THE TRAIL OF THE 
 GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 OLIN L. LYM AN
 
 <te

 
 THE TRAIL OF 
 THE GRAND SEIGNEUR.
 
 RENEE DK MONTEFORT
 
 TheTrailofthe 
 Grand Seigneur 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIN L. LYMAN 
 
 With Colored Illastrations from Paintings 
 by J. Steeple Davis and Clare Angell 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT 1903 
 
 BY 
 NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK. COMPANY
 
 TO 
 
 A. OAKES 
 
 2136700
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 At the foot of Ontario the old hamlet drowses in 
 its simple peace, the peace of an old military post 
 which fronts the waters where once two warring na- 
 tions, now at amity, maintained embattled fleets 
 whose psuedo-wrestlings, after all, were productive of 
 but little more mortality than wind and wave now 
 entail to the following of the peaceful pursuits of 
 commerce. There is but little at the old post to 
 perpetuate its memories of former glories. Only the 
 barracks, where, from time to time, some regiment 
 of U. S. regulars rests from the labors of campaign- 
 ing; the old graveyard where lie the bones of Pike 
 and other patriots of the struggle of 1 8 1 2 ; the bat- 
 tleground where the batteries once frowned; manned 
 by simple sons of the soil, who, withal, were Amer- 
 icans, and therefore marksmen for the world to mar- 
 vel at. Only these, and some odd scraps of history, 
 some hoary traditions, and the intangible something 
 of the thrilling past that hovers in the atmosphere 
 of the old town. These are all, but they make of it 
 a thing alive; they resurrect the past. 
 
 O. L. L. 
 
 Sackets Harbor, N. Y., November, 1902.
 
 THE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGb 
 
 Renee de Montefort Frontispiece 
 
 Doubling his fist, he drove it straight into the mouth 
 
 of his opponent, 39 
 
 There stood Dorothy! 120 
 
 Snatching the glass from the fellow's hand, he lunged 
 
 at me . . 157 
 
 Suddenly there burst into view a cloud of tawny, rush- 
 ing forms, 256 
 
 Well, good-bye to you ! 357 
 
 There is one with a better right ! Look at the dog ! 407
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Foreword ....... 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. An Opportune Dian . 
 
 II. With Samaritans 
 
 III. Renee 
 
 IV. John Godfrey 
 
 V. A Bravo and a Bond 
 
 VI. My Dream Lady 
 
 VII. The Cast of the Die 
 
 VIII. The Recruits 
 
 IX. The Spy . . . . 
 
 X. The Chase . . 
 
 XL Lieutenant Stranahan 
 
 XII. The Alarm . 
 
 XIII. A Broken Sabbath . 
 
 XIV. Two Graves 
 
 XV. In the Lion's Jaws . 
 
 XVI. Red Rolfe . 
 
 XVII. At the King's Inn . 
 
 XVIII. A Duel and a Revelation 
 
 XIX. A Friend in Philistia 
 
 XX. Gray Wreathing Mists . 
 
 XXI. In Frontenac 
 
 XXII. A Wintry Interlude . . 
 
 XXIII. The Brand of the Bravo 
 
 XXIV. A Leaf from the Past 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 8 
 
 16 
 26 
 34 
 45 
 56 
 
 7i 
 81 
 
 89 
 
 95 
 104 
 no 
 
 122 
 129 
 139 
 IS 1 
 
 161 
 
 171 
 
 184 
 195 
 
 209 
 
 220 
 231
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Woe from Frontenac 
 
 PAGB 
 
 243 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The Strength of Ten 
 
 257 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Futility 
 
 270 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The Three Musketeers 
 
 276 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Rope Job 
 
 288 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A Wanderer's Return 
 
 2 93 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 When Women Dare .... 
 
 308 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 
 ?oo 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 A Broken Dream .... 
 
 o v 
 
 317 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Out Into the Night .... 
 
 325 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The Lion Caged .... 
 
 337 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The Proving of Cyrenus 
 
 346 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The Enemy Paves the Way . 
 
 359 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Unmasked 
 
 366 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Cyrenus Smites the Rock 
 
 376 
 
 XL. 
 
 The Trail of the Grand Seigneur . 
 
 387 
 
 XLI. 
 
 A Cry in the Night .... 
 
 394 
 
 XLII. 
 
 In the Shadow and Beyond . 
 
 399 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Till the Book Unfolds . 
 
 410 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The Paths of Peace .... 
 
 419
 
 CHAPTER I 
 An Opportune Dian 
 
 I swung on through the woods, my rifle shouldered, 
 my hound heeling. The air, pungent with pine and 
 redolent with cool autumnal fragrance, was a resinous 
 Madeira. I quaffed it in great draughts, whereat it 
 went to my head and I whistled in bibulous enjoy- 
 ment. A nearby bird, moved to rivalry, bubbled 
 mockingly. I looked up and beheld him on a branch, 
 watching me with bright, scornful eyes. I desisted 
 in my lesser effort and passed on, while he trilled 
 triumph. The hound turned, regarding the songster 
 with malignant eyes and whining me sympathy. We 
 pushed on toward the falls, now close at hand. 
 
 The hound barked with canine enjoyment as I 
 strode on down the wooded bank. The subtle per- 
 fume of sweet fern mingled with the virile odor of 
 the forest mold; my feet crunched deep in a royal 
 carpet of orange and crimson, spurned by the branches 
 that swayed above me. The afternoon sun, low in 
 the west, shredded narrow yellow lanes of light 
 through the leafy canopy overhead, piercing the 
 shadow-murk that trailed where the dead leaves 
 drifted, and glinting the brilliant glories of their 
 shrouds. The breeze crooned in the pines; to my 
 right the river rippled, murmuring. A twig snapped 
 beneath my foot and a red squirrel left a pile of 
 leaves where he had been burrowing and scampered
 
 2 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 up the trunk of a balsam, chattering angrily at me. 
 Rip, being young, paused to nose about a porcupine 
 which had suddenly become balled at our approach. 
 In his own interest I was obliged to mildly kick the 
 hound from temptation. 
 
 " Rip," I observed, dragging him by his unwilling 
 neck away from the fretful dilemma on which he would 
 have unwittingly impaled himself, "there are things 
 undreamed of in your fool philosophy." 
 
 Turning sharply from the obscure trail, I passed 
 to the right through a dense thicket, the roar of 
 falling water deepening as I approached. A moment 
 and I emerged into a spot covered with sprawling 
 blackberry briars, a few stunted pines bearing them 
 company. A few paces brought me to the river's 
 brink, where I cast myself down with a sigh of ap- 
 preciation. The dog rolled on his back beside me, 
 his paws flung skyward, yawning with lazy satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Deer River, gorged with fuss and foam, swirled and 
 eddied before me. Hemmed within crowding banks, 
 which narrowed as the dizzy brink grew nearer, the 
 brawling waters rushed on to their tremendous leap 
 to liberty. Over the edge of a sheer wall of lime- 
 stone, nigh two hundred feet in height, they tumbled 
 with a wild roar of exultation into a yawning chasm 
 that was fringed on either side by giddy walls of 
 rock. From the boiling caldron below me the mists 
 wreathed, floating up toward the greenery above, 
 incense to the dryads. Bits of forest debris spun 
 down the river, searching futilely for something to 
 lay hold on, only to be grasped the tighter and 
 hurled onward to the dizzy plunge. 
 
 Whimsically I reached out a hand and the next 
 instant the hound, grasped by the scruff of his neck,
 
 AN OPPORTUNE DIAN 3 
 
 swung whimpering over the abyss. Shivering and 
 whining, he clawed the air and my hand impartially, 
 while I laughed. In a moment, touched by the poor 
 creature's terror, I hauled him back and ruefully re- 
 garded my badly scratched hand. The brute crawled 
 to me and licked it, fawning. 
 
 "Poor devil!" said I, rubbing his head with a 
 certain sneaking sense of inferiority, " let us go." 
 So, regaining my rifle, I turned back, the dog fol- 
 lowing, sniffing critically here and there as we pro- 
 ceeded. Regaining the trail, I set off down the river, 
 the thunder of the cataract lessening in volume as I 
 strode. The shadows trembled and lengthened, the 
 murk deepening, for the afternoon was waning. 
 
 But I made no haste, for I cared not where night- 
 fall found me. It was my custom to leave home 
 when the mood seized me, to range the forest where 
 I would. For weeks, even months, during the sum- 
 mers I roamed as fancy willed, heart to heart 
 with what is nature's own. I had my hound for 
 company, esteeming it far better than that of many 
 men. My hook and rifle provided my larder; a fire 
 and my blanket, with the dog snoring beside me, 
 were the only nocturnal essentials. Occasionally I 
 fell in with a hunter or trapper with whom I held 
 brief parley before we resumed our respective wander- 
 ings. But mostly I was alone, though after all not 
 alone. 
 
 For it is only in the town that man may dwell 
 alone, an unheeded mite among the many, a strug- 
 gling atom adrift in a swelling sea of selfishness. Let 
 him take his seared soul and sick heart into the balm 
 that heals, the benison of God's garden. The zephyrs 
 that rustle its foliage will fan his throbbing temples, 
 its cool shadows and mellowed sunlight will ease his
 
 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 burning eyes. A hundred other eyes in which lurks 
 nothing of human selfishness, will shyly peer at him ; 
 from every branch a burst of liquid melody will 
 peal for him. Sweet springs, cold as the snows 
 of winter, will gush for his good out of the brown 
 earth; the flesh of the forest awaits to furnish him 
 sustenance. In the grand, illimitable majesty of his 
 environment the petty slings and arrows will be 
 robbed of their poison tips. The forest's peace 
 enters into him and a greater boon than this there 
 cannot be. 
 
 Ah, early days ! in this the winter of my span, I 
 gaze through a blinding film out over the bared 
 waste where once the forest found its way unchecked 
 to my very door. I moved sadly along the dried beds 
 of water courses that in the old days I was hard put 
 to it to ford. It was very dismal to me. Desolate 
 stretches of stumpy pasture land and struggling 
 grain fields have succeeded the virgin splendor of old ; 
 the stones wither in the water courses, the sun glar- 
 ing pitilessly down into their dried beds, where once 
 the dream shadows wavered over the black pools 
 that lay deep and still outside the shadows. It is 
 the doom sounded by the woodman's axe, a knell 
 that had stark death in it. It was inevitable, but 
 also pitiful. My eyes smart as I write and I am not 
 ashamed. 
 
 But on this day no dirge dinned doom, no sinister 
 chord clashed to drown a harmony that was divine. 
 Ah me! youth will not be denied. The past a wist- 
 ful memory untouched by gall, the pulsing present, 
 the future a brave dream of snapping sails in the 
 fair winds that feather with spray-drift the green 
 of a boundless sea ! The tempests quiescent in the 
 womb of the Disillusionment, the gray of the Awak-
 
 AN OPPORTUNE DIAN 5 
 
 ening yet far beyond the blue. Verily God is good 
 Who gives us the springtime of our years ! 
 
 So I pushed on, the red in my cheek and the light 
 in my eyes, on where the hand of my fate beckoned 
 me and I did not know. 
 
 As I proceeded I cast about for a suitable spot in 
 which to pass the night. I determined to stop some 
 time before dusk, for I had tramped far and was 
 somewhat wearied. 
 
 At length, some distance below the falls, I came 
 upon the spot I sought. It was in a little clearing 
 hedged by tall spruce and poplars. A giant pine rose 
 sombrely among them. The dead ashes of a fire met 
 my eyes. A rude lean-to of logs and lopped branches 
 stood there, beneath which one might crawl with his 
 blanket and be at rest. The place was clearly a 
 primitive rendezvous for roving woodsmen. 
 
 Well content, I leaned my rifle against a convenient 
 cedar, unslung my slender pack and leisurely set 
 about gathering brushwood, which I heaped together, 
 ready to light. Whistling to the dog, I then started 
 toward the river, which was not far distant. Ar- 
 rived there, I rigged my tackle and fell to angling. 
 The stream ran strongly to trout at this point and I 
 soon had several fine fellows. I returned to camp 
 with them. The red lances of sunlight, which quivered 
 through the embowering leaves paled and dimmed. 
 Twilight, a soft benison, was approaching. 
 
 In pleasant mood I began preparations for supper, 
 trolling a rollicking drinking song the while in my 
 dubious basso. Some moments passed, when I was 
 attracted by a low growl from the hound. 
 
 I turned. His teeth were bared and his short hair 
 bristled, while he trembled with snarling eagerness. 
 The next instant, while I was staring vainly in quest
 
 6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 of the disturber, he sprang forward, jaws gaping. 
 They closed upon something which he shook like a 
 gust-blown leaf, a tiny, spitting panther cub. The 
 little beast, a baby in bulk but passionately cour- 
 ageous, struggled, clawed and spat. The blood 
 rimmed a vicious scratch in the hound's jowl. With 
 a growl of rage he dashed the body of the malignant 
 infant to the ground, throttling it. 
 
 Seizing a heavy fagot from my pile of firewood, I 
 rushed toward the hound to persuade him to let go, 
 for I feared the mother was not far away. Nor was 
 she, for in that instant a horrible scream over my 
 head froze my creeping spine. I halted, searching 
 for her. 
 
 Suddenly the bent branch of a tree fully twenty 
 feet away sprang upward like a released spring. A 
 lithe shape launched out from it, swift and true as a 
 dart, upon the back of my hound. A furious melee 
 ensued ; a hideous din of agonized yelps, mad screams 
 and hoarse growls; the sight of torn flesh and the 
 swift, sickening smell of spurting blood. 
 
 It was over almost instantly, while I stood stupe- 
 fied with the suddenness of it. The hound was no 
 coward, but he was only a pup after all, a youngster 
 of pitiful inexperience, whose rashness had wrung 
 from him the supreme penalty, his humble life. And 
 before me, sniffing at the body of the dead cub, was 
 its furious mother. 
 
 My rifle ! Ah, fool that I had been, it lay far from 
 my hand, near my pile of firewood. I turned stealth- 
 ily toward it. The creature raised her head, snarling, 
 and crouched, eyeing me with a glance of flame, tail 
 thudding the dead leaves. 
 
 The was no time for the gun. I reached mechan- 
 ically for my knife. My eyes fell upon the mangled
 
 AN OPPORTUNE DIAN 7 
 
 body of the dog and a murderous rage possessed me 
 as my fingers grasped the buckhorn handle. I jerked 
 the weapon from my belt as the cat sprang. 
 
 She pounced full upon me, bearing me backward. 
 One hand sought her throat, with the other I drove 
 the knife again and again into her body. She had 
 thrice nine lives. A red hot flash seemed to sear my 
 breast and shoulder, my limbs burned and I knew 
 she was tearing me. An awful pain traversed my 
 forehead; my sight was blotted out in a red sea of 
 blood. My grip upon the knife handle relaxed, my 
 arm falling to my side. 
 
 Then from afar, stealing through the crimson waves 
 that beat upon and were overwhelming me, there 
 came faintly to my dulled ears a woman's voice. 
 
 " Prenez garde ! " it cried. " Your eyes ! Protect 
 your eyes, monsieur!" 
 
 With a last despairing effort I flung both arms over 
 my face. As I did so I felt the flesh torn from my 
 right forearm. In that instant a sudden roar rang 
 in my ears. I felt the fiend which had harrassed me 
 roll from me, screaming and thrashing in agony, and, 
 with my body bathed in a swift flame of pain, my 
 senses left me.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 With Samaritans 
 
 I stirred uneasily, midway between sleep and wak- 
 ing. I stretched forth an arm, yawning. A swift 
 pang seized it and my yawn faded in a groaning 
 "Damn !" With a distinct sense of ill-usage I opened 
 my eyes. 
 
 My face flamed. " I I beg your pardon, miss," I 
 mumbled humbly, "but did I swear just now?" 
 
 Sweet eyes danced with ready absolution. " Ma 
 foi ! you did, m'sieur." she replied, deliciously de- 
 mure, " but you are shrived. It is likely you will de- 
 sire to do so many times again, but you must not." 
 
 " It is written," I assured her, and ground my teeth 
 as a stinging pain quivered through my shoulder. I 
 suddenly became conscious of bonds and awoke to 
 the fact that I was bandaged liberally. Lifting my 
 uninjured hand I felt my forehead, which was throb- 
 bing maddeningly. It was swathed, as was my arm 
 and the upper part of my body. I sighed resignedly. 
 
 "These were absolutely necessary then?" I asked, 
 sadly indicating the swaddlings. 
 
 "Oui, monsieur, and will be for some days," re- 
 sponded the girl with decision. "I arrived just in 
 time," she continued, grown suddenly grave. "You 
 are much torn." 
 
 "Faith, mademoiselle, I believe you!" I groaned, 
 as by an untoward movement the truth of her words
 
 WITH SAMARITANS 9 
 
 was borne in upon me. " Meanwhile," I added, as I 
 had recourse to sphinx-like immobility, "I beg to 
 humbly thank you for your succor of an idiot 
 stranger who leaves his gun pine-propping rather 
 than for panther fighting. Also, I marvel, mam'selle, 
 at your skill and courage." 
 
 " M'sieur," she replied, ignoring my tribute to her 
 powers, "you are to be patient while I prepare you 
 dejeuner." She rose and departed, a lovely vision, 
 kitchenward. 
 
 "I wonder where I am?" mused I, and turned my 
 head. My eyes met the rough log walls of a primitive 
 sleeping room. The furnishings were scant but pos- 
 sessed of a pleasing neatness. Everywhere, despite 
 the inevitable severity of the surroundings, a woman's 
 dainty touches had wrought a transformation. 
 The fragrance of a great bunch of fresh wild-flowers 
 in a vase nearby refreshed me. The walls were hung 
 with pretty decorations that showed a rare taste. 
 Here and there hung a painting, striking in execution 
 and plainly of value, while odd trifles, unquestionably 
 from foreign parts, lent a certain picturesqueness 
 of contrast to the rough log walls and the simpler 
 furnishings of the room. 
 
 The trilling of birds outside mingled with a pleas- 
 ant tinkle of crockery from the kitchen. A flood of 
 sunshine poured through the tiny window, the yellow 
 bar wavering elusively just alongside my bed. I 
 thrust out my well hand and let it bask in the 
 glorious radiance. 
 
 Mademoiselle's skirts heralded her coming. With 
 their approaching swish I lay expectant, for I was 
 hungry. She entered, setting a tempting tray upon 
 the tiny table. A whiff of steaming coffee and the crisp 
 aroma of buttered toast merged in a happy union.
 
 io THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 She regarded me thoughtfully. "You would fare 
 better if you sat up, I suppose," she ruminated, 
 " but it will hurt you, m'sieur." 
 
 "Death hath been dared for the stomach's sake," 
 I answered. " Witness your mouse traps," And then 
 with much wriggling and wincing, assisted sympa- 
 thetically by my gracious lady, who entrenched the 
 pillows behind my aching back, I prepared for the 
 onslaught upon my breakfast. She set the tray be- 
 fore me on the coverlet. 
 
 I began while she removed from me, gazing out of 
 the tiny window full in the sunlight, which -glorified 
 the gold-brown radiance of her hair, deepened the 
 pink flush in the fragrant cheek. I marked her pro- 
 file, pure as snow, from forehead to rounded chin, 
 from the tip of which a living line of beauty curved 
 to her snowy throat. A straight silken eyebrow was 
 visible, while the lashes, I could see, were long and 
 curling. Her pretty print gown, with a tiny white 
 apron about her round waist, lent an alluring touch 
 of domesticity to her beautiful, slim figure. Withal, 
 she was palpably French ; divinely French, I mused, 
 and most divinely fair. I fell a-dreaming, speculating 
 upon the color of her eyes. 
 
 Suddenly she turned, flashing them full upon me. 
 The sheen of a sleeping sea was in them, the vague 
 greenish shade that rests when winds are sleeping 
 and a blue sky stretches overhead, across which the 
 white dream-ships drift like sails at sea. Out of the 
 open portals of her eyes a white soul gazed fear- 
 lessly, a sweet soul that could not sin. 
 
 "Monsieur!" she cried with mock severity, "par- 
 donnez moi, but why are you not eating?" 
 
 " Mine eyes are unruly, mademoiselle," I answered, 
 with due humility. " They have been devouring you."
 
 WITH GOOD SAMARITANS n 
 
 " Ciel ! but they are cannibals," she answered. 
 " Rest them, s'il vous plait, and devour your toast, 
 else it will be dry and your coffee quite cold. In the 
 absence of better, I may then serve your unruly 
 eyes, monsieur, as dessert." 
 
 "They could ask no better," I responded, and 
 again attacked my breakfast. Her mirthlit eyes made 
 soft denial as she shook her head. She drew a chair 
 near me and sat down. 
 
 I finished hastily. "Where am I, mam'selle?" I 
 inquired. " How long have I been here and to whom 
 am I indebted for this almost maternal solicitude, 
 which I assure you is appreciated?" 
 
 " You are in the cabin of Vincent De Montefort," 
 she answered, "a few miles from the scene of your 
 misadventure of yesterday. I am his daughter, Renee. 
 It is now nine of the morning after, m'sieur. When I 
 had finished that horrible beast I started back for 
 my father. I met him coming up the river bank in 
 search of me, as it was late and he was worried. 
 Together we managed to get you here, though you 
 are no feather, m'sieur. My father brought you on 
 his back a good part of the way and he rubs it to- 
 day in consequence. He dressed your wounds. You 
 were unconscious and we hardly expected you to re- 
 vive so soon. You have an excellent constitution. 
 You are blest, m'sieur." 
 
 "It has always stood me in good stead," I an- 
 swered. "But mam'selle, why has it been decreed 
 that this incubus should be thrust upon you? It 
 will be some weeks, I fear, ere I can make my 
 adieux." 
 
 " I beg you will not speak so," she replied, a note 
 of vexation in her vibrant voice with its fascinating 
 accent. " A hand to help, I hope, would not be with-
 
 12 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 held from my father or myself, in like stress. The 
 world has much of helplessness, m'sieur. Its creatures 
 should help each other." 
 
 A firm step sounded in the kitchen. "It is mon 
 pere," she said, and rose. 
 
 A pair of keen black eyes peered at me from under 
 white bushy brows. Luxuriant hair and a beard like 
 snow, with handsome features, of a patrician type, M. 
 De Montefort looked superior to his present primi- 
 tive surroundings. His fine forehead and finely 
 moulded head told of an intellect of rare power. He 
 was tall and finely made and the gentleman was the 
 more evident for the rough garb he wore. 
 
 He greeted me with true Gallic courtesy. " Bien ! 
 you once more realize then," he said affably, taking 
 my well hand in his own. " Though I doubt if the 
 awakening is wholly pleasing to you, Monsieur " 
 
 "Warburton," I supplied, "Gilbert Warburton, of 
 Sackets Harbor. You have doubtless heard of the 
 hamlet, whose fame is spreading just now, the times 
 being troublous. As for my waking, I can assure you 
 that it was wholly pleasant, as my eyes first fell upon 
 your daughter, who has ministered unto me and does 
 yet minister. So completely has she taken my 
 thoughts from my somewhat dishevelled self, that 
 although she has just favored me with the names of 
 those to whom I am so deeply indebted, I own I 
 quite forgot to mention my own. If, under such in- 
 comparable nursing, I do not advance, I shall indeed 
 be ungrateful." 
 
