberville'smessage. There was a troubled look in her eyes and she was trembling alittle now, but she spoke clearly. 

"Monsieur, " she said, "you will tell Monsieur Iberville that I may not;I am married. "

"So, madame, " he said. "But I still must give my message. " When he haddone so he said: "Will you take the letter?" He held it out. 

There was a moment's doubt and then she took it, but she did not speak. 

"Shall I carry no message, madame?"

She hesitated. Then, at last: "Say that I wish him good fortune--withall my heart. "

"Good fortune--ah, madame!" he answered, in a meaning tone. 

"Say that I pray God may bless him, and make him a friend of my country, "she added in a low, almost broken voice, and she held out her hand tohim. 

The gallant woodsman pressed it to his lips. "I am sorry, madame, " hereplied, with an admiring look. 

She shook her head sadly. "Adieu, monsieur!" she said steadily and verykindly. 

A moment after he was gone. She looked at the missive steadfastly for amoment, then thrust it into the folds of her dress and, very pale, walkedquietly to the house, where, inside her own room, she lighted a candle. She turned the letter over in her hand once or twice, and her fingershung at the seal. But all at once she raised it to her lips, and thenwith a grave, firm look, held it in the flame and saw it pass in smoke. It was the last effort for victory. 

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Aboriginal in all of us, who must have a sign for an emotionLearned, as we all must learn, that we live our dark hour alone