 "It is my wish," he returned courteously, "that 
 you may speedily recover your health and strength. 
 That my daughter will assist you in the process," 
 with an affectionate glance at the girl, " I am as con- 
 fident as yourself. I, too, have suffered, and she has
 
 WITH SAMARITANS 13 
 
 brought me back to modest usefulness and a raven- 
 ous appetite." 
 
 We talked a while on various matters, chiefly of 
 the imminence of trouble between the struggling 
 young nation and its powerful parent. I soon per- 
 ceived that, like so many of his countrymen at the 
 time, his sympathies were all with the infant. 
 
 "She is no doting mother, this England," he said 
 with an eloquent French shrug. " She does not cod- 
 dle, ah, jamais ! Her babes and sucklings must needs 
 toddle forth into the market place, when hardly from 
 the breast, for pennies for her palm, and when the 
 gleamings are small castigation is severe. We of 
 France know her, yes, but not to love her. I do 
 not doubt, m'sieur, that if the pinch comes you may 
 command the swords of other Lafayettes." 
 
 "This infant has ceased to mewl, m'sieur," I re- 
 joined. " He has become a sturdy stripling, some- 
 what lacking in filial feeling perhaps, but then, ten- 
 derness may be throttled by tyranny. If it comes to 
 it, I fear me that matricide may be attempted by us 
 with ghastly cheerfulness. But there will be need of 
 many swords." 
 
 The girl listened with attention, her eyes sparkling 
 with sympathy. It was natural, I thought, that she 
 should favor us. The divine heart of woman goes 
 ever out to the weak and struggling. Also, was 
 she not her father's daughter? 
 
 After a little he left us with a polite apology, to 
 look at some traps he had set in the forest. "It 
 is small game I am after," he said smiling, "for their 
 skins, which I dispose of at Albany. It is one of a 
 multitude of pursuits which serve to pass the time 
 here," he added, with somewhat bitter sarcasm. " At 
 all events, they keep one from too much thinking."
 
 i 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 With an affectionate glance at his daughter he left 
 the house. She stood by the window when he had 
 gone, gazing out into the sunshine with far-away 
 eyes. By and by a tremulous sigh escaped her, and I 
 saw the sweet eyes dim with tears. My own stung 
 at the sight, for they were ever unruly when the 
 brine welled into those of others. I scorned it as a 
 weakness then, but the years have taught me bet- 
 ter. God has set ideals for men, and if a man would 
 approach as close to them as infinite effort lies, there 
 must beat in his breast something of the heart of a 
 woman. Without it, mere mentality, scourged by 
 unrecking ambition, may become monstrous. Christ 
 wept that over Jerusalem whose pharisaical priests, 
 fearful for their crumbling sovereignty, a little later 
 destroyed him. 
 
 She turned presently, with a brave throwing off of 
 the cloud which had oppressed her. "Monsieur, I 
 will read to you," she said, smiling brightly. "We 
 brought some books from France. Though," she 
 added, flushing slightly with the afterthought, "we 
 have but little in English." 
 
 "Que fait il?" asked I, and laughed at her little 
 start of astonishment. " I had the advantage of a 
 tutor, mam'selle," I explained, "who had explored 
 the nooks and crannies of your fascinating tongue. I 
 learned it better than any other portion of the eru- 
 dition with which he sought, though with head shak- 
 ings, to cram me." 
 
 She made selection of a volume; what, I scarcely 
 heeded. I but realized with indolent appreciation 
 that it was a dreamy old work of exquisite romance, 
 a poetic tale that fell in music from a pair of equally 
 exquisite lips. I turned my head toward the low 
 rocker in which she was sitting, gazing into her lovely
 
 WITH SAMARITANS 15 
 
 face. Of this she was unconscious, being engrossed 
 in the story. Content to watch her, the import of 
 the tale was but of secondary importance, and my 
 mind, busying itself with the lady, did but indiffer- 
 ently make note of the lyric. 
 
 Long I gazed, till my eyelids in sheer weariness 
 closed. I struggled lazily for a moment to raise 
 them, out they remained veiled, while a pleasant 
 feeling of lassitude stole over me. It being impolite, 
 I fought feebly with the feeling, but finally relaxed, 
 giving myself up to the benign influence. The clear 
 tones of the girl's voice tinkled far away, like sweet 
 bells. The veil of the dusk settled down, the stars 
 studded the black night sky, and under a giant tree, 
 with a smouldering fire near me, I lay, the soft wind 
 whirring the leaves over my outstretched body, my 
 dog dozing beside me, while I drifted to sleep and 
 dreams.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 Renee 
 
 The days sped and gradually brought back to me 
 my impaired strength. The monotony was rendered 
 pleasant by the constant attendance of my charming 
 nurse, who gave me what time she could spare. Mean- 
 while the breeze that blew in at the little window 
 grew cooler, bearing the autumnal benison of the 
 passing year. I chafed for I was anxious to again 
 look upon the forest. 
 
 M. De Montefort was no mean physician and my 
 wounds healed rapidly. That I would be scarred for 
 life, however, was already certain. The wound in 
 my forehead was not deep and would not show promi- 
 nently, but my body had borne the brunt and would 
 bear witness to it. 
 
 It came that in a few more days, albeit with some 
 groans I was able to hobble one morning to the 
 little doorway of the cabin to gaze again upon 
 the majestic sweep and beauty of the forest which 
 enclosed on all sides the small clearing in which the 
 house was built. From the right there came to me 
 the distant music of the river. A light breeze whis- 
 pered in the pines. Everywhere was a regal carpet 
 of multi-hued leaves, constantly drifting down from 
 the limbs that were still ablaze with color. I gazed 
 up at the branches, my throat contracting and with 
 wet eyes. A fierce feeling of thankfulness filled me,
 
 RENEE 17 
 
 of gratitude that I once more gazed upon this beauty 
 and heard the soft murmurings of Nature, God's 
 handmaiden, instead of lying under one of those very 
 branches, gazing up blankly with dead unseeing eyes, 
 the melodies of birds and the wistful sighing of the 
 breeze sounding in vain for my deaf, unheeding ears. 
 
 A light step and she stood beside me, looking 
 out with me at the glory of the dying year. An 
 impudent sunbeam darted swiftly into her sweet 
 eyes, dazzling them and shifting to her hair, where it 
 rioted with fiery zeal. A vagrant whiff of the soft 
 wind whisked by us, laden with woodsy smells and 
 with its necromancy stirring that indefinable penned 
 something that beats and throbs, uplifting where 
 Nature is, but lies dormant within the city's walls. 
 Overhead a few white clouds drifted. Near us a soli- 
 tary robin twittered, the summer still bubbling in 
 his foolish throat. As if in mockery there came at 
 the moment the harsh answering clamor of a flock of 
 geese, high up, winging their way to the southward. 
 
 I surveyed the robin with concern. "Go and do 
 thou likewise," I advised him gravely. He shot a 
 wicked glance at me, and, leaving his limb, fluttered 
 to the ground and went to grubbing. 
 
 The girl had been watching the squawking flock 
 disappear over the trees. She shivered a little. 
 
 " It is pitiful," she said, a little break in her voice, 
 " this dying each year of the summer, m'sieur. The 
 leaves fall and the trees are bare and the snow is 
 deep and cold. And when the wind is always wailing, 
 ciel ! it is like a requiem for the dead. And the silence 
 so tomb-like, in the long nights, with only the howls 
 of the wild beasts to break it! No one comes; we 
 have not even the birds ; only my father and I, alone ! 
 Oh, it is so horribly lonely in the winter, m'sieur!"
 
 1 8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Her eyes were wet, there was a note of rebellion in 
 her voice. A great wave of pity rose within me. In a 
 flash I comprehended what the dreary monotone of 
 her life must be with her ardent spirit and fresh youth. 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle," I answered her gently, "but 
 after all, the summer comes again and brings the 
 birds with it. See, even the one just gone has left one 
 fool behind," and I indicated the solitary robin, who, 
 gorged with grubs, was ruffling his feathers and 
 watching me from his limb with malice in his beady 
 eyes. 
 
 "Who, Toti?" she rejoined with surprise. "Why, 
 m'sieur, Toti is no fool. Come here, Toti!" she de- 
 manded, and the bird fluttered to her shoulder. 
 
 " Toti," she assured me with severity, " is far from 
 a fool. Au contraire, he knows more than many 
 men." 
 
 "Sans doute," I murmured, and bowed with due 
 humility. The wretched bird scolded at me, his head 
 held impertinently to one side 
 
 "I picked Toti from the ground one day when he was 
 only a baby," she explained, taking the complacent 
 bird in her hand and stroking him. "His wing was 
 broken. I mended him, m'sieur, though he will never 
 fly very much. Poor baby, he couldn't go south if he 
 wanted to, along with those crazy geese, though he 
 wouldn't leave his mamma if he could; would he, 
 Toti?" and she fell to lavishing caresses upon the 
 miserable bird. I glowered at him, envying him 
 his feathers. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," I suggested, with a last glance of 
 contempt at the lucky Toti, who returned the look 
 with one which I could have sworn evidenced a leer- 
 ing triumph, "if you have the time let us stroll 
 through the forest a little way. Only a few days
 
 RENEE 19 
 
 remain to us of this delightful weather. Behold, the 
 snows come speedily, mam'selle." The bird, released, 
 fluttered back to his limb. 
 
 " Tres bien, I will go, m'sieur," she assented, with a 
 wistful glance toward the gorgeous foliage. " But 
 you, are you strong enough ? You are yet quite lame 
 in your legs; is it not so?" 
 
 I smothered a smile at the quaintness of her speech, 
 rendered the richer by the most delicious of accents. 
 
 " True, they are somewhat stiffened," I assured her 
 soberly. " My joints will doubtless creak unpleasantly, 
 but the oil of a little exercise they must have. With 
 you beside me I shall soon be skipping like the young 
 hills." 
 
 " Monsieur, you grow extravagant," she exclaimed, 
 with a little frown that brought to me the wish to 
 offend again. " But wait a moment," and she left 
 me on the threshold, reappearing shortly with a 
 wheaten loaf. " You shall presently see," she promised, 
 reading the question in my eyes. "Sir, attend me, 
 for we now set forth." 
 
 We left the cottage, a brave little dot in the wil- 
 derness, and in a moment were out of the little clear- 
 ing and in the depths of the woods. We followed a 
 well defined footpath, evidently used considerably by 
 the Frenchman and his daughter. From the increas- 
 ing murmur of water I gathered that we were ap- 
 proaching the river. We had our guns, for the north- 
 land was young then and one could not tell at what 
 moment a weapon might be needed. The path ran 
 tortuously, avoiding large obstacles. Evidently for 
 his daughter's convenience M. De Montefort had been 
 at pains to create an easy progress, though she was 
 the last person in the world to be finicky about a 
 few briars or fallen tree trunks.
 
 20 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 She preceded me, rather slowly, on account of my 
 injuries, while I hobbled after her, ludicrously enough 
 I have no doubt. She was a rare young Dian, 
 moving before me with grace and a fine free power, her 
 slender body erect as a dart, yet softened with fair 
 contours. Her short trim skirt just cleared an ankle, 
 whose beauty was not obscured by the low, service- 
 able shoes she wore. Her rifle rested easily and cor- 
 rectly in the hollow of her arm, muzzle downward. 
 As we proceeded she maintained a bantering fire of 
 conversation with me. I had bewildering glimpses 
 of a perfect half profile, the cheek flushed pink with 
 the tang, like champagne, in the air; a clear eye, 
 blue-green like the sea, laughing its challenge; the 
 tinkle of tones like sweet bells. It was Elysium. I 
 was content to hobble. 
 
 After a time we reached a point where the path 
 turned sharply. Some distance more and the voice 
 of the water, hitherto pleasantly discursive, had be- 
 come a truculent roar. Now we emerged into a 
 small clearing, which had been burned over at some 
 previous time, lapping a precipitous bank which 
 sheered abruptly to the river thirty feet below. The 
 brawling little stream here disported itself into a web 
 of miniature cascades, whirling eddies and foaming 
 rapids, the water swirling madly hither and yon in 
 its rock-strewn bed. Yet for all its fertile rush and 
 whirl, there lay along the edges of the stream 
 hemmed by outer guards of black sullen rocks 
 great pulseless pools, deep and still, where the 
 shadows brooded and a strange peace rested, un- 
 mindful of the puny clamor of the outer shallows. 
 
 The girl and I stood quietly gazing at the little 
 stream with its ridiculous violence. There was some- 
 thing grotesquely impotent about it; one felt a vague
 
 RENEE 21 
 
 pity at its pigmy strivings to burst its narrow bonds. 
 It growled like a puppy, it snapped and snarled, 
 dashing itself vainly against the rocky banks; then 
 foiled but persevering still, rushing on with angry 
 muttering to find another point of assault. And on 
 either side of the narrow gorge, the great grim forest, 
 majestic and illimitable, calmly contemptous, seemed 
 to press forward the closer, as if to crush and throttle 
 the slender thread of water that so daringly divided 
 it against its mighty self. The fancy was a strange 
 one. I laughed. 
 
 The witch beside me had been watching me. She 
 read my thought upon the tablet of my mutilated 
 face. 
 
 "Ah, yes, m'sieur, you laugh," she said, with a 
 strange little smile. "Poor little stream amuses 
 you, does it not, with its spittings and snarlings 
 that come to nothing, while the forest laughs ? But 
 m'sieur, have you forgotten the spring when the snows 
 melt and the great rains soak and drench ? Ah, it is 
 then the turn of the little stream ! I have seen," 
 she continued, her voice grown solemn, her eyes hold- 
 ing my own, " a great mass of yellow water rolling 
 by the spot on which we stand, nearly reaching the 
 edge of this very bank, which crumbled and fell into 
 it in great clods. It does not then growl and grum- 
 ble, the little stream. No, it roars and rumbles like 
 the thunder. It is cruel, too, for it remembers how 
 the forest laughed. Ma foi ! the great proud trees 
 I have seen, drowned and dead, dashed to pieces by 
 the little stream. Yes, and the bodies of men, too, 
 beaten and battered; men who would wade it as it 
 is now and laugh at it, as you did just now, m'sieur. 
 For the little stream remembers and does not forget 
 or forgive. No, it is a demon, a great, monstrous
 
 22 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 demon, tearing at the vitals of the trees that mocked 
 it, sucking the life blood from the crumbling earth. 
 To destroy, only to destroy and to roar as the lion 
 roars with the joy of it. Why should we laugh, 
 monsieur? Have you not also seen?" 
 
 I surveyed her with a certain wonder. Her words 
 and the dramatic manner accompanying them had 
 told, and in a flash I had been made to perceive 
 the sinister spirit animating the boisterous waters 
 even as she saw it. The fuss and foam below me 
 was suddenly pregnant with poignant possibilities. 
 I seemed to see in it the horrible, shapeless Thing, 
 the sleeping Terror that her graphic speech had con- 
 jured. But as I sobered her sudden laughter saluted 
 my ears. Having spelled me serious, it was her 
 pleasure to become amused at the result. 
 
 " Do not cry, M'sieur Warburton," she mocked. " It 
 is not yet spring nor are you afloat. When it shall 
 be spring, just do not go near the water, that is all. 
 But now you must hide yourself, for I promised you 
 a surprise," and she dragged me, feeling like a fool 
 and doubtless looking it, toward the undergrowth. 
 
 Leaving me behind a thicket which effectually 
 screened me without cutting off my view of whatever 
 it was that was coming, Renee moved away from me 
 until she stood in the center of the clearing. She 
 uttered a peculiar call, repeating it in a moment. In 
 response there came the sound of a great whirring 
 and flapping, approaching swiftly. Then, before my 
 astonished eyes, there occurred a total eclipse of 
 Renee. She was the unseen center of a great white 
 cloud, violently agitated, which billowed about her, 
 besetting her with soft cries, the air throbbing with 
 the shudder of beating wings. I had often seen giant 
 flocks of wild pigeons in my wanderings through the
 
 RENEE 23 
 
 woods, flocks that darkened the skies and brought 
 the twilight at noonday. But here was something 
 new, a great swarm of the shy birds which came 
 obedient to the call of this strange girl to be fed and 
 caressed. For, as the flock drifted apart a little, I 
 saw them perched upon her shoulders, clinging to her 
 gown, and one actually adhering with beak and tal- 
 ons to her hair, from which point of vantage she 
 promptly removed him, transferring him to her 
 shoulder. 
 
 Meanwhile the loaf she had brought was swiftly 
 disappearing in the feathered vortex. When it was 
 quite gone there came a sudden lifting of the cloud 
 and a swift rush forestward. I came out from my 
 shelter. The last of the pigeons, which was picking 
 daintily at its plumage, being startled at my ap- 
 proach, rose from its perch on Renee's shoulder and 
 soared after its mates. She stood alone, smiling at 
 the mute wonder in my eyes. 
 
 "It is not difficult, m'sieur," she said, " though, 
 of course, it took much patience at the first. They 
 must be made to know that you will not hurt them 
 because you love them. It took three years before I 
 could approach them. I could only strew the crumbs 
 and leave them, for they distrusted me. But now, as 
 you see, it is different and they come to me. They 
 will soon be gone though, where there is no winter," 
 she continued, with a note of sadness in her voice. 
 "But they will return to me with the spring, for 
 they have never failed me." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, it is wonderful," I commented with 
 sincerity. " I have never heard or seen the like of it. 
 My past experience has been that these pigeons shun 
 humanity because of the slaughter inflicted of late 
 years by so many men."
 
 24 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "Men!" cried the girl, with flashing eyes. "They 
 are not men, they are murderers ! Ah, is it not 
 wanton? Poor white innocents, harming no one; 
 desirous only of the right to the air and the woods ; 
 humble and gentle beyond all words ! It makes me 
 fair to burst, monsieur, with anger because of the kill- 
 ing of these poor birds, when thousands are mur- 
 dered for what these beasts of men call sport ! If 
 one of them should fire into my flock mark you my 
 friend le bon Dieu forgive me, I should shoot him; 
 yes, with a good heart ! " 
 
 This was spirited, besides revealing another phase 
 of her many sided character. The sentiment was 
 wicked perhaps yet charmingly so, and I frankly 
 exulted in it, for I shared her honest indignation at 
 the spirit of wholesale destruction which prevailed at 
 the time toward these inoffensive birds. My own 
 right arm had once enjoyed the pleasure of felling a 
 miscreant whom I found ready to begin the unique 
 enjoyment that obtained in those days of using a 
 small piece of ordnance to cannonade an immense 
 flock of the birds passing overhead. I endorsed what 
 my fiery lady had said on the subject and so stated. 
 
 "We must return, for it is nearly time for me to 
 prepare the dinner," she said at length, and, with a 
 last glance at the tumbling river, we turned toward 
 the path. 
 
 At that very moment a shriek rang out close at 
 hand a yell of mortal agony. We whirled, and as 
 we did so I saw a few rods down the river a brown 
 form shoot from the bank out into the air, as if flung 
 by some mighty force, and fall into the water several 
 feet out from the shore, the surface crimsoning as the 
 body sank from sight. My swift glimpse had marked 
 the garb and pain-contorted features of an Indian.
 
 RENEE 25 
 
 Renee had disappeared. As I stood watching the 
 spot where the body had gone down I heard her cry 
 in keenest distress, "Mon perc ! Ah, mon pere!" 
 
 Grasping my gun I hobbled as fast as my lamed 
 legs would let me in the direction of her voice.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 John Godfrey 
 
 I hurried across the clearing and plunged into the 
 woods, heading down stream. A few paces and I had 
 come to a spot where the growth was less dense. I 
 caught a glimpse of the river hard by through the 
 trees. The sunlight struggled through the thick 
 boughs over me. 
 
 A sob sounded nearby. Turning, I advanced a few 
 steps and beheld Renee in tears. She sat upon the 
 ground, bending over her father, who lay with his 
 head in her lap. She was wildly chafing his hands 
 and imploring him to speak to her. Her brave self- 
 possession all gone, distraught with fears for her 
 loved parent, she crouched there, crying pitifully. 
 
 I hurried up, kneeling beside them. De Montefort 
 was unconscious and Renee hardly noticed me. I 
 felt for the old Frenchman's heart and was reassured, 
 for it was beating strongly. The blood flowed slight- 
 ly from a scalp wound, Renee trying to wipe it away 
 with her tiny handkerchief. A moment's examina- 
 tion showed me that my benefactor was only stunned. 
 The blow had been a glancing one, wounding him 
 on the side of the head, having apparently been de- 
 flected by some means. 
 
 "Do not agitate yourself, Renee," I implored, lay- 
 ing my hand gently on her trembling arm. "Your 
 father is not seriously hurt." In the influence of the
 
 JOHN GODFREY 27 
 
 moment I had lost sight of the conventions, but she 
 seemed not aware of my liberty in addressing her by 
 her Christian name, or, for that matter, of my pres- 
 ence. But even as I spoke the Frenchman's eyelids 
 fluttered and Renee uttered a joyful cry as he looked at 
 her, somewhat bewildered but evidently not seriously 
 harmed, as the color came slowly back to his face. 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed De Montefort, struggling 
 to a sitting position and feeling gingerly of his doubt- 
 less aching head. " What became of him ?" His coat 
 sleeve slipped back as he raised his arm and I noticed 
 an ugly, swelling bruise just above the wrist. 
 
 "Of whom, father?" inquired Renee, bending over 
 him with tender solicitude. 
 
 "The man who tried to kill me!" answered De 
 Montefort, his eye kindling and his fist clenching. 
 " He was an Indian, monsieur. I heard a stir behind 
 me. I was returning from the traps, as you see," 
 indicating some of the spoils near by, " when I heard 
 the snap of a twig and turned just in time to see a 
 club in the hands of that damnable redskin. He 
 swung for my head. I threw up my arm," feeling 
 ruefully of the member, " and broke the force of the 
 blow and almost the arm as well," with a grimace. 
 "Still, I regret not the arm, mes enfants, for it served 
 me well in preserving my skull intact. But the In- 
 dian, where is he?" 
 
 " In the river, m'sieur," I answered, and told them 
 what I had seen. " When your daughter heard your 
 cry," I explained to De Montefort, "she waited for 
 nothing, but hurried to you." 
 
 The girl shook her head. "That was not father's 
 voice," she said. "I did not take the voice for his. 
 I seemed to divine that something was wrong, so I 
 left you, mon ami," with a mischievous glance at me.
 
 28 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "Then it was the Indian who cried out," I ex- 
 claimed. " Why, of course, his face showed he had 
 reason for it when he hit the water. And then, he 
 was bleeding. But who killed the Indian?" I asked 
 in perplexity. 
 
 "I did!" growled a bass voice in reply, close to us. 
 We three started, and, looking up, beheld standing 
 before us a remarkable figure. 
 
 It was that of a man of great size. De Montefort 
 and myself were tall men, verging close upon six 
 feet and strongly made, but he dwarfed us as the oak 
 does the dogwood. His height was fully four inches 
 over our own. His shoulders were broad and power- 
 ful and his huge hands, gnarled and knotted with 
 muscle, like the wrists above, indicated a terrible 
 strength. Surpassing might was apparent in every 
 line of the huge frame, and not strength alone, but 
 the suggestion of that lithe, tigerish suppleness with- 
 out which mere brute strength is shorn, like Samson 
 in the hands of Delilah, of half its vigor. The 
 stranger wore the rude garb of an ordinary hunter, 
 with rough leather leggings. His cap of skins was 
 pushed back on his head, exposing a thick shock of 
 black hair shading a high forehead. A heavy black 
 beard and luxuriant mustachios covered the lower 
 portion of the dark, tanned face. A pair of piercing 
 black eyes stared at us somewhat quizzically, as if 
 the effect upon us of his sudden appearance had 
 amused him. He stood like a Titan, huge feet plant- 
 ed with Jovian firmness in the forest mould, a splen- 
 did figure in uncouth coverings, mutely regarding 
 us. There was something of latent force in the man 
 which was terrifying. It told of a sleeping giant 
 whom it would mean destruction to arouse. 
 
 The old Frenchman arose to the occasion. "Sir
 
 JOHN GODFREY 29 
 
 whoever you are, I am glad that you did so kill 
 him," he said with a fine courtesy. " Pray seat your- 
 self, m'sieur, for it is likely that you are fatigued 
 after the killing. I owe you acknowledgements for 
 what my daughter is pleased to consider my valuable 
 life." 
 
 The giant bowed and seated himself near by 
 upon a convenient log. Pie began nonchalantly to 
 plunge the blade of a hunting knife into the black 
 soil and the manner of the redskin's death was 
 explained. 
 
 He finished and thrust the knife into his belt, which 
 we noticed contained another as well. " This," he 
 explained, indicating the blade he had just cleansed, 
 " was the Indian's. He stabbed himself with it." 
 
 He smiled slightly at our mystified expressions 
 and continued. "I got here just as our red friend 
 was bringing his cudgel down on your head," he said 
 addressing the Frenchman. ' ' I saw you partially ward 
 off the blow, then fall. He would have finished you, 
 but the coppery rascal then caught sight of me. I 
 may say that he knew something of me, as I was 
 once in his territory, to the cost of some of his com- 
 rades. He started to run toward the river yonder. I 
 caught him just at the bank. He turned on me, with 
 his knife drawn before I could pull my own, but I 
 caught his wrist and he stabbed himself. Then I 
 tossed him into the river." 
 
 I entertained a vivid memory of that toss. I shiv- 
 ered inwardly as I remembered the dying brave, 
 himself a powerful man, shooting out from the bank, 
 between sky and water, as if hurled by a catapult. 
 What manner of a man was this who held such havoc 
 in his hands? It was M. De Montefort who asked 
 the question of identity.
 
 30 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "To whom am I indebted," he inquired, "for the 
 favor of the killing, m'sieur?" 
 
 The stranger smiled sombrely. " Men call me John 
 Godfrey," he answered simply. 
 
 It was enough. John Godfrey, the man whose 
 prowess had made tales worth the telling for nearly 
 a decade past in the Pennsylvania wastes and the 
 forests of central and southern New York. Incred- 
 ible stories of his courage and enormous strength 
 were retailed from mouth to mouth among the hunt- 
 ers and trappers who traversed the yet undisturbed 
 forests of our own region and those of Canada. He 
 was a semi-mystic hero, the glamor of whose deeds 
 had invested his personality with a delightful atmos- 
 phere of unreality. Marvelous were the stories related 
 of him, and, in view of what we had seen, they were 
 not overdrawn. Certainly in physical endowment 
 the man did not fall short of what had been claimed 
 for him. 
 
 We three regarded him with due deference. This did 
 not appear to please him overmuch. Indeed, he 
 shambled impatiently, like a disturbed grizzly. He 
 had not volunteered the information of his identity ; 
 it had been extracted from him. 
 
 " We had not known," observed Renee, with her de- 
 licious French accent, "that M'sieur Godfrey was in 
 these parts. We have heard of him, O, often, but 
 mostly from yonder," and she pointed southward. 
 
 "My trade is in skins," he rejoined. "The settle- 
 ments are thickening to the south. I have been in 
 this region six months and like it. Pelts are plenti- 
 ful. Should it become too thickly populated here, 
 which is not imminent, Canada is left. I am some- 
 what acquainted there already," with a slight smile. 
 " But I hope it will be some time before the hand of
 
 JOHN GODFREY 31 
 
 man uproots these magnificent reaches," and he 
 smiled again with a touch of that wistfulness that 
 we all felt who loved the forests and sorrowed to see 
 them fall, as inevitably they must before the advance 
 of civilization. 
 
 After a momen's silence M. De Montefort, recol- 
 lecting the amenities, introduced himself and us to 
 the giant hunter, who acknowledged the presentation 
 with a grace of bearing which contrasted oddly 
 enough with the rude garb he wore, and confirmed 
 the conviction in our minds that, like the majority, 
 he had a history, but that unlike the majority his 
 was one of thrilling interest. 
 
 Following a suggestion of M. De Montefort's, we 
 turned toward the cabin, Godfrey accompanying us. 
 As we started he whistled and there appeared from 
 under a clump of bushes, where he had lain unob- 
 served till now, a great, gaunt, black hound, power- 
 fully built and of a formidable breed, possessing a 
 fine intelligent head. The brute showed good blood 
 and superior intellect. 
 
 "This is Gypso," said his master, with a wave of 
 the hand. The dog acknowledged the introduction 
 with a blase' yawn. 
 
 Renee laughed, the animal's owner glancing at her 
 interrogatively. "It is the name," she explained. 
 " Such a name would fit a lapdog, so long, m'sieur," 
 with a vivacious gesture of demonstration. "And 
 such a name for that great beast, monsieur ; pardon- 
 nez moi, but " and she laughed again. 
 
 Godfrey's stern lips relaxed and he chuckled gently, 
 looking down at the great hound who sat with up- 
 raised head, devotedly eyeing his master. The trap- 
 per's hand stroked the hound's head caressingly. 
 
 " I call him so, mademoiselle," he explained, smiling
 
 32 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 benignly at Renee, " because he is so different. He 
 has been with me constantly for some years. He 
 shows it," pointing comprehensively at the dog's 
 body, which was liberally scarred with the marks of 
 conflict. " He is pure gold and he rings true." The 
 dog received this with another bored yawn, which 
 was probably affected, for I marked a betraying 
 waggle of his tail. 
 
 As we proceeded in single file along the trail toward 
 the cabin Godfrey commented upon the presence of 
 the Indian thereabouts at that time. For some years 
 the settlers had been comparatively free from at- 
 tack by them, as the redskins were growing scarce 
 in that region. 
 
 " He was from a certain tribe in the province of 
 Upper Canada," said Godfrey. " I knew him and he 
 knew me, for I was there on a certain occasion. 
 They have not forgotten it seems," and he laughed 
 slightly. "As for his being here at this time, there 
 will be more of them later. There will soon be trouble 
 between this country and England, and these devils, 
 you may be sure, are spying for the British. The 
 frontier will be overrun with them, I fear, but there's 
 one less," his teeth clicking. " Of course, his only 
 object in killing you, m'sieur, was to gratify his 
 fiend's appetite for bringing blood from behind." 
 It was plain that the famous hunter had no love for 
 this particular breed of savages. Bitter experience 
 had evidently taught him better. 
 
 M. De Montefort walked without effort, experiencing 
 no inconvenience from his injury except a slight pain 
 and resultant giddiness. His daughter, immediately 
 behind, was tenderly solicitous. As for me, the rush 
 of events had rather obliterated myself from my 
 mind and I nearly forgot to hobble.
 
 JOHN GODFREY 33 
 
 We reached the cabin in a few moments and after 
 her father's head had been bandaged, in which God- 
 frey, evidently an adept in these little matters,, as- 
 sisted her, Renee left us to prepare the belated dinner. 
 The Frenchman retired to lie down and Godfrey and I 
 sat on the little porch, warmed by the gracious sun, 
 and lighted our pipes. Renee's robin, grown sleepy, 
 regarded us listlessly from his perch. The trapper's 
 hound dozed at our feet. The tobacco was deliciously 
 aromatic; we inhaled it hungrily. 
 
 The trapper sat with his great legs comfortably 
 extended, his hands clasped back of his head, his cap 
 off, puffing with indolent satisfaction. The smoke 
 wreaths curled and wavered. We watched them, all 
 things mellowing through the blue haze. 
 
 There were golden silences, broken only by an oc- 
 casional laconic question by the trapper concerning 
 myself. Answering as briefly at the first, the mild 
 intoxication of the nicotine prevailed and I told him 
 all about myself, a tale which after all might have 
 been told in fewer words than I employed, for I was 
 young. But he only smiled and nodded occasionally, 
 though I noticed that he responded with no confi- 
 dences in return. He only smoked, blinking lazily in 
 the sunlight, saying nothing. I was eager to hear 
 some of the strange tales he could tell if he would. 
 I waited the moving of the spirit. It remained qui- 
 escent. 
 
 At that moment the hound crouched at our feet, 
 growled menacingly. We looked up.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A Bravo and a Bond 
 
 Some paces away a man stood watching us, or 
 rather, Godfrey, for I perceived that he paid little 
 attention to me. As he caught sight of the newcomer 
 I heard a sharp intake of breath from my com- 
 panion, but as I looked toward him his face was 
 inscrutable. He was surveying the man before him 
 with an impersonal and listless curiosity. For his 
 part, the stranger gazed at the trapper in a manner 
 that was patently vindictive. The two stared at 
 each other without words, the hush pregnant with a. 
 something which I felt I could not fathom. I knew 
 instinctively that into the present there had leaped 
 without warning some drama of the past. 
 
 The stranger was not of ordinary appearance. A 
 greater contrast physically to Godfrey it would have 
 been difficult to find. The man was short, his height 
 not exceeding five and a half feet, but his breadth of 
 shoulder and depth of chest were enormous. He was 
 dressed in rough hunting garb, which did not hide the 
 evidences of herculean strength, for the massive frame 
 indicated colossal power. A short, thick, bull neck, 
 coarsely red, jutted from between the hulking shoulders 
 supporting a round small head, on either side of 
 which protruded a great bat-like ear. A snarled mane 
 of coarse red hair hung unkempt from under the peak 
 of the battered cap, while a thick beard and mous-
 
 A BRAVO AND A BOND 35 
 
 tache of like hue concealed the mouth and lower 
 portion of the face, an office which I mentally con- 
 jectured was a kindness. The eyes were strangely 
 narrow, deep set and shifty. They were craftily yel- 
 low in tint, like a cat's, and blinked uncannily in the 
 sunlight. The brow was low to brutishness and the 
 skin of the face and great calloused paws was of an 
 ugly blotchy red. The whole expression was infinite- 
 ly sinister and forbidding. He carried a rifle and a 
 knife and pistol was thrust in his belt. I noticed 
 that one foot was somewhat deformed and he moved 
 with a great limp. 
 
 " The forests of this northern country are plenti- 
 ful in game," he said finally, addressing Godfrey, his 
 strange eyes gleaming fitfully in a series of feline 
 blinks. " I am myself trying my fortune," with a 
 significant glance, the import of which my com- 
 panion evidently guessed. 
 
 I could have yelled aloud in my surprise. The voice 
 of this monster, for he was nothing less, was a reve- 
 lation. Rich, deep toned, vibrant, it rolled from his 
 course lips like the swelling notes of an organ. Never 
 was such an anomaly. Repulsive and hideous in 
 personality to the last degree, one would expect a 
 snarling harshness to proceed from his opened mouth, 
 yet here was sonorous music. It was nature's com- 
 pensation, flung doubtless at the last in remorse for 
 her otherwise horrible handiwork. 
 
 "As you say," dryly rejoined Godfrey, stretching 
 his legs with a yawn, "these woods are plentiful in 
 game. My experience among them has not been 
 small and I have shot and trapped many varieties. 
 But still," a sudden flame leaping from his eyes, 
 " I sometimes have the good fortune to secure the pelt 
 of a new beast, hitherto unmet in these parts."
 
 36 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 It was a shaft and it struck home. The ugly face 
 grew livid and the hairy hand darted swiftly toward 
 the belt. John's fingers flew in a similar direction. 
 A swift duel with the eyes and the stranger's hand 
 dropped to his side. Godfrey's followed suit, his 
 face impassive but a baleful light in his black eyes. 
 
 " The more varieties the merrier, good sir," re- 
 sponded the stranger, with a forced grin that curled 
 the corners of his lips into a snarl like an angry 
 dog's. " I shall take the more pleasure in skinning 
 them," his vicious grin spreading like a fowl, dank 
 fog. "But, tell me, gentlemen, for I am somewhat 
 strange to these regions, how far am I from the 
 settlement of Watertown?" 
 
 " A day's journey or two," replied Godfrey, an 
 ticipating me. " Follow this stream till it reaches the 
 Kahuahgo, then that water down. You might float 
 down," he added with grim suggestion, his expression 
 indicating the grisly nature of the pleasantry. 
 
 " No, I thank you," answered the un welcomed guest, 
 with sarcastic comprehension. " I prefer the banks. 
 They are safer." 
 
 " No surer," muttered the trapper with slow mean- 
 ing. " But tell us," he inquired suddenly, " with 
 whom we have the honor to converse." 
 
 " William Barclay, gameseeker, at your service," 
 promptly replied the visitor, with a cunning glance 
 of challenge at Godfrey. " I am lying shamelessly," 
 so the glance told us, " but for reasons that are good 
 you will not say so." 
 
 Nor did he. He stared at the fellow a moment 
 with grim amusement. " You may be sure I am glad 
 to meet you, Mr. Barclay," he said sarcastically, 
 "I hope that in the not distant future we shall be 
 accorded the pleasure of meeting again."
 
 A BRAVO AND A BOND 37 
 
 " I share your wish," replied the visitor, his strange 
 voice enriched with a throb of unmistakable inten- 
 sity. Again I was struck by the indescribable con- 
 trast between the voice and the hateful personality. 
 The one pulsed with music, the other was a foul 
 discord in the midst of the autumnal beauty sur- 
 rounding us. The hideous face was just now elo- 
 quent with malevolence unmasked; little red devils 
 danced in the venomous eyes that were turned on 
 Godfrey. He seemed a wild beast, ready to rend and 
 tear for the mere glut of blood-letting till he spoke. 
 Then you wondered. 
 
 For his voice possessed not only natural beauty, 
 but it was replete with those acquired graces that 
 come of Christian culture and a previous environment 
 oddly out of keeping with the present position of the 
 graceless owner. Villain was writ, as it had been 
 graven on stone tablets, upon his sin-scarred face, 
 yet his enunciation revealed the purist, while such 
 was the round, full utterance, the polished precision 
 of pronunciation and expression of that voice that a 
 blind man had listened spellbound and beheld, mir- 
 rored in the retina of the mind, a demigod. 
 
 At this moment there was a slight stir behind us 
 and we turned to behold Renee, who had just emerged 
 from the kitchen, the door of which had been closed. 
 "Dinner will be ready shortly, messieurs," she said. 
 She paused abruptly, her eyes widening unpleasantly 
 startled. In deference to fellow beings, Trapper Bar- 
 clay should have gone masked. 
 
 "This, mademoiselle," said Godfrey, with ironical 
 courtesy, "is one William Barclay, a trapper who is 
 new to these parts. We have been holding pleasant 
 parley with him." 
 
 As Renee appeared, the fellow glanced at her with
 
 3 8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 a carelessness which changed to a swift, certain in- 
 terest. Then his gaze deepened with a base, brutal 
 admiration. The light hazel eyes, yellowish and cat- 
 like, leered; the lips parted coarsely. I clenched my 
 fist voluntarily; there came from Godfrey a low 
 growl of disgust. 
 
 The girl, disconcerted at the creature's gaze, glanced 
 nervously toward us. " The dinner will soon be pre- 
 pared," she murmured. "Perhaps, " 
 
 "Our friend has not the time for dinner," inter- 
 rupted Godfrey, answering for him with cool ur- 
 banity. " It is necessary for him to be moving down 
 stream at once, for time presses. He has a risky 
 mission to perform and must get his meals mostly 
 with his gun in the forest, so has not the time for 
 amenities. He must leave us at once, there is scant 
 time for adieux. Is it not so, Barclay?" 
 
 "Quite so, I must be leaving," assented the badg- 
 ered blackguard, casting a venomous look at God- 
 frey to my great diversion. I noticed Renee's start 
 of surprise upon hearing his voice. Murmuring some 
 quite unfelt regret at his inability to remain, she 
 returned, gladly enough I made no doubt, to the 
 kitchen, closing the door. 
 
 Without a word, but with a look of hatred toward 
 Godfrey, who returned it with insolent amusement, 
 the man who called himself Barclay turned to go. 
 In his path stood Godfrey's hound, surveying him 
 with eyes of enmity, born I judge of the honest con- 
 tempt which a good dog always feels for a human 
 cur whom he gauges. The dumb animal appeared 
 suddenly to anger the inferior one, who kicked the 
 poor brute full in the mouth. The hound sprang for- 
 ward, the fellow leaping to one side, swinging his gun 
 overhead in order to brain the dog.
 
 DOUBLING HIS FIST, HE DROVE IT STRAIGHT INTO THE 
 
 MOUTH OF HIS OPPONENT Page 3
 
 A BRAVO AND A BOND 39 
 
 I jumped to my feet, but, with a bound like a re- 
 leased spring, Godfrey was by me. In a flash, before 
 the clubbed stock could descend, he had reached the 
 stranger and seized the barrel of his weapon with 
 two furious hands. For a breathless moment the 
 two giants, so oddly dissimilar, swayed in a savage, 
 muscle-cracking fight for the rifle, shifting grips in 
 the attempt to wrest it from one another's hands. 
 For my part I watched them fascinated, while hold- 
 ing back with difficulty the maddened dog, who with 
 furious growls sought participation. The veins bulged 
 in the necks of the struggling men, the breath hiss- 
 ing serpent-like from between their bared teeth. 
 
 In a brief moment, however, the enormous leverage 
 of Godfrey's giant arms told. The rifle swung slowly 
 over, then, with a powerful twist, it was wrenched 
 from its owner's hands. Godfrey hurled it clean 
 across the clearing into the woods. Then, doubling 
 his fist, he drove it with fearful force straight into 
 the mouth of his opponent. The man fell like a log, 
 an oath, together with much blood, bubbling from 
 his mutilated lips. 
 
 "That is for my hound," said Godfrey grimly. 
 "And now, damn you, go!" he demanded, bending 
 over his prostrate enemy, his voice low with terrible 
 passion. "Go while you can crawl, before I forget 
 that God lives and steals His privilege of sending 
 your soul to hell ! My patience is done ! Leave here 
 before you join your dead devil in the river yonder, 
 for if you do not, by God, there will be the blood of 
 two men on my hands this day!" 
 
 The wretch slowly scrambled to his feet, impotent 
 fury blasting his horrible face like a flame. The 
 crushed, swelling lips, with shreds of torn flesh hang- 
 ing from them, parted painfully in a grin like a dog's,
 
 40 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 a grotesque grin of hate. The yellow eyes shot mur 
 derous malice, but, deep down in them, there cowered 
 a deadly fear. He swayed unsteadily a moment and 
 viciously spat out a couple of loosened fangs. Then, 
 with a last look of malice and all uncharitableness, 
 he turned, still wordless,and slunk away to the forest. 
 
 Godfrey drew a big breath as the burly figure was 
 lost to sight. He clenched his great fist and let it fall 
 softly to his side, a silent gesture loud with eloquence. 
 
 " I should have killed him," he muttered, " but his 
 black blood is for other hands than mine." We re- 
 turned silently to the rude porch and sat down. 
 
 Inside we could hear the hiss of steam that rose 
 from the ponderous, iron tea kettle. There was the 
 faint clatter of crockery ; swift, light steps ; the vague 
 sounds of the mysterous bustle that pertains to the 
 cuisine. From another part of the interior there 
 came, at measured intervals, a long drawn, droning 
 note; weird, inexpressibly mournful. It was unmis- 
 takable. His daughter's father was snoring. 
 
 The little drama had fortunately disturbed neither 
 of them, and indeed it had not been an unduly noisy 
 one. Godfrey's voice when in extreme anger was not 
 of the blatting and roaring variety. It was far more 
 dangerous, dropping to a low intensity of rage which 
 was apt to congeal the object of his ire. The hound, 
 being made of stern stuff, made no outcry over his 
 hurt other than guttural growls of resentment. So, 
 to our relief, the sight of the spirited occurrence had 
 been limited to ourselves. 
 
 Godfrey sat regarding some badly skinned knuckles. 
 They reminded him of the dog. He called the poor 
 brute, who with bloody jowl came to him. 
 
 Godfrey inserted a thumb and opened the dog's 
 jaws. "He kicked out one of your teeth," he
 
 A BRAVO AND A BOND 41 
 
 observed reflectively, feeling of the broken fang, " but 
 don't you mind. He's lost two." The dog whined 
 and licked the sore knuckles. 
 
 I had wondered, since the trapper's outburst dur- 
 ing the encounter, at his reference to the Indian who 
 had been with the stranger. I had noticed that the 
 bravo's fear had grown at the words. It was evident 
 that Godfrey knew much about the nearly simul- 
 taneous appearance of these two unclean birds. I 
 wanted to ask him for an explanation, but the trap- 
 per was hardly one from whom to extract confi- 
 dences. I waited for him to volunteer them ; waited 
 indefinitely. He sat with one leg thrown over the 
 other; hands clasping a bony knee; black eyes 
 fixed sombrely upon the glowing forest; eyes that 
 were dimmed with the wistful shadow that sometimes 
 falls, veiling the vision, blotting out for breath the 
 dearth of the present moment for some glad, return- 
 ing mirage of the dear, dead past ; a mirage glorified 
 and given substance by some dim and tender memory, 
 creeping from its dark cell into transitory light and 
 life. 
 
 A feminine rustle roused us. "Dinner is finally 
 ready, messieurs," Renee's voice was saying. "Tell 
 me, are you not famished? Where is that horrible 
 man? Or is he a friend of yours?" She flushed, 
 regarding Godfrey. 
 
 Godfrey glanced at me, his sombre face relaxing. 
 " My acquaintance is large, mam'selle," he responded, 
 " but my friends are few. The man is one I happened 
 to strike in the woods shortly since. He is gone." 
 
 I choked slightly and grew red. Mademoiselle, un- 
 suspecting, glanced at me with solicitude. Had I 
 swallowed something? 
 
 "Not yet," I told her, "but I am quite ready to."
 
 42 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 She was contrite. "We must delay no longer!" she 
 exclaimed. " You must both be starved !" Her voice 
 rang out in summons. " Father !" she called. " It is 
 to dine!" 
 
 A sleepy voice answered her, and while Godfrey and 
 I were making our ablutions the old Frenchman 
 appeared, breaking off a prodigious yawn in the 
 middle with native consideration as he saw us. We 
 drew up and sat down before the table, which was 
 spread in the living room. All things were good. 
 We ate them. 
 
 The tinkle of cutlery rang a summons on the plates, 
 whereat Godfrey's hound appeared sniffing in the now 
 open doorway, eyeing us wistfully. Renee's robin also 
 poked his impudent nose inside, and, fluttering awk- 
 wardly to a point of vantage on her shoulder, swag- 
 gered there insolently, staring at us with bold eyes. 
 Godfrey was introduced to him, but even then the 
 bird was unimpressed, emerging from his boredom 
 only when his mistress began to feed him. He was 
 always eating. 
 
 Since my enforced stay at the cabin I had rejoiced 
 in a languid appetite, as became an invalid. But 
 my stroll, with its attending incidents, had aroused 
 the sleeping monster, who clamored and would not be 
 denied. I passed my plate for more and in a moment 
 blushed to find it gone. I remembered with whole- 
 some shame that it was the third time. 
 
 Godfrey continued to pass his with philosophic 
 calm. I regarded him with envy. He had evidently 
 long since accepted his appetite as a stubborn fact, 
 and, with resignation, made the most of it. I was 
 not yet hardened, being a younger man, and my con- 
 science troubled me. Renee, quietly imperturbable, 
 continued without respite to pass our plates on to
 
 A BRAVO AND A BOND 43 
 
 her father, managing by diligence between whiles to 
 supply herself and the bird, which chirped greedily 
 upon her shoulder. A low whine implored her. She 
 tossed a fragment deftly through the open door. 
 There was a whirl and a scramble; the dog's tail 
 vanishing, waved a benediction. 
 
 The Frenchman was speaking. " My friend," hesaid, 
 addressing Godfrey, "I hope you may remain with 
 us some days. This poor place is not unknown to a 
 great many of the men who seek their sustenance in 
 the forests of this region, and, I need hardly say, I 
 should deem it an honor to entertain the foremost of 
 them all, particularly for the service rendered me and 
 mine this day." 
 
 "I shall be pleased to remain with you a day or 
 two," replied the trapper, "though it can be only 
 for a short time. I am on my way to Sackets Har- 
 bor, monsieur, where, as you must know, there is now 
 hostile preparation. I believe that a break with Eng- 
 land is imminent. In such an event the Harbor will 
 be of the greatest value as a strategic position. Prep- 
 arations cannot be pushed too rapidly there, more- 
 over, for I understand that the regular force of sol- 
 diery there is very small, while the ranks of raw militia 
 of this sparsely settled region need much preparation. 
 Also there is as yet nothing more formidable in the 
 naval line than a fleet of fishing smacks. It is my 
 purpose, monsieur," he continued quietly, "to offer 
 what small assistance lies in my power to the military 
 authorities there. I have had some experience and 
 may be found useful in some humble way." 
 
 There was a slight pause. "Mr. Godfrey," I said 
 finally, " I was myself returning to the Harbor, from 
 an idle forest prowl, for that very purpose, when I 
 encountered the dilemma of which I told you and
 
 44 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 from which mademoiselle here so intrepidly rescued 
 me. If you will have the patience to remain here a 
 brief space till I am in physical shape to undertake 
 the journey I should be glad to return with you 
 and take you to my home. The struggle is close at 
 hand," I went on, an odd thrill tingling my spine, 
 "and, like all my countrymen, I am eager for it. And 
 though I presume, sir, upon this hour's acquaintance, 
 I can only say that I should count it an inestimable 
 privilege if I were permitted to see this fight through 
 shoulder to shoulder with you." 
 
 Godfrey's eyes, aglow with the fire that revealed his 
 intrepid soul, gazed into my own. Whatever they 
 read there, it is sufficient that in that instant the 
 subtle something that once in the lives of some men 
 draws two, the one to the other, closer than brothers, 
 bound us and mysteriously linked our fates until 
 severance and the end. Across the table we silently 
 clasped hands, cementing what was to each a strange 
 new tie. Friends in all and more than the word 
 implies ; friends through the gold and the gray, to the 
 Valley of the Shadow and beyond. 
 
 There was a silence. The great clock ticked over 
 loud. A faint breeze sighed humanly. The robin 
 peered at us curiously from Renee's shoulder. Renee 
 smiled at us, a tremulous little smile. 
 
 The old Frenchman's eyes were blurred. Winking 
 them vigorously he rose to his feet with uplifted glass. 
 
 "Bien! A votre sante!" he proposed. "Et mes- 
 sieurs, vive la France; vive PAmerique!"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 My Dream Lady 
 
 Renee and I watched the brawling water, furious 
 with foam, rushing and rioting. The little clearing 
 at the end of the winding trail had begun to look 
 forlorn. The grasses were shriveling, the green sober- 
 ing into a listless brown. A network of blackberry 
 briers, hopelessly naked, snarled sullenly in fretful 
 fashion at our feet. Each day the departing glory 
 of their leafage left the trees barer. We trod upon a 
 royal carpet of red and gold. As we looked, a sudden 
 breath of wind quivered the branches of a tall maple 
 that grew on the sharp bank of the stream. A 
 shower of leaves fell, fluttering like gorgeous butter- 
 flies, into the water, when they were whisked re- 
 lentlessly away into whirling eddies, drowned and 
 draggled. 
 
 The morning air was still keen with the tang of 
 the frost of the preceding night. Delicious as wine, 
 laden with spicy forest odors, it freshened the lungs 
 and fired the eye. Deftly as a lady's maid, it car- 
 mined Renee's cheeks and the summer lived again in 
 the pink roses. Her eyes the eyes that were like 
 the sunlit sea under a cloudless sky, wandered afar, 
 past the wood-girt shore, to the southward. Dream- 
 ily and wistfully they yearned for the vanished 
 summer. 
 
 A week had passed since Godfrey's arrival. I had
 
 46 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 been gaining strength swiftly, was now almost thor- 
 oughly fit and had ceased wholly to hobble. John 
 and I had determined to leave for Sackets Harbor 
 at noon of this day, for I was now able to under- 
 take the journey. 
 
 I had risen with a feeling of reluctance to leave, 
 and as I thought upon it my heart grew heavier. 
 Conflicting emotions smote me hip and thigh. I 
 would not have remained longer if I could, and yet, 
 for such was my state of mind, to remain would glad- 
 den me. All my youth's hot blood was stirred with 
 the desire to be at home, in the thick of the grim 
 preparation I knew was in progress, and yet the 
 imminence of my departure from the cabin made me 
 sick at heart. 
 
 For a sweet face drifted in my dreams. Clear eyes 
 gazed into mine and the warm sun flamed; where 
 they were not, the shadows lengthened. Her words, 
 like sweet bells, attuned my world to melody; 
 the way of her slender feet led into paths of 
 peace, into groves of a holy calm wherein noth- 
 ing gross could enter; into the majestic cathe- 
 dral of a realized ideal, with its vast roof that 
 reached to the throne of God, its throbbing organ, its 
 silent worshippers. There had entered into my life the 
 light that never was on land or sea for any unhappy 
 fool who has spurned the cup and put love from 
 him. I loved Renee. 
 
 She did not know it, nor had I for long. It was 
 only this morning, the morning that brought the 
 parting, that I awoke with the leaden weight at my 
 heart. I had wondered dully, in the instant ere full 
 consciousness came, why the weight was there. My 
 eyes opened and I regretfully remembered the coming 
 parting.
 
 MY DREAM LADY 47 
 
 The weight grew heavier and suddenly I knew knew 
 that I loved Renee. 
 
 I lay still for a few moments, staring solemnly out 
 of the sun-brightened window. The sudden realization 
 brought to me nothing of the foolish exultation and 
 high fever of which we read so much and disprove so 
 thoroughly. Rather I felt overwhelmed by a strange 
 and solemn thing, something I could not analyze as 
 yet. It was as if I had stood at the portal of a 
 temple hitherto unseen, quaking upon the threshold. 
 From within there came to me the odor of incense; 
 music that soared, bearing me upon its wings closer 
 to the stars; voices of infinite sweetness that told 
 of a pure, white grace. Within were alternate bursts 
 of divine harmonies and the fall of sweet silences. 
 Without there led up to this portal a path that wound 
 over sunny slopes and by green pastures from its 
 beginning; through shadowy woodlands, crossed by 
 little streams that gurgled carelessly ; a path wherein 
 the pilgrim strays, carefree and heartfree, till he 
 comes to the temple. 
 
 And so I had come to the end of the path which 
 I had traversed alone and stood hesitant at the 
 door of the temple. My eyes were dim for the days 
 that had been, for I knew that once within the por- 
 tal there would be a difference. Even on the thresh- 
 old a sense of a thousand austerities bore in upon 
 my spirit; a vague feeling that approached depression; 
 the gray mist that such a crisis brings. For the boy 
 comes whistling up the path to the door of the tem- 
 ple, but when he passes in he is a man. And when 
 one has become a man the boyhood that was seems 
 doubly sweet. 
 
 So it was with solemn eyes that I lay this morning, 
 my hands clasped under my head, staring out of
 
 4 8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the sunlit window toward the slowly opening door 
 of the temple. I was passing into it. I reflected. 
 To find her and to walk with her always. She might 
 not be for me; it might not be so written. She might 
 never know that I sought her in the temple. She 
 might indeed and my eyes grew troubled enter it 
 with another. And yet it was written that she must 
 ever be with me to the end, even should she not 
 give herself to me. For, looking in at the door of 
 the temple, I beheld her image and I passed through 
 and the door closed forever upon the path. 
 
 If it should not be that her life be linked with 
 mine, I should always have my dream lady. Her 
 clear, sweet eyes, Renee's eyes, should search my 
 own and hold me true to high ideals; her white hand 
 should beckon me in the dimness of the temple, on 
 to the Holy of Holies and beyond the sombre pall 
 that veils the final and most stupendous mystery. 
 
 Ah, these dream women ! Potent with power for 
 weal or woe, how they haunt us who walk alone in 
 the temple! The days are murmurous with their 
 soft laughter ; the breeze croons to the cradled leaves 
 and in the lay we hear the rustle of their garments. 
 In the emptiness of night we stretch out our arms 
 to them and they are always just away. Their eyes, 
 brilliant in the soft darkness, lead us on and on, 
 perhaps to despair, mayhap to peace. It seemed 
 then that for the latter there was the greatest 
 consummation, in that one was led into a fair 
 world, a world of tenderness and trust, of gentleness 
 unknowable. 
 
 And so it was Renee; Renee to the end, in the fair 
 flesh if God willed it so ; in the pure spirit if its lovely 
 tenement were denied me. In all humility I aspired to 
 her; yet if I sought her in vain, it was she and she
 
 MY DREAM LADY 49 
 
 alone who might lead me onward and upward. Sweet 
 eyes, like loadstars, would shine into my own; a 
 white hand beckon me ; a clear voice, dimly echoing, 
 would sound in compassionate murmurings in my 
 dreams. Infinite tenderness, the incomparable sweet- 
 ness of her would be mine, for it was the white soul 
 of her that I loved above all else. Together till the 
 sun be blotted out in darkness for us, till we heard 
 the wash of the waves that rolled forever in eternity's 
 shoreless sea, I and my dream lady. It was enough 
 or seemed so then. 
 
 So I had reflected upon my waking, taking no 
 thought of time, which was rapidly forging breakfast- 
 ward. In the midst of my reverie there came an in- 
 congruous interruption in the shape of Godfrey's 
 hound. He burst into my room like a solid shot, 
 and, leaping upon my bed, bedewed my face with 
 affectionate slobberings, encouraged by the shouts of 
 his master below. Exasperated at my delay, John, 
 my lately acquired Pythias, had done this thing. 
 
 It was enough. My wistful conjurings, my lofty 
 visions, fluttered away like sacred coveys before the 
 bestial onslaught. The beast, I was first inclined to 
 cuff, but I sighed and patted him instead. I was un- 
 alterably recalled to earth, realities and breakfast. 
 It was life. I dressed. 
 
 It was rather a silent meal. M. De Montefort's 
 manner showed genuine regret at our departure. 
 John was silent and inscrutable. Renee was rather 
 grave. The robin was clamoring greedily upon her 
 shoulder and interpolating his outcries with chuckles 
 of satisfaction, between courses, at our prospective 
 flitting. I glowered at him and ate little. 
 
 The meal ended, M. De Montefort and John went 
 outside to smoke. I asked Renee to accompany me in
 
 50 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 a final stroll to the river. She assented. Godfrey's 
 hound begged to go along and was not denied. So 
 Renee and I sat on a fallen tree trunk, the hound at 
 our feet. Renee gazed to the southward ; I gazed at 
 Renee; the hound gazed upon us both and yawned 
 mightily. 
 
 Presently Renee's voice called for the pigeons. 
 There came no responsive flutter. Only a few crows, 
 circling overhead, cawed drearily. 
 
 " They are all gone," she said sadly. " It was bon 
 jour and away. They feared the dreariness, m'sieur, 
 the snow and the bitter wind, the loneliness of winter. 
 Winter, how I hate it ! It was different in France ! " 
 and she sighed. 
 
 " I grow lonesome here," she went on, a little catch 
 in her voice, her sweet eyes moistening. " It is lonely 
 in this strange, savage wilderness, where the sight of 
 fellow creatures is so rare. In the summer, to be 
 sure, the solitude is bearable, for it is beautiful and 
 I have my birds. But in the winter, the desolate 
 winter that buries us so hopelessly, when even the 
 birds are gone ! We live on drearily, my father and 
 I, in the isolation. And we welcome the spring with 
 such warmth, m'sieur, ah, do we not ! It is like the 
 bear crawling out of his cave. The green things 
 shoot up, the leaves bud, the warm sun shines and 
 we begin to live again." 
 
 I turned to her, my own face shadowed. " Believe 
 me, mademoiselle, I feel for you," I told her. "Our 
 northern rigors are hard enough to bear, even for 
 communities. For those alone, as your father and 
 yourself, it is far worse. It seems to me, though you 
 will pardon the comment in a matter which does 
 not concern me, that you would be happier if your 
 father elected to live in one of the settlements."
 
 MY DREAM LADY $r 
 
 She made a little gesture of dissent with girlish 
 dignity. " My father's wishes in this as in all matters 
 are mine also," she said. " My desire is only to re- 
 main with him, no matter where he may care to be. 
 Besides, he has reasons for the life he lives, excellent 
 ones, monsieur." 
 
 "Indeed, I had not meant to offend, mam'selle," 
 I hastened to assure her, deprecating the emphasis of 
 her final words. "My remark was prompted wholly 
 through consideration for your loneliness." 
 
 She smiled softly. "And yet," she answered me, 
 "the loneliness, irksome as it is in this solitude, is 
 nothing, mon ami, absolutely nothing to what I once 
 experienced in the heart of a teeming city, surrounded 
 by loving friends, any one of whom would have done 
 any thing for me; such loneliness as first rent and then 
 numbed my heart, though I was but a child." 
 
 She paused, her eyes darkening with a reminiscent 
 shadow, her face paling with some memory of the 
 past. 
 
 " It seems strange to me at this moment," she con- 
 tinued in a low tone, seemingly more to herself than 
 to me, " this home in a far country, so far, so many 
 miles from France. It is years since we left her 
 shores, la belle France, and yet I can close my eyes 
 and see, though I was little, every detail of that last 
 night in Paris, the suspense and agony of it, and feel 
 it all again. How, for so many awful days the Ter- 
 ror had racked and rent the city ; the horrible, cruel 
 faces that flamed with the blood lust; the trampling 
 feet that wallowed, the gutters that ran with it. At 
 the first, being only a child, I did not understand it. 
 I could at times see the mad crowds and hear fierce 
 outcries in the streets from the convent windows, but 
 the good sisters would lead me away and would tell
 
 52 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 me nothing. I wondered and was fearful, of what I 
 did not know. Then one day I heard my guardians 
 talking among themselves and I learned the fearful 
 truth. I knew at last of the frightful Thing, and 
 young though I was, my blood seemed to turn to ice 
 within me. Then to my horror they spoke of my 
 father, of the danger that threatened him through 
 his connection with the court. They spoke of him in 
 hiding, a fugitive with a price upon his head, the head 
 they had fated for the axe." 
 
 She paused. Hardly conscious of my action, my 
 hand touched hers and dropped again. She did not 
 notice. The low voice went on. 
 
 " I burst upon them with tears and sobs, with wild 
 cries for my father. There was consternation in their 
 white faces ; they raised and tried to comfort me, but 
 I was like one distraught. The remembrance of the 
 next three days is terrible to me. They seem like 
 an evil dream. I moved about mechanically, with 
 strained eyes watching for I knew not what. The 
 coils of the Terror were tightening about me. They 
 said, les bonnes soeurs, ' She is grieving out her life.' I 
 heard but could not understand. Every sense was 
 locked in that terrible loneliness. There was not a 
 living creature within ages of me. The loneliness beat 
 and throbbed about me ; it was like a vast, intangible 
 wall, against which I might beat my childish hands 
 in vain forever. It was like a poor wretch dying in 
 the desert, surrounded by interminable sands." 
 
 Again she paused. She seemed to have been living 
 over the dread ordeal. Then she resumed, a glad new 
 note in her voice. 
 
 " At last they came to me with joyful faces. They 
 told me they had heard from him, that he was safe. 
 He was to come for me that very night by stealth j
 
 MY DREAM LADY 53 
 
 I was to be ready to meet him and we were to go 
 together far from the Terror, to peace and safety. I 
 fell on my little knees and thanked the Virgin and my 
 Lord ; I thanked my dead mother, who had watched 
 over my father and sent him safe to me. They cried 
 over me, those Christian women; they pressed food 
 upon me and I ate like a little ravenous animal, for 
 I was famished. The night came, pitchy black. When 
 they led me to the gate it was so dark that I could 
 not see him, but I knew the clasp of his dear arms 
 and felt his tears on my face. I nestled close to him, 
 and, with me hugged tightly against his breast, he 
 hastened away. And we are here," she concluded, 
 "in your land of liberty, m'sieur, in solitude surely, 
 but a solitude that is safety and where there is 
 peace." 
 
 It had grown very still. The breath of the breeze 
 in the trees above us had ceased. The warm sun, for 
 it was near to noon, emerging from behind an ob- 
 scuring cloud, golwed upon us, boldly blazoning the 
 glory of the leaves. The beams glorified the girl's 
 gold-brown hair. The hound, with placid satisfaction, 
 turned upon his back, and with muzzle aspiring 
 heavenward gaped with pleasant inertia. 
 
 Renee sat in reverie, gazing far beyond the horizon, 
 viewing the blue of other skies. I said nothing but 
 watched her wistfully. Presently she turned to me. 
 
 " And now, mon ami, you know why we are here," 
 she said. " I knew it must seem strange to you, but 
 those were troublous times and they were fortunate 
 who escaped with their lives, wherever fate left them. 
 As for us, we love your country, for she at least 
 grants us the right to live. Tyranny and oppression 
 are hateful to her and the mob does not rule. Be- 
 lieve me, m'sieur, we are quite Americans, my father
 
 54 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and I, je vous assure. And in this coming struggle, 
 in which you and your good friend, M'sieur Godfrey, 
 will engage, you may count upon the support of that 
 portion of the French nation, as represented by us, 
 who have been happily of some service to yourself." 
 
 I bowed. "The nation may well be proud of its 
 allies," I said warmly. " So, mam'selle, allow me to 
 make the national acknowledgements." 
 
 "Je vous remercie!" she laughed, with a sweeping 
 curtsey. "Though I fear you rashly assume too 
 great a responsibility. But listen," for a prolonged 
 halloo boomed from the direction of the cabin. The 
 hound was up in a flash, leaving us. 
 
 I arose with a sigh. " It is Godfrey's voice," I said 
 with resignation. "We must be off, mam'selle, 
 though I like it not. I would I might encounter 
 another panther." 
 
 She shook her head. "Non, non, monsieur!" she 
 cried, with a provoking smile, " I have not my rifle 
 with me, and as for yours, I fear you would forget 
 its mission. 
 
 I accepted the gibe with humility. "Your tongue 
 is a sharp sword, mam'selle," I said, "but the case 
 requires a heroic remedy. I deserve it." 
 
 We returned by the winding path, the girl tripping 
 swiftly before me, leaping lightly over obstructions 
 with her fawn's grace, assailing me with ceaseless 
 banter. My spirits sank lower; she did not deign 
 sorrow at the parting. Fool! what had I expected? 
 
 Godfrey was at the cabin, the dog at his feet, talk- 
 ing with M. De Montefort. All was in readiness. 
 Our packs were on the porch. 
 
 "I have been telling your father, mademoiselle," 
 said John, as the girl and myself reached them, " of 
 my fears for the future. I may as well tell you that
 
 MY DREAM LADY 55 
 
 the Indian I killed the day I came was a spy, a more 
 or less accredited ally of the British-Canadian govern- 
 ment. I know it, and am confident that others were 
 not far away at the time. This frontier will be of 
 great importance when the war arrives, and you may 
 depend upon the British giving it much attention. 
 Spies, both red and white, are constantly working on 
 this side already to secure news of resources, and the 
 strength, or rather weakness, of the population and 
 present defences for the edification of their masters, 
 who are wisely taking time by the forelock. Some of 
 them," he continued dryly, " are trying to reduce the 
 fighting strength by anticipatory tactics," and he 
 glanced quizzically at M. De Montefort. " So I have 
 been warning your father, mam'selle," he concluded 
 earnestly, "that this place will not be secure much 
 longer. I think you should both plan to come ere 
 long to Watertown or Sackets Harbor, where you 
 will be safe." 
 
 The old Frenchman slowly shook his head. " I 
 think, m'sieur, that we will be safe here for a while 
 longer," he said slowly, "though I thank you for 
 your consideration. Later, if I find it necessary, I 
 will act as you recommend." And with this we had 
 to be content. 
 
 We were soon ready. After a light repast we shoul- 
 dered our packs, and with rifles bearing them com- 
 pany, took leave of our friends and strode away into 
 the forest, the hound sniffing at our heels. At the 
 edge of the little clearing we looked back. The old 
 Frenchman waved his adieux and in Renee's little 
 hand a handkerchief fluttered. I swung my hat in 
 final farewell and the forest swallowed us.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 The Cast of the Die 
 
 There were many visitors at Sackets Harbor that 
 winter. Strangers of distinguished bearing, secret 
 agents, men on various errands came to confer mys- 
 teriously with the military powers that were. There 
 was a feeling that the crucial moment inevitably ap- 
 proached. Strained eyes often turned toward the 
 north, where, long miles across Ontario's waters, 
 Frontenac was emerged in sullen preparation. The 
 hamlet at the Harbor, insignificant enough, God 
 knows, to be obliged to pursue the arts of peace un- 
 hampered, was of grim necessity designed to become 
 an important strategic point and seat of war, for she 
 commanded Ontario's waters from the south and was 
 to dispute with Frontenac the question of their 
 supremacy. 
 
 It was in November that John and I arrived at the 
 Harbor, but the winter wore away quickly enough, 
 for in work we forgot the drifts and desolation. Ex- 
 pedients for defence were sown that winter, budding 
 in the spring and flowering that summer and there- 
 after in the shape of log barracks, cantonments, 
 forts, storehouses and blockhouses in plenty. The 
 little village of seventy families was being trans- 
 formed into a military headquarters for several thou- 
 sand troops. 
 
 The hamlet presented a martial appearance that
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 57 
 
 was indeed stirring in those troublous days. It 
 fairly bristled with war like bustle. Originally designed 
 for peace and a snug lake commerce, strange days 
 had come to it, days across which fell the ominous 
 shadows of unknown to-morrows. Nature assisted in 
 its defence. Up to the very portals of the forlorn 
 little houses there stretched from the south the forest, 
 affording an inexhaustible building fund for fleets and 
 land defences. In front of the clearing where the 
 hamlet stood there rolled a broad plateau, termi- 
 nating abruptly in a high, lofty bluff, at the foot of 
 which the waves of Ontario beat incessantly. This 
 wall faced the broad Kahuahgo bay, commanding any 
 possible position that could be taken by a hostile 
 fleet and forming in itself an almost impregnable 
 breastwork. The harbor lay to the eastward, be- 
 hind the bluff, while the bay stretched its long arm 
 back a half dozen miles to Fish Island, where the 
 foaming Kahuahgo, wearied from its turbulent journey 
 from the distant Adirondacks, mingled its waters 
 with those of the mighty lake. A long, low point of 
 land, running out into the harbor near its entrance, 
 was used as a site for a dockyard, being christened 
 Shiphouse Point. Here Ontario's navy, which was 
 destined to indulge in more display than actual ex- 
 ercise of power, was built. A fort, with blockhouses 
 and batteries, was already in preparation for the 
 protection of this point. 
 
 Now the rigorous winter had gone, the spring been 
 gathered to its innumerable forbears, and the early 
 summer arrived, with air pregnant with thrilling pre- 
 monition. The gaunt shadow of war stole nearer and 
 the people blanched though they were not dismayed. 
 All along the Ontario and St. Lawrence frontier, 
 from Oswego to Ogdensburgh, they were preparing.
 
 58 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 As it happened, John's efforts and mine had been 
 rewarded with militia captaincies, John's through 
 proved abilities, mine through good fortune in being 
 the son of my father, General Zebulon Warburton. 
 Of the honors attached to his name I need not speak ; 
 his deeds and the record of them are interwoven with 
 Revolutionary annals. Just now John's command 
 and mine were but indifferent handfuls of raw, timor- 
 ous rascals, gathered from hither and yon at divers 
 times during the embargo for service at the Harbor, 
 which was an important port of entry. Worthless 
 wretches they mostly were, useless idlers picked up 
 here and there because too shiftless to embrace honest 
 labor, and whose desertion from embattled ranks 
 usually occurred simultaneously with the smell of 
 powder. So our commands were not then the source 
 of overweening pride to us, but we know that once 
 the call to arms was sounded there would spring up 
 from end to end of the sparsely settled frontier the 
 solid yeomenry, men with blood as crimson as the 
 British coats. Indeed, numbers of them were already 
 appearing to volunteer for the militia services and 
 be licked into shape by those of us who had those 
 rather arduous duties in charge. And so we waited 
 in confidence. 
 
 Swiftly the days drew to the awakening. To this 
 tiny village that sprawled at the very feet of a vast 
 wilderness, crowding upon flank and rear, a thick 
 stubble of beard upon the face of a nation that was 
 alike a stripling and a giant; to this tiny dot upon 
 the nation's northern edge was reserved the glorious 
 privilege of firing the first gun in a war that was to 
 be waged for simple rights and human liberty. So 
 the little port, pitifully small and seemingly inade- 
 quate, guarded but by crude earthworks, forts of
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 59 
 
 logs with the bark still green upon them and a 
 grotesque armament, looked undismayed to the 
 northward across the deep and waited. 
 
 Antiquated and insufficient indeed seemed her de- 
 fences till you looked at the men who manned them. 
 The color of the blood that coursed beneath their 
 homespun jackets will not be impugned by those 
 British friends with whom I have fought and drunk 
 and taken pot-luck. And whether those compatriots 
 of mine stood behind the hoary cannon that was all 
 they had, or whether a hawk eye sighted along the 
 barrel of a rifle or venerable musket, grim death 
 leaped from the muzzles, for not in all the world did 
 there live such marksmen. 
 
 John and I stood on the bluff looking out upon 
 the lake at the close of a warm June day, a day that 
 had been melodious with birds and glowing with the 
 green of the life-filled summer. The sun had looked 
 down at the scene of unparalleled activity in the little 
 town, smiling widely upon the tiny human parasites, 
 toiling like ants, the ticktacking of the hammers 
 sounding faintly in the luminary's distant ears. But 
 with the coming of the twilight a hush brooded, 
 broken only by the weird note of the whippoorwill, 
 the muffled bellowings of the frogs in the surround- 
 ing marshes, the lapping of the waves in eternal mys- 
 tery upon the rocky shores. And after a while the 
 white moon rose in the heavens, silvering the waters, 
 looking down inscrutably in the midst of her retinue 
 of winking stars. Afar in the waters lay islands 
 like muffled darkness, ominous distant shadows, 
 sinister and silent. And now suddenly a mass of 
 black night clouds rolled down from the north, blot- 
 ting out the light, of the moon and the winking stars, 
 gathering in crude, cyclonic shapes ; creeping toward
 
 60 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 us and reaching out; clutching like monstrous 
 hands. 
 
 John, lying at ease upon an elbow in the grass, 
 stretched out his free hand toward them. "The 
 menace in the skies, Gilbert," he said soberly, "the 
 colossal hand from the north a gloomy portent." 
 
 He jumped to his feet, stretching his splendid 
 length vigorously. "It has been a hard day," said 
 he. " Let us ride to Watertown. There is an electric 
 quality in the air that demands action. Besides, I 
 have a desire to gather with the habitats of VVhar- 
 tin's tap room." 
 
 I arose with alacrity and we left to saddle our 
 horses. We were soon in motion. The good hoofs 
 of the animals rang sharply on the hard road. Occa- 
 sionally the spiteful sparks flew from a spurned stone, 
 flung to one side by impatient heels. The brutes, 
 revelling in exercise unwonted of late, carried us the 
 dozen miles from the Harbor in brief time. We 
 mounted the summit of a hill and saw below us, now 
 but a mile away, the lights of Watertown village, 
 sprawling in the Kahuahgo valley, the buildings strag- 
 gling like toys in the clearing that cleft the sur- 
 rounding forest, indistinct in the shadows save for 
 the little flickering flames that wavered in the gloom. 
 
 Overhead there drove a mass of clouds, crushing 
 one upon the other, sweeping to the south. Occa- 
 sionally the dark hurrying masses were split asunder 
 and the silver of the June moon streamed through 
 in a white flood, only to be shrouded the next 
 moment by the driving gloom. A strong, soft wind 
 surged from the lake, insistently, without respite, 
 billowing our cloaks to our backs and fretting the 
 spirits of our horses, who longed to stretch them- 
 selves in a punishing gallop. To their disgust, how-
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 61 
 
 ever, we pulled them from a sharp trot into an 
 unwilling walk when we had come in sight of the 
 village lights. We had journeyed at a sharp pace 
 and desired to spell them. 
 
 Fireflies gleamed in the thick grass which fringed 
 the roadway. The thickets stirred with nocturnal life. 
 We descended the hill into the shadows. The wind 
 winged through the overhanging branches, muttering 
 weirdly, stirring the new green leaves. From a distant 
 marsh there sounded the croaks of pessimistic frogs. 
 
 John rode ahead, his giant figure looming indis- 
 tinctly in the gloom. He sat his beast with rare 
 grace, for his horsemanship was irreproachable and 
 he had demonstrated his skill by mastering some 
 ugly brutes at the post. 
 
 "There's a big swashing in the lake just now," he 
 observed, reining in his horse, which had shied at 
 nothing in particular. 
 
 "From the looks," said I, ruefully regarding the 
 sky, " we are liable to do considerable swashing our- 
 selves when we go back." 
 
 "I don't think so," he replied. "I guess this is 
 only a whisk of wind." 
 
 We rode in silence for a moment. "John," said I 
 suddenly, "theti^ has come when M. De Montefort 
 and his daughter should leave the Deer River cabin." 
 
 He glanced around at me. "True," he answered. 
 "The scattered settlements, to say nothing of the 
 solitary cabins, are not safe now. War may be de- 
 clared any day," 
 
 " It is strange," I continued with irritation, " that 
 M. De Montefort will not consent to leave there. You 
 remember how little satisfaction Matison secured when 
 he stopped there with our urgent message in March." 
 
 Godfrey laughed quietly. " The old gentleman will
 
 62 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 have to be convinced by heroic means," he said. " I 
 shall have to go there and drag him away." 
 
 I said nothing more, but was troubled. Three 
 months previously Godfrey and I had chanced to 
 encounter a trapper, one Matison, on his way on snow 
 shoes from western New York into the Adirondacks. 
 By him we had sent word to M. De Montefort of 
 the desirability of removal. If possible Matison was 
 to send us word of the Frenchman's reception of the 
 warning. Such word had reached us a few weeks 
 later by a friendly Indian whom Matison had met, 
 that the Frenchman thought the " need was not yet." 
 I ground my teeth, while John, being more philo' 
 sophic, showed his in a smile of resignation. 
 
 As for me, Renee was with me in vivid memory all 
 through the dreary winter that she hated. I thought 
 this night, as we soberly jogged along, of the fra- 
 grant summer, with a glad light in my eyes. She 
 was greeting it, I know, with gladness, for she loved 
 it. Her eyes grew tender these balmy days as they 
 watched the green leaves; the soft air freshly won- 
 derful, mantled her round cheek and stirred in her 
 brown-gold hair ; she walked by the winding trail to 
 the brawling little stream and called. There was the 
 soft beating of wings and the birds came to her ; I 
 could catch only tantalizing glimpses of her white 
 hands .and laughing lips for the whirling cloud that 
 billowed about her. Now it rose, now settled ; finally, 
 the last crumb gone, soaring upward and disappear- 
 ing over the forest. Then she stood before me, her 
 feathered court vanished, the sheen of the sky and 
 sea in her sweet eyes, her proud lips curving in a ten- 
 der smile. I drew closer, she did not shrink away. 
 My arms that had so long been empty stretched out 
 for her, and she
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 63 
 
 " Come, come, Gilbert, what are you dreaming 
 about?" broke in John's quizzical tones. "Are you 
 a sleep rider?" 
 
 I came to with a violent start, gazing about me 
 for a moment in bewilderment. Several villagers, 
 loafing at ease in front of the lighted tavern, grinned 
 at me. We were close to the broad plaza. I alighted, 
 feeling rather foolish and conscious of a vague sense 
 of unreality, my mind-picture had been so vivid. 
 
 We threw the bridles to a stableman, who led the 
 sweating horses away. We passed into the tavern, 
 from which came a hoarse din of voices. As we en- 
 tered there was a slight pause. Many pairs of eyes 
 were turned inquiringly upon us; some rough hands 
 went upward in uncouth salutes. 
 
 Mine host Wharton, Nehemiah Wharton, stubby, 
 chubby and with a bald spot, came bustling up, 
 radiating hospitality. 
 
 "Ah, gentlemen, captains," he whirred, for he had 
 a distressing bronchial affection, "I'm joyed to see 
 ye ! Rode from the Harbor, eh ? Breezy jaunt, I'll 
 warrant ye! How're things at the port? Wot' 11 it 
 be, wot'll it be ?" 
 
 We told him and were speedily immersed in foaming 
 tankards of his good ale. Refreshed, gusts of the 
 general conversation caught our ears. 
 
 They were talking of an event which had occurred 
 only a few days before at the Harbor. The Lord 
 Nelson, a British schooner bound for Niagara from 
 Frontenac, being found in American waters, had 
 been captured by Captain Woolsey, in command of 
 a lake vessel. She was brought into the Harbor 
 and condemned as a lawful prize. Among the cap- 
 tured goods there was a number of the belongings 
 of a Queenstown bride who was on board with her
 
 64 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 husband, the pair experiencing their honeymoon. 
 Captain Woolsey gallantly offered to restore these 
 effects. His sailors gave up their claims, but others, 
 callous to the tears of the fair, refused to do so and 
 raised the bids at the time of sale to five hundred 
 dollars. Glowing with a gallant and righteous wrath, 
 Woolsey, who in his indignation thought he could 
 afford it, raised the bid for that particular parcel of 
 the booty to five thousand at one jump, thoroughly 
 chagrining the covetous and bringing the matter to 
 a sudden close. The government afterward discharged 
 him from the obligation he had incurred, but, just 
 at this time, he expected to have to pay it. This 
 was the matter of discussion in the tavern. Opinions 
 were mostly in Woolsey's favor, but there were some 
 few Philistines. 
 
 The voice of one such was raised querulously at 
 this moment, rasping like rusty hinges. Old Cyrenus 
 Bantwell, munching tobacco, spoke and expectorated. 
 
 "This damn Woolsey," he snarled, inundating the 
 fireplace, "is a damn ass, a lop-eared ass! What 
 business has the damn fool got to be interferin' with 
 the people's pickin's ? Ain't we the people, say, ain't 
 we now, and ain't all the pickin's our'n ? And here's 
 this fool, this damn freshwater fool, goes and gives 
 them pickin's them pickin's that are our'n, I tell 
 ye he goes and gives 'em back to fool women!" 
 And he drowned the andirons in unspeakable dis- 
 gust. 
 
 "Yes," said a ruminative youth, who sat near, 
 with timid logic, "but the woman owned 'em." 
 
 "What!" squealed Cyrenus, sitting bolt upright, 
 his eyes bulging. "Who owned 'em? The woman 
 didn't own 'em, ye pale faced pill, 'twas the people ! 
 'Twas us that owned 'em! They were our pickin's!
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 65 
 
 G'lang with ye ! Don't argy with an old man that 
 might be yer gran'ther, but ain't, thank God!" 
 
 The youth, very red, muttered an echo of the 
 thanksgiving, but it escaped Cyrenus and the boy 
 was spared the emptying of more vials of wrath 
 upon his luckless head. The old man spat and sput- 
 tered, damning Woolsey beyond redemption and glar- 
 ing about with his twinkling, vicious, little eyes, 
 seeking another disputant. They all hawked ner- 
 vously, eyeing him askance. His tongue was terrible, 
 it maddened them, but he was venerable ; they might 
 not thrash him. They must endure; some day he 
 would die. 
 
 "What's this hell's talk?" he barked, scorching his 
 mates with angry eyes. " What's this fool's gibber 
 of fighting England? Who's talkin' it? Congress, 
 cursed fools ! Bah, brains was never in 'em ; not in 
 a mother's son of 'em ! When they was born their 
 heads went beggin'. God Almighty never did any- 
 thin' for 'em and now the country can't ! But they're 
 doin' for the country, curse 'em ! They're ijits, ijits 
 all ! They're drivellin' about rights, their rights 
 and your'n ! Rights ! You ain't got no rights ! 
 Rights belong to them what has the fists to back 
 'em with, and that's England, that is ! O, yuh can 
 squirm, but I tell ye yuh get too sassy, ye'll feel 
 the fists, ha ha! you hear, ye'll feel 'em!" He 
 chuckled with tipsy laughter. 
 
 Listening to the spiteful venom, I felt a savage 
 desire to knock out the little wretch's teeth and 
 render him fangless. I knew my wish was shared 
 by nearly every man present, but Cyrenus was old. 
 That fact had saved him oftentimes; yea, from the 
 beginning. 
 
 He had come with the first of them, at the
 
 66 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 beginning of the century, from where, no man knew. 
 He was bitter morose, and, in the daytime, a recluse. 
 He seemed to enjoy some obscure income, for he 
 toiled not. An humble hut, on the outskirts of the 
 village, held him during his days, when he was usually 
 sleeping off the effects of his nights, which were 
 invariably spent in the tavern. For hateful as he 
 was to others, and they to him, the little Ishmaelite 
 appeared to find an incomprehensible pleasure in the 
 company of his fellows, which they cordially failed 
 to appreciate, likewise to reciprocate. He would 
 enter the tap room, his shred of a figure and wizened 
 face imparting to those gathered there all the enliven- 
 ing cheer of a funeral, and, taking a seat apart, 
 would cease to eat tobacco just long enough to 
 call for grog. He sat taciturn till it was brought 
 and more after it. Then, when successive swallows 
 had loosened his vile tongue, he was wont to wag 
 the member, interspersing its drippings of gall and 
 vinegar with strange oaths, munchings and shrill 
 calls for more grog. So it would continue till the 
 tavern was closed and Cyrenus made shift, somehow, 
 to wobble homeward. 
 
 Ordinarily no one dared answer Cyrenus' remarks 
 because he was Cyrenus. But his impugning of the 
 Yankee fighting qualities created an indignant stir 
 in the room. Cyrenus was laughing silently and 
 rubbing his claws. 
 
 " Huh," he snickered, " to think of the lickin' you'll 
 get if ye don't sing small before long ! The redcoats 
 '11 teach ye!" 
 
 Then arose a voice, ponderous with passion; the 
 voice of Noadiah Swanson, gallant veteran, honorable 
 survivor of the Revolution. 
 
 "Tickles ye, don't it, ye little whiffet!" he sneered,
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 67 
 
 with a look of withering contempt at the suddenly 
 silent Cyrenus. "Look at ye, though, with yer face 
 like a plate of cold vittles, all creased and crinklin', 
 grinnin' like a baked skunk because you think the 
 country is in danger ! If ye hadn't a head like a 
 horseblock, ye'd know that one good Yankee is good 
 for ten redcoats, but yer old fool tongue has been 
 runnin' here like sap is in April, only your sap is 
 all sour milk and you don't know nothin' ! Damme 
 if I would'nt like to kick a man who will talk like 
 you do, and I would, only you ain't a man!" 
 
 Cyrenus sat bolt upright, his jaw sagging, his 
 lean face agape. The room was aghast. Never be- 
 fore had this happened. Cyrenus' tongue had been 
 regarded with a superstitious awe. Noadiah had 
 invited the thunderbolt. There was an intense silence. 
 
 By and by Cyrenus spoke. The words rattled in 
 his dry throat. They were addressed to the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " Bring me grog," he said. 
 
 He sipped it in silence, his old face, with its thin 
 patches of gray whisker, blank with ludicrous amaze- 
 ment. The words of Noadiah had struck him like 
 stones; he was undone. He grogged mechanically, 
 trying weakly to comprehend. An air of relief filled 
 the room ; an oppressive something rose and winged 
 away. A tongued tyranny had been defied, an evil 
 spell of years been broken. Noadiah was a public 
 benefactor. 
 
 The hum of conversation was resumed. They 
 viewed askance the huddled little figure sitting apart 
 near the fireplace, or forgot it utterly. As for him, 
 he sat motionless, his grog now hardly tasted. He 
 seemed too crushed even to masticate his tobacco; 
 his jaws idled. The little eyes were oddly filmy,
 
 68 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and staring strangely back somewhere, into the 
 shadows. 
 
 "It's got to come, boys," said Israel Thornton, 
 addressing the roomful indiscriminately. " We've 
 stood too much already, and when they keep on 
 impressin' our seamen, spite of all protests, I tell 
 ye it's time the eagle squawked! Congress is apt 
 to declare war most any day now, and these gentle- 
 men," turning to John and I, " will have all the 
 recrootin' they want in a few weeks. I'll state they 
 can have me!" 
 
 "That's the way they're all talkin'," put in Silas 
 Putnam, to whose ear each vagrant breeze lisped 
 its meed of news. " They're feelin' somethin' the 
 same at Ogdensburgh, only more scart-like. You 
 know General Jake Brown ordered Colonel Benedict 
 to raise a company, so the colonel gets eighty men 
 together at DeKalb and Massena and marches 'em 
 to the 'Burg. Folks at the 'Burg, ye'll remember, 
 got purty sick of havin' troops devilin' and foolin' 
 round there. When the embargo business was on 
 in 1809 there was Cap'ns Sam Cherry and Tom 
 Anderson stationed there with a couple of companies 
 that was the worst devils, I reckon, as ever sarved 
 in sarvice. Why, the citizens had to hev night 
 patrols out to guard their hen roosts against the 
 depperdations of their own sojers. When they was 
 removed the people fired cannons and rang cowbells 
 out of exceeedin' joy at havin' 'em go. Well, ye see, 
 when the company that was raised by Colonel Ben- 
 edict marches into Ogdensburgh the other day, the 
 people, rememberin' so vivid-like the thieves as came 
 afore 'em, wasn't goin' to bake their bread for 'em, 
 wouldn't feed 'em ! No sirree ! The poor devils had 
 to go hungry that night, and it was only by gettin'
 
 THE CAST OF THE DIE 69 
 
 down to right mean talk and tall threatenin's that 
 the officers could get the villagers to show horsper- 
 tality the next day." 
 
 " Guess they'll be all right now," observed Godfrey 
 dryly. "Colonel Benedict has, I understand, sent 
 to Adjutant Church, who is in charge of the barracks 
 at the 'Burg, four barrels of pork, four axes, a fry- 
 ing pan and a barrel of whiskey." 
 
 " Too much pork," pensively observed Silas, whose 
 nose indicated his preferences, "and one axe would 
 a' been enough for the whiskey." Summoning the 
 landlord, he assuaged a thirst that never slumbered, 
 save in fitful catnaps. 
 
 The talk continued, growing more animated as 
 the stimulants inflamed the valor of the gallant 
 fellows and deepened their resentment against British 
 bullying. Anathemas were hurled at the English 
 head. Scorching curses leaped hotly to grim lips as 
 the burden of the young nation's wrongs found 
 universal voice. 
 
 " You think we are in a position to defend ourselves 
 as is proper?" suddenly inquired Noadiah, turning 
 to John. All faces were turned toward Godfrey, for 
 his fame had reached them in earlier days and per- 
 sonal acquaintance had heightened their cordial 
 admiration, which was expressed in their bearing. 
 
 John's black eyes kindled. " All that is possible 
 is being done," he replied. "With the men of the 
 northern frontier to face, the foe may well fear. 
 Gentlemen," lifting his tankard high as he rose to 
 his full, grand height, "let us drink to the future 
 success of the American arms!" 
 
 They sprang to their feet with a hoarse cheer, 
 clinking their mugs. Ere they had drained them 
 the door was thrown open and in rushed an excited
 
 70 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 man, hatless and coatless, his eyes like pale-blue 
 saucers. "John Stoddard!" someone yelled, reach- 
 ing for the dancing figure. 
 
 " Hooray !" bawled the fellow. " Let 'em come on ; 
 droves of 'em, armies of 'em ! We'll lick 'em, by 
 the Lord God!" 
 
 An excited circle surrounded him, clutched at his 
 wavering arms, sought to understand. A babel of 
 voices dinned in the smoke laden room. Above the 
 tumult his voice rang out jubilantly. 
 
 " Don't ye know?" he yelled exultantly. " Congress 
 has declared war! Brown just got the message!" 
 
 A few moments more and John and I were astride 
 our horses, a dash of rain in our faces, riding hard 
 for the Harbor. There was that welling within us 
 that demanded action.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 The Recruits 
 
 Ah, Dorothy, little sister, how the years fly, like 
 wind-blown birds at sea ! The grass waves but to 
 wither ; the green leaf yellows, shrivels and is dead ; 
 presently it drifts downward from the gaunt, bare 
 bough. Too soon the red in the cheek is blanched an 
 ashy gray; the head crowned with snow; a breath 
 and we who leave the arms of earth return to them, 
 to sleep like tired children while the old world swings 
 round. 
 
 "Ah, time and death, ye two malignant powers!" 
 
 And so, little sister of the early time, do I, an old, 
 withered, wrinkled leaf, all yellowed and forlorn, cling 
 still to the gray bough while the bitter wind snarls 
 round me hungrily. The bough is almost bare. But 
 a few survivors of the summer time remain, keeping 
 lonely vigil. One by one, torn from their trembling 
 hold by the destroying blast, they flutter down to 
 the sodden mound of their fellows below. And pres- 
 ently a final merry gust will blow and I, too, shall 
 be whisked away to join them. But till then, though 
 the wind be cold and I shiver and crackle in every 
 fibre with its chill, the old heart of me yet will warm 
 with the memories of my summer time. And of all 
 these memories, what more gracious, little sister, 
 than that of you ? You who suffered and endured ! 
 
 While I write I glance out from the porch over the
 
 72 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 broad acres that are mine, nor see them, for my dim 
 old eyes, with the crowsfeet at their corners, behold 
 at this moment only Dorothy as she was that June 
 morning. Our house, a rather pretentious mansion 
 for those days, though seeming humble enough now, 
 stood a short distance back from the bluff, facing 
 the rippling bay. The sun rode high when I awoke 
 that morning, as I had overslept after a hard day's 
 work. Hastily tubbing, I dressed and descended to 
 the living room. There sounded the soft rustle of a 
 gown and Dorothy entered, fresh from the oversight 
 of the maids in the kitchen. Her eyes were bright, 
 her cheeks flushed. I pinched them. 
 
 "Naughty boy!" she exclaimed. "I've called you 
 three times. Great, lazy Gillie!" 
 
 "Never heard you!" I remonstrated. "And, too, 
 will you please to forget that atrocious nickname? 
 Gillie!" I groaned in unspeakable disgust. I hated 
 that pseudonym, for which reason she loved it. Sis- 
 ters have such privileges. 
 
 "What are you going to do about it?" she gibed, 
 with a swoop of small fingers at my hair. I held her 
 at arm's length. " I'm nearly your height and I can 
 lay you out!" she boasted, struggling to reach me. 
 
 I straightened up the squirming damsel, who was 
 now violently attempting to bite my restraining 
 fingers. " You are not dignified," I observed, adding 
 as a concession, "but you are growing taller." 
 
 "Sure, I am," she agreed, with an arch glance up 
 at me. Her brown eyes sparkled, the sun gilded her 
 tawny hair. " You've only a half head " 
 
 " Say a head !" I commanded, tightening my frater- 
 nal hold upon her wrists, "or I'll " 
 
 "I won't!" she retorted, twisting. "I tell you let 
 me go, Gillie, or "
 
 THE RECRUITS 73 
 
 " Say ' Gilbert,' " I growled, clasping her wrists the 
 tighter, "or I'll make you slap your own face!" 
 
 A big laugh boomed from the open doorway. John 
 stood there, fresh from an outer stroll. I dropped 
 Dorothy's wrists, feeling sheepish and rather young. 
 
 "Hello, John," said I. "Didn't know you were 
 there." There came a sounding box upon my ear and 
 Dorothy scuttled for the kitchen. I rubbed the sting- 
 ing member ruefully. "Little vixen!" I muttered. 
 "Pull her hair to get even!" 
 
 " She'll keep you busy, Gilbert," laughed John. " I 
 see she crimsoned your face somewhat in trying to 
 hold her still." 
 
 " People have been telling her of increasing pretti- 
 ness," said I, "and she is beginning with the arro- 
 gance of her nineteen years, to take on airs. I find 
 it difficult to keep her in subjection. Don't you think 
 she resembles me?" I inquired unblushingly. 
 
 He regarded me commiseratingly. " I dislike to 
 blast your dream of personal beauty," he answered 
 sorrowfully, but a dream it is. I should not believe 
 you of the same family." 
 
 "My beauty is a tender spot with me," I retorted 
 resentfully. 
 
 He nodded sympathetically and the call to break- 
 fast interrupted the enlivening conversation. 
 
 John had consented after much pressure to make 
 his home with us, but only upon his insisted proviso 
 that he pay for his accommodation, though our cir- 
 cumstances did not render that formality necessary. 
 We made the rate as low as we might and keep him, 
 contributing the proceeds to the good of the cause. 
 The government had many mouths to feed and was 
 willing enough to allow the militia officers who could 
 find accommodations 'in the private houses at the
 
 74 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Harbor to do so. John had consented to the ar- 
 rangement only after much urging, intending at first 
 to cast in his lot at the barracks. Our persuasions 
 finally won the day. 
 
 My father, at last helpless for active duties as the 
 final result of wounds received at Saratoga, in the 
 flush of early manhood in Revolutionary days, sat 
 at the head of the table. Next him was my mother's 
 vacant chair, kept inviolate. Her portrait hung 
 upon the opposite wall. She had died at Dorothy's 
 birth and we had been reared by an old nurse. The 
 devoted woman had herself passed away some years 
 before, and Dorothy, charming and capable, was now 
 the housekeeper, and withal my poor father's con- 
 stant attendant. 
 
 Despite his physical weakness, my father's mind 
 was as keen and alert as in his vigorous prime. 
 Just now we were discussing the suspense of the 
 settlers since the formal declaration of war a few 
 days before. There were widespread fears along the 
 frontier of an Indian invasion. 
 
 "I do not believe," my father was saying, "that 
 there exists the serious prospect of a red invasion. 
 For days past these parties of panic-stricken settlers, 
 with the cry of Indians, have been pouring into this 
 village, which has all it can legitimately do to feed 
 its natural population. Their women and children 
 are well nigh insane, and the men themselves, who 
 should have their stamina, are livid. They have told 
 the most absurd stories. Investigation stamps them 
 moonshine. Not a settlement has been disturbed. I 
 do not believe we shall suffer from the redskins. 
 What do you think, Captain Godfrey?" 
 
 "I think some danger exists," replied John, "but 
 not to the extent that was first apprehended. There
 
 THE RECRUITS 75 
 
 is a way to repulse savages if they come, however, 
 which is to shoot straight and often. That the 
 men of these States can do. I think there are points 
 on the frontier that will lend themselves to attack far 
 more readily than this. The natural facilities for 
 defence here are unusually effective." 
 
 "When will the first blow be struck?" mused I, 
 whereupon Dorothy kicked me under the table. I 
 was minded to retaliate, but contented myself with a 
 reproachful glare. 
 
 "It occurs to me," remarked Dorothy, with demure 
 impudence," that you two, great, lazy gossoons would 
 better be out helping to make ready for that ex- 
 pected blow. You are certainly procrastinating this 
 morning." 
 
 Thus admonished, we rose, secured and lighted 
 our pipes and went to work. There were expedients 
 of defence to be overseen and constant deployments 
 of raw militia arriving to be equipped, quartered and 
 drilled. There had been numerous accessions to our 
 companies, which, however, did not increase our 
 numbers though they added amazingly to our fight- 
 ing strength. This seeming anomaly is explained 
 by the fact that a number of the worthless vaga- 
 bonds who constituted our original commands, of 
 whom I have spoken, alarmed by the real approach 
 of war, had considerately deserted. We made no 
 effort to recapture them, for we felt the gainers by 
 the loss. With our commands we toiled in perfecting 
 the scanty defences, drilling what time we could 
 devote to that luxury. 
 
 I was superintending the work on some storehouses 
 that morning when a dry cough at my elbow drew 
 my attention. I turned and beheld a meagre face 
 and a wisp of a figure, oddly shrivelled. Cyrenus
 
 76 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Bantwell was looking at me with odd eyes ; odd be- 
 cause amiable; soft, bearing no malice. 
 
 "Well?" I inquired, in a tone made kindly by this 
 marvel. 
 
 "Captain Warburton, sir," said Cyrenus, "I want 
 to enlist." 
 
 I started in genuine amazement. "You!" I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he replied doggedly. " You see, " and 
 his eyes, losing their softness, glittered in savage re- 
 trospection, "I want to come it over that damned 
 Swanson. He ain't enlisted yet. You let me jine 
 right now and then give me leave to go to Water- 
 town, jest for this arternoon. I'll walk into the 
 tavern, where I'll know where to find him lazy gump 
 that he is with his damn feet tilted up agin the 
 wall, higher than his head, and I'll tell him I've 
 enlisted and that he's a cursed coward and dassent. 
 Lemme do this and I'll be back in the mornin'." 
 
 I swallowed a smile. " But, Cyrenus," I observed, 
 "you're pretty old." 
 
 The wizened little figure straightened. " Think so?" 
 he cried, with a ring in his voice that made me stare 
 at him. " Young man, I lay behind a breastwork of 
 bloody bodies years before you were thought of! I 
 fought all through the damn Revolution, yes, and 
 afterward, and I guess there's enough left in the 
 old hulk for a few cracks yet! Try me!" The old 
 eyes flamed.. 
 
 He walked with me to the recruiting office. A few 
 minutes sufficed. Cyrenus was once more a soldier. 
 Once more, I say, for the words he spoke had moment- 
 arily rent the veil that hid his past. In that instant 
 I had glimpsed a crowded experience that made me 
 feel indeed a stripling. The ring in his harsh voice,
 
 THE RECRUITS. 77 
 
 the flame in his eye, had bared an intrepid soul. In 
 that moment I knew Cyrenus to be a man. 
 
 No sooner was he enlisted than he burned with 
 desire to be away, and astride the horse I lent him, 
 he set out for Watertown, a malicious grin on his 
 unlovely face. 
 
 Early the next morning a cloud of dust in the 
 village street whirled upward under thundering hoof- 
 beats. They approached the spot, near the store- 
 houses, where Godfrey and I were standing. There 
 lumbered up a heavy draught horse, wearing an 
 injured expression, and from the broad back, which 
 was sweating with the burden as well as the heat of 
 the day, rolled the corpulent Noadiah. Up went the 
 veteran's hand in a salute of the vintage of the Revo- 
 lution. We gravely returned it. The face of Noadiah 
 was fixed with a settled purpose. 
 
 " Captains," he rumbled, " I'd hev come sooner, but 
 I had to take time to put my earthly affairs in order. 
 Which of your companies did that little swab of a 
 Bantwell enlist in yesterday?" 
 
 "In mine," I told him behind my hand, my face 
 crimsoning. The wasp had done its work. Noadiah 
 abruptly turned to John. 
 
 "Captain," he boomed, "I want to enlist in your 
 company as fast as God will let me!" 
 
 John looked somewhat mystified at this patriotic 
 zeal. I winked slyly and he led Noadiah to the re- 
 cruiting office. 
 
 A few minutes later up rode the wasp, an unholy 
 grin on his face, fat chucklings in his skinny throat. 
 He glanced toward the recruiting office from which 
 were issuing John and the enlisted Noadiah. Cyrenus 
 shook with odd, silent laughter. They came toward 
 us, but Noadiah, catching sight of Cyrenus, halted,
 
 78 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 saluted stiffly to J ohn, and disappeared with dignity 
 in the opposite direction. 
 
 Some busy days ensued, every man at the garri- 
 son working with fervor against the moment of 
 Britain's first blow. Its impact was awaited with 
 keen anxiety, but for the most part, it was that 
 mettlesome type of concern in which there is no heart 
 sinking. We knew our foe, the ancient mistress of the 
 seas, knew her to be formidable. But we remembered 
 '76. We knew her men; they knew us. We hoped. 
 Cyrenus Bantwell, tireless and efficient, had quickly 
 demonstrated his acquaintance with military matters. 
 We had made him a sergeant, and he was busy each 
 day with the drilling of awkward but willing yeomen. 
 One afternoon I stopped by the side of the old cynic. 
 He was watching a squad at target practice. 
 
 " Captain," he said dryly, " these fellows don't 
 shine on dress parade, but they're hell on the shoot. 
 It's always been so with the men of this half-baked 
 country, in her farmer army as well as her tub of 
 a navy. That's the reason she licked the old gal 
 from Bennington to Yorktown, and it's how she's 
 goin' to lick her again. She don't waste no shots. 
 Ammunition's high and she's too cussed thrifty to 
 throw any of it away. Damme if I don't admire her 
 for it!" with a sour smile. 
 
 Noadiah had been exerting himself in John's com- 
 pany since his arrival and was also sergeant. The 
 veteran rivals had encountered each other but seldom. 
 On these occasions Cyrenus would chuckle dryly 
 and Noadiah would either ignore it altogether or 
 destow upon his foe in arms a glassy stare. 
 
 The days passed feverishly, filled with war rumors. 
 Detachments of raw militia from the scattered set- 
 tlements were constantly appearing, and, being
 
 THE RECRUITS 79 
 
 equipped, were turned over to the minor officers 
 to be licked into shape. The choleric Cyrenus grum- 
 bled at this, though I knew he was secretly revelling 
 in the work and proud of the fine results which he 
 undeniably obtained. Despite his gnarled, knotty 
 nature, I was beginning to like him. The hard crust 
 cracked at times and from the fissure poured the 
 flame of a fire truly Martian, mingled with the smoke 
 of a pleasant love of liberty. Crabbed and cross- 
 grained, a long-time pariah, the kindled eye at such 
 moments revealed the old man in the light of a 
 leonine courage, of an indomitable will. 
 
 I hoped during those days that Renee and her 
 father would be among those to seek shelter at the 
 Harbor. I knew them too well to expect craven 
 fear to drive them, but hoped that Fear's discreet 
 sister, Caution, might whisper to them. But to my 
 concern, they did not come, while the days passed. 
 The suspense wore upon me. I longed to get away 
 and look personally to their safety, but this was out 
 of the question. A water attack was feared from 
 Frontenac at any moment. I must remain at my 
 post and could only hope for their safety. 
 
 Sullenly there was pushed the work of preparation, 
 while our anxious eyes daily swept the lake. For 
 three years had Frontenac been the scene of ship- 
 building operations, and we did not know the day 
 that the bulldogs of the sea would be upon us. While 
 our defences were yet incomplete and chaotic, how- 
 ever, we believed that we were better able to protect 
 ourselves than the enemy imagined. A few short 
 months before, their spies had probably reported 
 and with perfect truth that so far as any effective 
 defence was concerned, we had not read the hand- 
 writing on the wall. But with the close approach of
 
 So THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 danger, there sprang up, like the green things of 
 spring, that swift fruition of concerted effort which 
 is in times of distress the glory and pride of our 
 national character, that character that is a synonym 
 for resource. Already fortresses frowned; logs, still 
 green, were evoluting into ships; defences sprung 
 up as if by magic. We smiled grimly. The enemy's 
 initial visit should be disconcerting only to itself.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 The Spy 
 
 The sun, red with heated triumph, had dipped 
 into the lake, leering a lurid prophecy of a swel- 
 tering morrow. A belated coolness rendered the 
 dusk delicious. I reclined at ease upon an elbow 
 sprawled in moss and mold, pipe in teeth, 
 enjoying it. Above me stretched spreading branches, 
 freighted with leafage in which awakening night 
 breezes whispered tremulously. There were vague 
 stirrings, shrill peepings; katydids rioted; lively 
 crickets perpetrated lusty chirpings. Giant frogs, 
 pop-eyed patriarchs of the pools, bellowed in the 
 marshes, booming solemnly. Suddenly there sounded 
 nearby the hoot of a derisive owl. For an instant 
 all sound ceased, the orchestra thus rudely reminded 
 of the futility of it all. But life is life for the living, 
 in forest as in town, and with fine contempt for the 
 feathered cynic, the colony again gave universal 
 tongue. There sounded a muffled flapping. The 
 cynic, with sardonic, flaring eyes, rose and winged 
 away. The chorus became a paean of thanksgiving. 
 
 A tiny green serpent, wriggling into the underbrush, 
 raised its head to listen. It beheld me and manipu- 
 lated a small, forked tongue with impudent rapidity. 
 I leaned forward, blowing a cloud of smoke into its 
 open countenance. It scuttled away with a resentful 
 flirt of its tail.
 
 82 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 I lay at ease, at peace with the world. It was a 
 green bowered Arcady, with the village but a few rods 
 away. From my vantage in the outskirts of the 
 hemming forest I caught glimpses, through the 
 leaves, of the embattled town, the log forts, block- 
 houses and batteries, the skeleton of a craft in build- 
 ing at Shiphouse Point; here and there rows of 
 frowning if ancient batteries. Everywhere grim, red 
 preparation, softened in the deepening dusk. 
 
 "Hell, swathed in friendly darkness!" I muttered 
 and refilled my pipe. War is made for the open, the 
 stark, bare places that man has cleared. The en- 
 vironment of the forest must inevitably render the 
 thought of it a deepening horror. As soon calmly 
 meditate foul murder beneath the vaulted roof of a 
 cathedral. 
 
 Somewhere back among the trees John was prowl- 
 ing, with no particular object. He was content to 
 prowl because indefatigable. He had performed 
 a day's work that would have dropped most men 
 groaning in their bunks; not alone in the direct- 
 ing of the labors of others, but as a participant, 
 performing feats of strength that cleft the mouths 
 of fellow toilers with astounding gapings. He had 
 handled heavy timbers single-handed with enormous 
 power, had lifted weights that staggered the beholder. 
 Now and then, by way of relaxation, he would amuse 
 himself and others by leaping out of a giant hogs- 
 head, chest high, with a good half-foot to spare as 
 he cleared the rim. I was no weakling in those days, 
 but I had not done a tithe of the work he had per- 
 formed and I was dog-tired. We had strolled to the 
 woods after supper, and, arrived at this pleasant 
 spot, I flung myself down to stretch my aching limbs. 
 He remained standing, the splendid length of him
 
 THE SPY 83 
 
 straight as an arrow, stalwart as the oak which 
 reared itself magnificently near him. His big black 
 beard brushed his folded arms, the dark eyes brooded. 
 He was years away. 
 
 "John," I exclaimed, almost querulously, "are you 
 never tired?" I rubbed my aching shoulders, for 
 we officers worked with the men in those anxious 
 days. 
 
 Recalled to himself and earth, John glanced at me 
 and smiled indulgently. It had been a boy's question, 
 but after all I was little more. 
 
 " Why, somewhat occasionally, Gilbert," he replied, 
 his black eyes lightening with quizzical humor, 
 "though not often. You see le bon Dieu favored 
 me with a physique and constitution somewhat out 
 of the ordinary and my life of past years has not 
 been such as to indulge pampering of the flesh and 
 consequent decay. I have exercised moderately and 
 gout and like abominations are still in the hazy, 
 indeterminate future." 
 
 He was smiling down at me, his big white teeth 
 gleaming between brigand's mustachios and beard, his 
 eyes mirth-lit, the slouch hat pushed far back on his 
 splendid leonine head, a shock of black hair tumbling 
 over his brow. 
 
 I looked up at him with distinct appreciation. 
 Where was there such another? 
 
 " It has been said," quoth I, " that the span of a 
 day and night should be subdivided thus; a third 
 for work, a third for play, a third for sleep. And you, 
 do you sleep at all?" 
 
 "Four hours will do, five is an indulgence, more 
 superfluous," he answered. "The rest of my day 
 spells work, if work there is to be done. And, boy, 
 there is always work, work for the hand and heart
 
 84 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and brain, a work that may be made play itself 
 when you lend your soul to it. And as for sleep " 
 he flung out a great arm with a passionate gesture 
 that startled me, so incongruous did the sight of a 
 strongly expressed emotion seem in him, who was 
 ordinarily so impassive, a veritable sealed mausoleum 
 of a man, " why, boy, I grudge every hour that I 
 am forced by nature to be locked in it, bound help- 
 less, body and soul and brain, for sleep is death ! 
 Have you ever thought, Gilbert, of the hours you 
 lie dead while you are yet alive? And only God 
 knows of the ages we shall lie sleeping, you and I, 
 mouldering in dust. It is an unspeakable irony, this 
 death in life in the sum of our tiny years, this waste 
 of precious hours as against the uncounted slumber- 
 ing ages that will roll afterward!" He stooped, 
 scooping a handful of brown earth into his palm. 
 " Who knows," he continued, with sombre eyes," but 
 this was once a man? And so one day someone 
 will idly scoop you and I, Gilbert, into the hollow 
 of an irreverent hand, and scatter us thus," throw- 
 ing the soil into the air, "to the quartet of the 
 winds!" 
 
 I shivered with creeping spine. I was not over- 
 given to such grim thoughts as these. "God help 
 us, John," I muttered, "but that is a horrible idea ! 
 And how many years have I been dead since I was 
 born, anyway?" 
 
 His great laugh boomed. " I'll leave you to figure 
 it up," he answered me. " I'm going for a short 
 prowl." And he fell to prowling while I smoked. Pres- 
 ently the pleasant spirit of philosophy that dwells 
 in nicotine had spelt away the grisly spectre con- 
 jured by his words. 
 
 I heaved a sigh of relief. After all, my spring was
 
 THE SPY 85 
 
 at its flood, and there were to follow, please God, 
 a golden summer and a ripe, mellow autumn. To 
 be sure, there was the congealing winter, but I dis- 
 missed that thought with a passing shiver. It seemed 
 fond irony ! an interminable gap away. And then 
 the path to it was paved with fair prospects, glowing 
 aspirations, beckoning hands of fortune. And when 
 such visions proved but false mirages along the 
 course of life, there would always be tobacco. Blessed 
 be the Indian, mused I, and refilled the bowl. 
 
 The dusk deepened. My woodsy environment grew 
 indistinct, all things softening in gathering shadow. 
 Overhead, through an opening in the leafy roof, I 
 could see the awaking dim radiance of a gathering 
 star in a sky that was growing darker, swathed in 
 the creeping mantle of the coming night. 
 
 I yawned and lazily regained my feet, stretching 
 mightily. I glanced carelessly through the trees 
 toward the clearing and the sprawling town, a half 
 mile beyond. Suddenly my wandering gaze became 
 definitely fixed. Staring for a moment, I instinc- 
 tively drew back farther into the deepening shadows. 
 
 A man was coming across the clearing from the 
 VVatertown highway, headed for my clump of woods. 
 I could not see his face clearly, but he appeared to 
 wear the uniform of an officer of militia. In this 
 there was nothing strange, but I was struck by 
 his peculiar manner. He had a furtive, harried air, 
 which the protecting dusk failed to conceal. He had 
 not the leisurely, swinging stride that comes of a 
 capital dinner and an easy conscience. His gait was 
 jerky, betraying nervousness, and he glanced toward 
 the village once or twice in an apprehensive way. 
 Not a soul was in sight. He came straight on to- 
 ward me.
 
 86 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "Now what the devil does this mean?" mused I. 
 He came on, entered the woods and sat down on a 
 fallen mossy log not ten feet from me. By that time 
 I was behind a screening tree. 
 
 He sat in silence for a few moments, listening in- 
 tently, while I, noiseless as a serpent, busily specu- 
 lated, a growing suspicion in my mind. A spy ! It 
 was almost certain. They had been long preparing 
 at Little York and Frontenac and all along the line. 
 We at the Harbor anticipated attack daily, wonder- 
 ing in fact why My Lord Provost so long delayed. 
 And this uniform of ours, in which the stranger 
 seemed to feel strangely not at home! I watched 
 him, indistinct in the growing darkness, ears and eyes 
 strained, scarcely breathing. 
 
 Reassured by the continued silence, he relaxed his 
 watchfulness with a low, relieved laugh. "Bah!" he 
 muttered, "there's not the slightest danger. Every- 
 thing favors so far. Ogdensburgh and Port Putnam 
 are disposed of for the present and to-morrow I'll 
 begin to take care of this place. Better stay here a 
 few days, I guess, and then for Watertown, Oswego 
 and the rest. Then here again indefinitely. It will be 
 easy for us." He laughed again. 
 
 I shook my fist behind the sheltering tree. "On the 
 contrary, your habit of thinking aloud, my friend," 
 thought I grimly, "makes it easy for us!" 
 
 He continued indulging his convenient weakness. 
 "Let me see," he ruminated, "I was a simple trader 
 at Ogdensburgh and Port Putnam. It was sufficient 
 for my purpose. But here I must get much closer, 
 for here, such as they are, are the headquarters." 
 His tone indicated a contemptuous amusement. I 
 clenched my fists. 
 
 "I am in receipt of my Albany commission," he
 
 THE SPY 87 
 
 chuckled, "and my name and rank in this bucolic 
 army, with all necessary accompanying evidence, are 
 here," significantly tapping a breast pocket. "I 
 think I am sufficiently posted and equipped. It is a 
 risky game," with another low laugh, "but I hold 
 the cards." 
 
 I stepped from behind the tree. "You did, my 
 friend," I told him sarcastically, "but you have 
 shown your hand." 
 
 He sprang to his feet. "Who the devil are you?" 
 he demanded, rage and trepidation struggling in his 
 tone. 
 
 "Rather, who are you," I retorted grimly, "who 
 seem so ill at ease in the uniform you wear?" I 
 approached him while he shrank away. His hat was 
 drawn down over his eyes. I sprang forward full into 
 a faint rift of light that came through an opening in 
 the leafy roof above us, snatching off his headgear. 
 With strained eyes we stared full into one another's 
 faces. Then, for a breathless moment, we stood word- 
 less, rigid as statues. 
 
 "You spoke a moment ago," said I at last, "of an 
 indefinite stay at the Harbor. Do you not now un- 
 derstand that this would be difficult?" 
 
 He measured me slowly with his eyes. Even in the 
 darkness I could read the challenge in them. He was 
 no coward. 
 
 "What do you intend doing?" he asked, very softly. 
 
 "To turn you over to the military autherities as a 
 spy," I answered. "And to speak frankly, I am sorry 
 to do it." 
 
 "I share your sorrow," he replied with sincerity, 
 "but, not to keep you waiting, suppose you come on 
 and take me." 
 
 "Agreed," I acquiesced, and closed with him. Back
 
 88 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and forth we writhed, locked lovingly together, trip- 
 ping over twisted roots, barking shins and elbows 
 against tree trunks, wrestling fiercely for a decisive 
 fall. He was tough and wiry and gave me all I had 
 bargained for and more. We were of equal size and 
 skill and it became evident that it was a doubtful 
 issue. Twice I almost had him, but he slipped out 
 like an eel. We stumbled about blindly, breathing 
 hard. 
 
 I braced myself for a supreme effort. Breaking his 
 hold, I threw an arm behind his back. Drawing him 
 close up, I crooked my free arm against his throat, 
 pressing the forearm against it as I drew him toward 
 me. His eyes bulged and his tongue protruded, but 
 in the critical moment I caught a foot in a gnarled 
 root, and pitched forward, my hold relaxing. Before 
 I could recover he had grasped me fair, secured a 
 clever hiplock and flung me a half dozen feet away, 
 head-on against a burly tree trunk. I saw two mil- 
 lion stars. 
 
 Struggling, half senseless and bewildered, to my 
 feet, I saw him making for the clearing beyond. I 
 hurried in pursuit. There came a great crashing 
 through the brush behind me, as if a bear had made 
 it. John burst out of the woods, leaping to my side. 
 
 "What is it, Gilbert?" he demanded. "What's the 
 row?" 
 
 Running the faster, I pointed to the fleeing figure. 
 "Catch him, John!" I gasped. "Damn him, he's a 
 spy, a cursed spy!"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 The Chase 
 
 I was accounted a good runner, but John bounded 
 ahead of me like a deer in pursuit of that scampering 
 knave. With ringing head I hurried after him, but 
 he distanced me speedily, his herculean figure fairly 
 flying after the stranger, on whom he gained rapidly. 
 The fugitive reached the highway with us in hot pur- 
 suit. He dashed across it into a clump of cedars. 
 The next instant there was a trample of hoofs and 
 he reappeared, dim in the darkness, astride a horse, 
 undoubtedly his own that he had tethered there. He 
 waved us a mocking adieux, struck the animal a 
 resounding slap on the flank and set out at a merry 
 pace toward Watertown. 
 
 I jerked my pistol from its holster. John restrained 
 me. "Too dark and he is too far away, Gilbert," 
 said he coolly. "We shall get him and get him 
 alive." 
 
 "But how?" I cried incredulously. "He has four 
 legs under him, we but that between us." 
 
 "Listen!" he replied simply. Down the road there 
 sounded a confused jumble of hoofbeats. Horses 
 were coming at a sharp trot. John stood in the 
 center of the road. " Halt I" he demanded, and three 
 animals were pulled up sharply by a trio of shadowy 
 horsemen. 
 
 " Lieutenant Grimshaw/' said John rapidly, "two of
 
 90 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 those horses if you please, the best ones ! If we kill 
 them we'll pay you for them." We swung into the 
 saddles that were immediately vacated by the sur- 
 prised riders and turned the horses' heads. 
 
 "Met a fellow just now who was in a hell of a 
 hurry," insinuated Grimshaw, as we shook out the 
 reins. "So are we, same reason!" John flung back 
 over his shoulder. In the distance we heard them 
 laugh. 
 
 We thundered along while I told John briefly of the 
 encounter. " Curious circumstance, that last fact you 
 mention, Gilbert," he commented, with a shade of 
 doubt in his tone. "Very unusual. You are sure?" 
 
 " Entirely," I protested. " I cannot be mistaken. I 
 was astounded myself. I think it was that which 
 contributed to my undoing. I had not recovered 
 from my surprise." For my poor skull produced a 
 rankling in my memory and my pride of prowess was 
 deeply touched. 
 
 John laughed. "Yes, this was the root of your 
 evil," he assured me soothingly. "You would have 
 had him else." But I looked at him, as he sat his 
 horse like a shadowy Colossus, with lively envy. Had 
 the unknown had him to deal with, there had been no 
 muscle-racking wrestle, no ensuing flight for the fugi- 
 tive. Strong as the stranger was, and he was as 
 strong as I, he would have been a child in those 
 mighty hands. 
 
 The good brutes under us swept on at a stretching 
 gallop. We knew them for two of the best animals at 
 the garrison and they were quite fresh. They had 
 been ridden by regular subalterns to the Watertown 
 arsenal that morning and were just returning after 
 a day's rest when John hailed their riders. We felt 
 confident of overtaking the fugitive.
 
 THE CHASE 91 
 
 "It is evident," I told John, "from his soliloquy, 
 which I interrupted, that he had just arrived at the 
 Harbor after a day's journey, probably from Port 
 Putnam. That is a hard ride over indifferent roads. 
 And his horse must be a good one to distance these 
 fellows." 
 
 "I don't believe he is very far ahead now," an- 
 swered John. "However, the moon will be up in a few 
 moments and we shall see." 
 
 We galloped on in silence for a space. Stones, 
 spurned by the flying hoofs, struck fire; the shadowy 
 woods on either side rushed by in broad bands of 
 softened murk. We heard the agitated rustlings of 
 startled night creatures; hoot owls screeched their 
 protests at the riotous breaking of the forest quiet. 
 The stars gleamed in the calm, wide sky. By and by 
 the gloom was lightened, the dark way before us 
 gradually bathed in radiance. The round, white 
 globe of the moon glowed over distant trees. 
 
 "Look !" said John, pointing. A half mile ahead of 
 us a solitary horseman was ascending a slight rise, 
 his steed at a leisurely trot. "He believes pursuit has 
 been abandoned," commented John, his lips tighten- 
 ing, the light of battle in his eyes. We urged on our 
 horses. 
 
 The rush of hoof beats came to the fugitive's ears. 
 He looked back. There was no mistaking that giant 
 figure which had chased him to the cedars. He 
 grasped the situation in a moment, and shaking a 
 defiant fist in the moonlight, he was off like the 
 wind, crouched low in his saddle, head well over his 
 horse's neck. He had the seat of a jockey. 
 
 "He rides like the very devil!" commented John, 
 with admiration, and, with his own body extended and 
 toes well set in the stirrups, to ease his horse, he
 
 92 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 urged the animal on in grim pursuit, with me trail- 
 ing at his heels. The pace grew swifter. We cleft the 
 air like arrows, the startled night wind whistling in 
 our ears. 
 
 We drew near Watertown village. In a few minutes, 
 at this rate, we would be there. The horse of the 
 stranger was evidently tiring. Once in the village 
 help would readily be obtainable to run the fugitive 
 down. If he got out of it at all it would not be far. 
 
 The lights grew nearer. The fleeing Briton descended 
 into a hollow. We had gained materially, but now 
 he swerved sharply, and leaving the highway, sheered 
 off to the northward across a sparse, struggling grain 
 field. We turned our horses' heads and took a low, 
 rickety fence after him. "He's no fool, to run his head 
 into a noose, Gilbert," called John. "He's avoiding 
 the town and making for the Kahuahgo." 
 
 On rushed the fugitive through the grain field, 
 taking a fence at the end into a broad piece of pas- 
 ture land. His horse, which was fast tiring, caught 
 a hoof in the upper rail as he went over, stumbling 
 and nearly falling as he landed, but was caught up 
 by his rider in a masterly manner and kept on. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed John, with sparkling eyes. 
 "That fellow has ridden to hounds, Gilbert, you can 
 wager. He could keep house in the saddle." 
 
 A moment later we had taken the fence without 
 accident and were hot after him. A space more and 
 we were at the bank of the Kahuahgo. It rolled 
 sullen and black with menace. Here and there treach- 
 erous eddies whirled, eddies that could suck a man 
 into eternity, for it is a murderous stream. 
 
 On reaching the bank the hunted rider whirled, 
 heading down stream. "He's making for a ford," 
 muttered Godfrey. Ere long he had reached a spot
 
 THE CHASE 93 
 
 where rippling rapids, on which the moonbeams glit- 
 tered, revealed shallow water for the river's width. 
 He urged his tired horse toward it, but the animal 
 recoiled. The rider tried again and the steed reared, 
 all but unseating him. 
 
 With a curse that came faintly to our ears, the 
 stranger drove in his spurs and was oft" again, along 
 a rough wood road that began at that spot, winding 
 through the forest, following down the south bank 
 of the river. On we went after him, having gained 
 materially while he had lost time at the ford, follow- 
 ing hot along the indifferent course. The moon was 
 too bright for him to escape us. We gained more 
 rapidly now, for his horse was almost spent. 
 
 For two miles more we chased him, finally getting 
 to within a stone's throw of him. John drew his 
 pistol. "It is for the horse," he explained. "The 
 woods are thicker ahead. We must take no chances of 
 losing him." 
 
 "Stop or I fire!" he called. There was no answer 
 save a renewed application by the man ahead of his 
 spurs, with savage energy, while he jerked his horse's 
 head toward the thickening woods that hemmed the 
 river's edge. 
 
 The horse swung broadside and the light was ex- 
 cellent. Godfrey, who was a magnificent marksman, 
 quickly levelled his pistol and fired, without decreas- 
 ing speed. The poor, stricken brute stumbled and fell, 
 lying kicking and plunging in the rough roadway. 
 His rider pitched into the underbrush. 
 
 Hasttfy galloping to the spot, we flung ourselves 
 from our blown horses. John plunged into the woods. 
 I stopped only long enough to put a ball through 
 the head of the floundering horse, ending its agony 
 and followed him.
 
 94 THE TRIAL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 I found John staring perplexedly toward an ad- 
 jacent clump of underbrush. "I saw him a moment 
 ago, right there," he said, pointing, as I ran up. 
 "And can you tell me where the devil he is now?"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 Lieutenant Stranahan 
 
 We stood in the midst of a wild, wooded glen, 
 bordering the river shore. Great, uncouth ledges, 
 faintly gray in the moonlight, loomed here and 
 there about us and buttressed in massive, broken 
 masses the edge of the rushing Kahuahgo at our 
 right hand, the waters lapping the rock not thirty 
 paces away. The flood showed black and sinister in 
 the white sheen of the moon, swirling fiercely in swift 
 rapids, fanged with white foam splashes, the stream 
 hurrying madly forward to the roaring falls below. 
 Our eyes swept the illumined vista toward the river, 
 then again sought the shadows to the left, bent on 
 the spot where John had seen the fugitive in the 
 brief instant ere he disappeared. Not a sign of a 
 quarry; only the sight and snarl of the brawling 
 river and the trailing shadows of the glen, splashed 
 with scattering moonbeams. 
 
 John smote a large palm within the other, an 
 eloquent gesture of disgust. " I saw him right there," 
 he growled, pointing. " I'll swear it ! But where " 
 
 " He's somewhere about," I responded impatiently. 
 "Did you look there?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Beat through there just 
 before you came, but couldn't raise him,, Thought 
 he might have made a detour and gone toward the 
 river. But he hasn't, for I would iiave seen
 
 96 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 We were advancing toward the spot where John was 
 convinced he had seen the Briton. I plunged into 
 the midst of a mass of low, screening shubbery. 
 " Maybe he's under here," I called, kicking at random 
 
 here and there. " If he is " but the sentence faded 
 
 in a startled yell as the earth yawned and swallowed 
 me. 
 
 In the breath of time it took me to fall that dozen 
 feet I had ample verification that the brain has 
 swifter processes. For three reflections flashed through 
 my mind in that instant ; the first, that I had heard 
 of the existence of a cave in this very glen; the 
 second, a well founded supposition that I was enter- 
 ing it; the third, a conviction that I should find my 
 quarry at the bottom, which he had probaby reached 
 as unexpectedly as I was approaching it. 
 
 I reached the bottom with a jarring emphasis that 
 effectually stopped my ruminations for the moment. 
 Then, somewhat dazed, but assuring myself gingerly 
 with cautions rubbings that I was still bonewhole 
 I struggled unsteadily to my feet and gazed wide-eyed 
 into pitchy darkness. A grisly, unseen hand clutched 
 me heart and soul, a slow panic seized me there in 
 the blackness. Strained eyes that stared, so futile in 
 the gloom ; that strove yet could not see. Till I die 
 I shall shudder at the horror that remembered mo- 
 ment brings and pray God to pity His helpless 
 blind ! 
 
 So I stood, rigid in the dark, half crouched ; holding 
 my very breath and waiting. Every faculty was 
 merged in one strained, aching, sharpened sense of 
 hearing. The measured, slow drip of water from the 
 rocky walls; far down the descending passage the 
 muffled beating of a bat's wings. These were all for 
 a moment, but now there was something else, a
 
 LIEUTENANT STRANAHAN 97 
 
 vague, soft stir quite near me, that congealed my 
 blood and set an army of little, malevolent devils 
 pricking my freezing spine. 
 
 It is a supreme test enough, in very truth, of one's 
 nerve to do battle in the dark with some wild beast. 
 But in such case, at all events, there are the eyes 
 of one's quarry, flaming warnings, terrifying surely, 
 but still serving as lamps to show which way the 
 menace lies. But here, facing other human eyes 
 without the phosphorescent gleam that spells a des- 
 perate reassurance as well as the gauge of battle ; 
 knowing not of the position of the enemy nor from 
 what side the attack might come, whether it would 
 be a repetition of the furious physical struggle of 
 the hour before or a quiet knife thrust in the back; 
 the unknown, maddening menace that the darkness 
 held; all this crowds such an experience of seconds 
 with the crawling sluggishness of hours; such an 
 hour with the endless iteration of eternity. 
 
 A moment so I waited, teeth bared, glaring into 
 the darkness, listening. There was a breathless in- 
 terval of slow, cautious stirrings, real and imagined; 
 the sound of repressed, soft breathing that seemed 
 to draw nearer, the approach in the blackness of a 
 muffled, murderous fate. Then my hand fell me- 
 chanically upon my knife handle, protruding from my 
 belt. Strangely enough, I recalled the weapon for 
 the first time. I made to withdraw the blade, but 
 ere I could do so there came a scuffling, uncertain 
 rush toward me and we came together. Instinctively 
 I caught his right wrist, twisting it. There was a 
 metallic ring on the stone floor of the cave. 
 
 For the second time that night we were in one 
 another's arms, well nigh cracking each other's ribs 
 in savage joy at the reunion. There was something
 
 98 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 eerie in that struggle in pitch darkness, this grap- 
 pling with an invisible force, which, though unseen, 
 I could well testify was tangible enough. But there 
 was positive relief in this proof of a strenuous, 
 embodied danger after the appalling moments of un- 
 certain waiting. For a moment we struggled and 
 then fortune favored me. With a sudden twist I 
 succeeded in throwing a heel behind his own, trip- 
 ping him. Down he came like a log with me top- 
 ping him. His head struck the rocky floor with a 
 sickening impact and he lay quiet. I knelt upon 
 him with savage joy. Revenge was sweet. 
 
 Now there came a flare of light, a quick scrambling 
 and a pair of heavy boots struck the floor just back 
 of me. Ere I could turn my head a mighty hand 
 was twisted in my collar. Half throttled, I was 
 torn from my victim and jerked to my feet as if I 
 had been a mutinous schoolboy. I was whirled to 
 right about face. The giant peered into my indignant 
 countenance, holding a huge, flaring sliver of resinous 
 wood in his free hand. The other dropped from my 
 neck. He was all concern. 
 
 "Hell, Gilbert !" he exclaimed. "I thought you were 
 your enemy ! " 
 
 I gasped for breath while his eyes lighted with a 
 humor that I could not appreciate at the moment. 
 "Why didn't you speak?" he inquired. 
 
 "Speak!" I sputtered resentfully, rubbing my con- 
 stricted neck. "At first you gave me no time and 
 afterward I couldn't! And why did you take it for 
 granted that you would find him on top for the 
 second time? Had I not a score to even?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered quizzically, surveying the 
 stunned figure, which lay quiet on the slippery floor 
 of the cave, "and I guess you've evened it. Dumped
 
 LIEUTENANT STRANAHAN 99 
 
 him on his head, eh? Well, that's poetic justice. 
 Your own must still be aching." It was. I rubbed 
 it tenderly. 
 
 "Not knowing the lay of your cave, I took the 
 precaution to slice off an improvised torch before 
 coming in," said John. "Let's take a look at this 
 fellow." He bent over the prostrate spy, holding 
 the torch above the pale face, which showed ghastly 
 in the glare. John lifted the unconscious man's 
 head, from which the blood was dripping. 
 
 "Jarred badly and head cut on the rock," said 
 John, "but he'll be all right in a little while. Take 
 the beacon, Gilbert." Stooping, he lifted the senseless 
 six-footer, a man full as heavy as myself, with the 
 ease that an ordinary man would pick up a child, 
 and started with him toward the entrance. I pre- 
 ceded him with the torch. Scrambling up the de- 
 clivity I inserted the beacon in a crevice and we 
 made to haul the prisoner up and out of the cave. 
 
 John laid the stranger on the ground outside the 
 black, uninviting hole, going rapidly through his 
 pockets. At his suggestion I went quickly to the 
 wood road, where lay the dead body of the captive's 
 horse. I removed the saddle and bags and returned. 
 
 John was directing his efforts toward reviving the 
 stranger, but without effect. "Poor devil!" he ex- 
 claimed, pity in his eyes. "It's hard, bitterly hard 
 lines, Gilbert. He's a gallant young fellow and it 
 was for his country. A risky job. And to end so 
 before it is fairly begun!" 
 
 I realized his meaning. A spy, caught red-handed. 
 I knew the sinister fate of spies. And yet 
 
 A sudden idea seized me, an idea whimsical and 
 bizarre, bold as brass and fraught with gravest 
 risks. I laughed at the very impudence of the plan
 
 loo THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 that had flashed like lightning through my brain 
 and was then straightway sobered by a swift, realiz- 
 ing sense of what its adoption might entail. A 
 whimsy, in very truth, that might hold death at the 
 end, and a death not accounted among the most heroic 
 of adieux to the restless world. I stood reflecting, 
 revolving the mad scheme in my mind. 
 
 "Well?" John, bending over the still inert figure, 
 looked up at me questioningly. "What is it, Gil- 
 bert?" 
 
 In a few words I told him. He gazed at me in 
 amazement for an instant, then glanced quickly at 
 the man at his feet, measuring him critically. 
 Then his eyes returned to me thoughtfully, with a 
 searching scrutiny. At last he spoke. 
 
 "You are an impulsive daredevil, Gilbert," he said 
 slowly. "You might carry it through. It would 
 require resource and discretion. Those I feel con- 
 fident you possess, but you would have need to 
 develop them. It involves a heavy risk." 
 
 "I count the risk," I answered. He remained silent 
 a moment with knitted brows. "There is one vital 
 consideration," he said suddenly, "which is to ascer- 
 tain the extent of this man's acquaintance in the 
 provinces yonder. I have the impression that he 
 is fresh from England and was at once assigned to 
 this work. If this is so, so much the better ; if not, 
 the undertaking, to say the least, would be very 
 dubious. Let me see, his papers may serve to show." 
 
 We rifled his saddle-bags, finding valuable additions 
 to the documents which John had already filched 
 from his pockets. John then procured and lighted a 
 fresh torch and we hastily mastered the import of 
 the papers. There were a number of official docu- 
 ments containing full information of the name, rank
 
 LIEUTENANT STRANAHAN 101 
 
 and purposes of our captive for our unique needs, 
 together with private papers revealing in full his 
 secret plan of campaign and a number of letters 
 from military and private circles which would be 
 valuable later on. We glanced swiftly over the cap- 
 tured intelligence, after which I secreted it carefully. 
 John uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. 
 
 "My supposition was correct," he said. "Arrived 
 from England only shortly since, he proceeded at 
 once to Montreal, where he reported for duty to Sir 
 George Provost, who immediately assigned him to 
 continuous secret service along the New York frontier. 
 He met scarcely anyone over there before coming. 
 I see he attended to that little matter of an Albany 
 Commission. That would have been a clever dodge 
 if it had worked. Moreover, I gather that he is left 
 with a free hand. Though young, he must have 
 distinguished himself in some way in this line abroad. 
 Strange he should blunder so to-night, but the best 
 of them come to it sooner or later. I do not under- 
 stand from his data that he is required to report 
 directly at Montreal at any time, but rather to 
 communicate his findings thither unobtrusively in 
 writing, and occasionally to confer in person with 
 the military authorities at Frontenac and other 
 towns on the lake and river, as the case may require. 
 All this renders your idea more feasible, Gilbert, 
 than it appeared to be at first. It was a pretty plan 
 our friend had. It is sad to see it nipped in the 
 bud so prematurely." 
 
 "Sad indeed!" spoke a voice. We started. The 
 captive had risen to his feet, regarding us, swaying 
 a little from giddiness. There was a faint, rueful 
 smile upon his pale face. The grim humor of the 
 situation was by no means lost upon him.
 
 102 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "I trust, my friend, that your head does not un- 
 duly pain you," remarked John, with quiet apprecia- 
 tion of the situation. "And such as it is, you may 
 find some little satisfaction in the fact that the poll 
 of my friend here is doubtless still buzzing from the 
 effects of the hard butt you gave it some time 
 agone." It was true. I felt gingerly of a swelling lump. 
 
 The young fellow smiled good-naturedly enough. 
 He had proved his gallantry. He was now attesting 
 his possession of philosophy. 
 
 "True," he replied, addressing me, "the issue is still 
 undecided. We have each won a fall. The third must 
 decide. Take care, sir, that I do not win the rubber." 
 
 "It is as God wills," I replied. "Though with all 
 cordiality I can attest to your courage and your 
 skill, Lieutenant Stranahan." 
 
 "Lieutenant Stranahan!" he echoed, and instinc- 
 tively clapped his hand to his breast pocket. He 
 swore with emphasis. Then his eyes caught sight 
 of the rifled saddle-bags. 
 
 "My papers ! You have them, then?" he questioned. 
 
 "All," I answered. 
 
 Involuntarily the captive's eyes turned swiftly 
 toward the saddle. It was but a fleeting glance, but 
 it sufficed for John, who had been watching him like 
 a hawk. In a moment the giant, with drawn knife, 
 had caught up the saddle. Examining it closely he slit 
 the inner linings and drew forth some additional data, 
 which he handed me to place with the other docu- 
 ments. The additions proved valuable in after days. 
 
 "Learn to control your eyes, Lieutenant," remarked 
 John quietly to the captive, who had made no effort 
 to conceal his chagrin. "Later," added the trapper, 
 "I shall trouble to search you still more carefully." 
 
 Stranahan was watching me with a curious stare.
 
 LIEUTENANT STRANAHAN 103 
 
 "You gave them to him," said he, addressing John. 
 "For what reason?" 
 
 "Because he will have use for them," replied God- 
 frey. 
 
 "Because," I added, "you will soon have finished 
 with your name, Lieutenant Stranahan, and, believe 
 me, it is my personal regret that the fortune of haz- 
 ard has served you so ill. But, at all events, you 
 will have done with it. Well, I shall take it. I will 
 see if I can succeed where you have failed. The im- 
 personation will serve a double purpose, to screen 
 my own country and to shield my operations in 
 yours. If I fail, why my end will be as yours." 
 
 He had whitened to the lips. Standing in a broad 
 belt of moonlight that streamed through an opening 
 in the trees, his face gleamed livid. "It is madness !" 
 he cried and our eyes met. For a moment we gazed 
 hard at one another, and my own eyes shone con- 
 fident as despair crept into his. John watched the 
 little drama with a peculiar expression. 
 
 "Blundering fool!" hissed the captive, through 
 grinding teeth. "Fool, who has brought this devil's 
 botch upon his cause and country!" He struck his 
 forehead with clenched fist, raging against himself, 
 though he was after all but the victim of untoward 
 circumstance. We watched him in pitying silence. 
 
 The paroxysm passed, he turned to us, a proud 
 resignation in his face, lips that tightened with the 
 determination to brave undaunted the black shadow 
 that was creeping toward him. "And I, gentlemen," 
 he questioned low. 
 
 John's troubled eyes removed from him, gazing 
 over the black, snarling river. "You," he answered, 
 his voice strangely gentle, "are a brave man and a 
 spy. You know the fate of spies. God help you ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The Alarm 
 
 I drew my pipe from my pocket and was about 
 to fill it when I remembered. Searching in an inner 
 pocket I produced a cigar, the last of a handful 
 secured the day previous. It was more desirable 
 for riding. A pipe was made for quiet and repose. 
 
 Old Abner Holcomb watched me with mournful 
 eyes. Reflecting that a smoke of some kind was a 
 religious duty after breakfast, and that the pipe 
 might do for me, even on horseback, I proffered 
 Abner the cigar. He shook his head. "Don't smoke," 
 he drawled drearily. 
 
 "You chew," I ventured, with a glance at his 
 splotched chin whisker. It should have been wholly 
 gray. 
 
 "That's it," he moaned listlessly. "Don't have 
 time for smokin'. Got any chawin'?" 
 
 "No," I replied apologetically. "Don't chaw. Just 
 smoke." 
 
 "Yuh," commented Abner sombrely. "I see. Some 
 same as me, only t'other way. Don't have time 
 to chaw. Ort to learn to mix "em up, both on us. 
 Only livin' life once. Orter get all th' good out'n it." 
 
 It was a long speech. He ceased, exhausted, relaps- 
 ing into silent gloom. I tightened my saddle girth, 
 then lighted my weed. My mare nosed expectantly, 
 then rolled a reproachful eye upon me.
 
 THE ALARM 105 
 
 "Hello, Mrs. Holcomb," I called, as that genial 
 and rotund dame appeared in the doorway, "got 
 an apple? The mare's used to it." She produced 
 a russet and the mare was satisfied. 
 
 "Say, cap'n," inquired Abner wearily, as I prepared 
 to mount, "wot day's this?" 
 
 "Sunday, July the twelfth, 1812," I replied, proffer- 
 ing the still nosing mare the cigar. She ceased to 
 nose and assumed a justified air of distant dignity. 
 
 "I know the year," responded Abner, without 
 enthusiasm. "And Sundays, I have to keep track 
 o' them, too. I have to drive Betsey to church," 
 with aggrieved pathos. 
 
 "That is sad," I murmured. Under the genial 
 glow of sympathy Abner brightened. 
 
 "Coin' to be trouble afore long?" he inquired, as 
 I swung into the saddle. 
 
 "Any day may bring it," I answered seriously. 
 "Why don't you enlist, Abner?" 
 
 "Rheumatiz," he replied, woe knelling in his tone, 
 "and farm 'd go to hell." 
 
 "If they all talked your way, Abner," rejoined I 
 judicially, "all their farms would go there. They 
 wouldn't own any when the trouble would be over. 
 Redcoats would have 'em all. We need men." 
 
 "You'll get 'em!" pealed a robust feminine voice 
 from the doorway. "And you'll get Abner. He's 
 goin'!" 
 
 I shook out the reins with a laugh, leaving Abner 
 clawing disconsolately at his variegated whisker; 
 black, gathering gloom in his elongated face. In- 
 exorable fate had knelled in Betsey's tone. Sooner 
 or later Abner would enlist and the farm would 
 not suffer. I knew who ran the farm. 
 
 I speedily left behind me the rude little farmhouse,
 
 io6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 set in a laboriously made clearing among the 
 woodgirt hills. Above me the gray, ghostly, morn- 
 ing mists were lifting sluggishly, for I had risen early 
 and breakfasted in a dim, religious light. I had 
 been for several days among the more remote ham- 
 lets of the region, assisting in perfecting the organ- 
 ization of the militia from whose forces so much was 
 hoped. I had been commissioned by General Jacob 
 Brown to confer with those in charge of the several 
 companies. Now all was in readiness. With the 
 first blow that should be struck, the call to arms 
 would sound and the yeomenry, summoned in haste 
 by mounted expresses, artillery signals, and in case 
 of a night attack by giant, flaring beacons, would 
 rally from all points of the green valley of the 
 Kahuahgo and its hemming hills to the defence of 
 the threatened port. For the Harbor, we were con- 
 vinced, would be the point of attack. It was the 
 most important key to the frontier. 
 
 I had concluded my mission the previous day, and, 
 arriving at Abner Holcomb's place among the Rut- 
 land hills, several miles from Watertown, had put 
 up there for the night. I desired to leave early to 
 reach the Harbor without loss of time, as the days 
 now brought added apprehension, and we chafed 
 nervously and looked toward Frontenac. I was 
 able to gratify my wish for an early departure with 
 no inconvenience to my entertainers. Betsey was 
 naturally an inordinately early riser, and as a natu- 
 ral sequence, so was Abner. 
 
 My road, an indifferent one along which my mare 
 picked her steps with caution, began winding sinuous- 
 ly up the rugged flank of a giant hill. The grade 
 grew toilsomely steep and I swung out of the saddle 
 and strode on ahead of the mare, who followed me
 
 THE ALARM 107 
 
 like a dog. Reared and cherished from colthood, 
 she returned my warm regard in full measure and 
 never failed me. It grew clearer as we hastened up- 
 ward; the mists, like gemmed dust, vanished in the 
 growing radiance. In the woods on either side of 
 the rude roadway sounded the vague stirrings of 
 wild life, awakened for the day. A cool, sweet breeze 
 blew, pregnant with freshness. On we struggled, the 
 mare and I, as the ascent grew steeper and finally 
 stood breathless on the summit, the highest point 
 in widely rolling miles. It was rockribbed and bare 
 of trees, affording an unbroken view for leagues of 
 the outspread scroll of the valley of the Kahuahgo. 
 The sun, faintly lurid through the mist with the 
 promise of a heated day, was just clearing the eastern 
 horizon. Behind the rock on which I stood there 
 reared the dark crests of mighty forest-bearded hills, 
 eternally majestic. In the foreground there rolled 
 a green, undulating sea of verdure, the Kahuahgo 
 valley. From the outer slopes of the grim, guarding 
 hills it stretched onward mile on mile to the wide 
 waters of Ontario and the regal St. Lawrence be- 
 yond. Just now the mists writhed and curled in 
 vague billowings below me, a gray veil hiding the 
 wide water to which my eyes instinctively turned. 
 Presently the sun swung higher, leering sardonically 
 over the shoulder of a monstrous hill. The cohorts 
 of the mists were routed and ere long there were 
 visible, cleaving the valley like a hand-wide _"bbc2l 3 
 glimpses here and there of the tortuous Kahuahgo, 
 flowing swiftly to its rest beyond Fish Island in the 
 bay which was christened for it. The few tiny settle- 
 ments flung here and there in the green waste showed 
 in lilliputian guise. My eyes swept the outspread 
 vista while I idly attempted to set the probable
 
 io8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 exact location of a certain cave. I gazed toward 
 the lake, but the gray mist still hung, an obscuring 
 curtain, in that quarter. 
 
 A soft cooing sounded near at hand. Looking up 
 I beheld a gray pigeon, peering hither and yon with 
 wistful eyes. In a moment there whirred a soft 
 rush of wings. A small flock of its mates flew by; 
 the lone bird rose and winged away with them to 
 the northward. The sight brought to me a tender 
 memory which was tinged with concern. Why did 
 not M. De Montefort awaken to the growing gravity 
 of the situation and seek safety with his daughter 
 at the Harbor? I felt, because of anxiety, rather 
 angry with him. True, wild rumors of Indian in- 
 vasions had sent many a family in senseless, pre- 
 mature flight to Watertown and the Harbor during 
 the past few months. I honored the Frenchman 
 for being of a different stamp. But now the actual 
 need of precaution existed. War had been declared; 
 M. De Montefort must have heard of it. His house 
 was a rendezvous for migrating woodsmen. More- 
 over, I was frankly interested in his daughter, which 
 doubtless materially increased my concern. On one 
 thing I was determined, which was to secure leave 
 to go after and bring them as soon as possible. 
 
 I rose from the rock where I had seated myself 
 during my brief reverie, absently stroking the sleek 
 neck of my mare, who stood quietly by. I looked 
 again toward the lake, miles away. The sun was 
 higher and the mists had disappeared. The wide 
 water, bright in the sunlight, lay outspread before 
 me. The atmosphere was now extraordinarily clear. 
 Idly thrusting my hand into a pocket I extracted 
 a small field glass, which I was wont to carry, and 
 applied it to my eye. I traced the arching sweep
 
 THE ALARM 109 
 
 of the lake far toward the point, some thirty miles 
 away, where it terminated in the silver strand of 
 the St. Lawrence. My gaze swept the grand pros- 
 pect of wood and water carelessly at first, then 
 became riveted on the far Kahuahgo Bay. I leaned 
 forward, rigid, with strained eyes. 
 
 For five sail were entering the bay, close together, 
 headed for the Harbor. Small as they seemed at 
 that distance, like toys that one could sail in a 
 washbasin, yet a warning premonition flashed upon 
 me what they were. These were no fishing smacks. 
 And even in that instant there came to my ears, 
 faint and far away, the report of a distant gun, 
 the alarm at the Harbor. 
 
 In a trice I was astride my horse. The way to 
 Watertown lay before me, down a rough road that 
 threaded a breakneck, precipitous slope, holding 
 menace in the shape of probably shattered bones 
 and a possible soul-quitting at every stride. I 
 clapped spurs to my astonished mare and was off 
 like the wind.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A Broken Sabbath 
 
 The little gods who watch over the reckless were 
 kept busy during that descent. The mare flew like 
 a mad thing, her hoofs spurning myriads of stones 
 that came rattling after us down the slope; the 
 environing woods rushed dizzily past. We reached 
 the bottom by a miracle in safety. I felt like Israel 
 Putnam, whose escape ahorse from the enemy down 
 a rough series of stone steps, during our former 
 argument with the British, had become famous. The 
 mare now forged ahead at a stretching gallop for 
 Watertown. We were soon there, galloping through 
 the broad plaza, bound for the Harbor highway. 
 Men were gathering, startled and anxious. The faint 
 booming of alarm guns now sounded at regular 
 intervals. The people suspected the reason, but 
 certitude, of course, was lacking. Excited men bawled 
 inquiries as I swept past. I shouted the news with- 
 out slackening speed and left tumult in my wake. 
 But a breath of time, and as my mare's hoofs 
 thundered by the arsenal upon Columbia street and 
 out upon the highway that led Harborward, there 
 came the long, sinister roll of drums and the rush- 
 ing together of eager, armed men, tingling and 
 defiant, who would soon follow me. I felt like Paul 
 Revere. 
 
 The mare, in whose veins the war blood seemed
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH in 
 
 also to tingle, forged on with undiminished stride. 
 I shouted my news at every house I encountered, 
 producing all the sensation I could have hoped for. 
 Presently I met a mounted express, tearing along 
 in wild-eyed excitement to bear the tidings to Water- 
 town. I called that I had already borne them, but 
 he was too distraught to heed me and kept on. 
 
 As I neared the port I encountered other couriers 
 bound for various points, as well as some cowardly 
 settlers who with their families were driving in 
 hot haste away from the scene of the impending 
 trouble. To the people's credit be it said that these 
 cases were few, for the most of the citizens rallied 
 most gallantly to the support of the militia and 
 small detachment of regulars. Indeed, they fell to 
 and labored with their own hands in the preparation 
 of the scanty defences and later united with the 
 yeomenry in bawling defiance from the bluff. 
 
 Dashing at last into the Harbor, I drew up at the 
 stable, dismounted and gave my sweating mare into 
 the hands of the hostler. Then I hastened to the 
 house. 
 
 Dorothy met me at the door, courageously cool. 
 A leonine heart she had for all of its woman's 
 tenderness. 
 
 "Why, Gillie!" she cried surprisedly. "Where did 
 you come from? And you're gray with dust.'* 
 
 " I am the Paul Revere of this war," I explained, 
 "also the Israel Putnam," and I told her of it. 
 "Keep up heart, my girl," I enjoined. 
 
 " Gilbert," she answered with a bright smile, " while 
 a woman I am yet a Warburton. The name is still 
 unchanged." Whereupon I bestowed upon her a 
 fraternal if dusty kiss. 
 
 I went into the living room, where my helpless
 
 ii2 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 father was sitting, and moved his reclining chair up 
 to the window, which commanded an unobstructed 
 view of the bluff and the bay beyond, in order that 
 he might have whatever sight his old eyes might 
 vouchsafe him of that day. He clasped my hand 
 eloquently. 
 
 "I but wish I could be with you, shoulder to 
 shoulder, my son," he said, a world of pathos in his 
 tone. I inclined my head silently, the brine very 
 near my eyes. Then I left the house, hurrying to- 
 ward the bluff. 
 
 Everywhere was activity and the confusion of 
 hurried preparation. Scattered detachments of near- 
 by militia were already arriving. Alarm guns still 
 boomed, their thunder rolling for miles up the valley 
 of the Kahuahgo, the echoes reverberating among its 
 hundred hills. The peals electrified the militia which 
 had long awaited the signal, and when the expresses 
 reached them they found many of the companies 
 ready to start, the women, children and old men 
 vicing to wish them godspeed. As it transpired they 
 remained mostly idle, for there occurred no oppor- 
 tunity that day for the use of small arms. But they 
 mingled with the cheering throng gathered on the 
 bluff and joined in the exultation that followed the 
 engagement. 
 
 Hurrying upon an errand, I presently came across 
 Sergeant Cyrenus, who saluted and reported my 
 company assembled. "You're shy on lootenants, 
 Cap'n," he grinned, "so I've done what I could. I 
 gathered 'em in." 
 
 I made suitable acknowledgement and inquired into 
 the circumstances of the visit, as far as transpired. 
 
 "Came at sun-up," answered the little man. 
 "After the Oneida, I guess. Get the whole navy
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH 113 
 
 if they corral her," he grinned. Indeed, there was 
 little else as yet. "You know," he continued, "she 
 was moored just inside the harbor. Well, Cap'n 
 Woolsey dumb her masthead this morning with his 
 glass to his eye and seen the five o' them comin' into 
 the bay. He sends Lootenant Blair ashore to tell 
 Colonel Bellinger, after which the news is whooped all 
 over the place while Woolsey cuts loose the Oneida 
 and noses around to try and make the open lake 
 and slip 'em. She slips around the point and stands 
 up the bay, but the five of 'em is on the lookout for 
 her, so Woolsey brings her back. She's moored now 
 just outside the point. Nine of her guns is snoutin* 
 up the bay and the boats took the other nine over 
 here. Got 'em perched up on that breastwork," 
 pointing. 
 
 I hurried to the bluff, where a large number of 
 militiamen and citizens were busy on the breastwork. 
 I soon found enough to do and perspired with the 
 rest of them. Womenfolk were there in plenty, star- 
 ing out upon the bay, anxious but undismayed. 
 
 The British fleet had laid-to a couple of miles away. 
 A quintet of union jacks flapped at the mastheads. 
 We noticed that they had with them a small vessel, 
 evidently one of our own, captured on the lake. As 
 we gazed we noticed a boat leaving the flagship, the 
 Royal George. An officer sat in the stern, rowed 
 rapidly toward us by a crew of jackies. Another 
 boat put after the first. Both stopped alongside 
 our captured craft, taking in its crew. Then they 
 kept on toward the bluff. 
 
 A herculean figure passed us from the direction of 
 headquarters and advanced to the edge of the bluff, 
 standing waiting with folded arms for the approach- 
 ng boats. It was John.
 
 H4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The boats drew near to us, finally halting close 
 under the lee of the bluff, the tars resting on their 
 oars. The officer stood up, facing my huge comrade. 
 I noticed that his eyes lighted with appreciation of 
 the giant's dimensions, 
 
 "Sir," said he affably, "I am Lieutenant Wether- 
 spoon, of the Royal George at present, and repre- 
 senting Commodore Earle in command of His 
 Majesty's fleet yonder. These men," indicating the 
 prisoners, " form the crew of a captured vessel, loaded 
 with flour, bound for Port Putnam. The craft had 
 the fortune to fall in with us in her own waters this 
 morning. We shall retain the flour but not the men, 
 who would help only to eat it. So we return the 
 men to you." 
 
 "I, sir, am Captain Godfrey, representing Colonel 
 Bellinger, who is in charge here at present," returned 
 John, as the released crew splashed to shore and 
 were assisted up the face of the bluff with ropes in 
 the hands of the militiamen. " I thank you for your 
 courtesy in furnishing us with these happily arrived 
 assistants, for truth to tell, we need all we can get. 
 Their disposition, however, I will venture to hazard, 
 was of secondary importance. May I inquire the 
 main object of your call this beautiful Sabbath 
 morning?" 
 
 "My commander," returned the other, grinning 
 pleasantly at John, "delegates me to say that he 
 has come for yonder craft," indicating the Oneida, 
 "which you have been at such pains to fit out for 
 His Majesty's service. He further commissions me to 
 assure you that if a gun is fired to molest him, he 
 will do himself the pleasure of burning your village 
 and exterminating yourselves." 
 
 "I fear it is the weakness of your commander
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH 115 
 
 to deal in dreams rather than actualities," replied 
 John, dryly. "Our preparations are crude, but I 
 think they will do. You may say to your chief, 
 Lieutenant, that if he wants the Oneida, why, let him 
 come and take her ! Also, if he would burn the 
 village he must first enter it!" 
 
 A cheer burst from the soldiery on the bluff. The 
 lieutenant bowed and his jackies rowed him back to 
 the flagship, followed by the other boat which had 
 assisted in bringing over the captured crew of the 
 bark yonder. Her custodians gazed with melting 
 affection at the Old Sow, then shook their fists at 
 her provender. 
 
 Who and what was the Old Sow? Topping a six- 
 foot mound which had been made ready for it, there 
 perched on its pivots a grim old gun which the day 
 was to make famous, for out of her hoarse throat 
 was to sound the first guttural growl of the war 
 which broke on this historic Sabbath. This gun, a 
 thirty-two pounder, was originally intended for the 
 Oneida, but being found too heavy it had been added 
 to the land battery, after having lain in the mud 
 near the shore for a long period succeeding the brig's 
 rejectment of it. Colonel Bellinger rescued it from its 
 inglorious retirement and had it mounted on its 
 mound, where it now rested, staring sulkily out upon 
 the lake. While it was rolling in the mud some 
 irreverent wag had christened the big piece the "Old 
 Sow," and the name stuck. But it was written that 
 before the sun fell her grunts were to make her 
 glorious. 
 
 She looked formidable enough, being by far the 
 largest piece in our armament. There was but one 
 drawback to her effectiveness, which was an absence 
 of any proper ammunition for her. It had been
 
 n6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 written for repeatedly, but, like many other things, 
 had not arrived. In lieu of anything heavier, a pile 
 of twenty-four -pound balls rested near her. Those in 
 charge eyed the inadequate munitions with disfavor 
 and cursed the gun and the government impartially 
 when they learned that no better ammunition was 
 available. 
 
 Now the Old Sow was in capable hands that day, 
 being in charge of Sailingmaster William Vaughan, a 
 man of parts and of passionate perseverance at times 
 like these. He was ably assisted, and to Vaughan 
 and his mates should be accorded a deathless fame, 
 for they saw to the belching forth of the first note 
 of defiance in that storied war. But just now 
 Vaughan, Parkinson and the rest stood dubiously 
 eyeing the puny twenty-four-pound balls and the 
 gaping, hungry muzzle of the Old Sow and cursed, 
 for she required pills and they had only pellets. They 
 cursed, I say, but mildly, for they were passably godly 
 men. Moreover, relief was to come by unique means, 
 means that Vaughan and his mates might not yet 
 know. 
 
 Finally, after what seemed an interminable time, 
 the five hostile ships got under way and moved up 
 for the attack. The Royal George, carrying twenty- 
 four guns and two hundred and sixty men, led the 
 procession, followed in turn by the Seneca, Prince 
 Regent, Earl of Moira and Simcoe, mounting to- 
 gether eighty guns more. Arrived at an easy dis- 
 tance away, they wheeled, bringing their broadsides 
 to bear on us. The Royal George was to sail past 
 the bluff and rake us. If anything was left standing 
 the Seneca was to follow, and so on. 
 
 Captain Woolsey, leaving the Oneida in charge 
 of a lieutenant, had taken general command of the
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH 117 
 
 batteries on shore, being assisted by Captain Camp, 
 John, myself and some others. The state of the Old 
 Sow, too, in regard to her insufficient rations, had 
 been noticed and she was provided for from a source 
 entirely unexpected. 
 
 Shortly before the battle commenced, while Vaughan 
 and his mates were disconsolately scratching their 
 heads over the Old Sow and the proposed contents 
 of her belly, they were approached by Widow Hank- 
 inson with a word for Vaughan's ear. They drew 
 apart from the others, the widow addressing William 
 earnestly. 
 
 A windy sigh exploded at my right hand. I turned 
 to behold Noadiah, rapt eyes fixed upon the widow, 
 his face glowing with fleshy admiration. Noadiah 
 was evidently impressed. Attracted by his ardent 
 gaze, the widow's eyes stole a side-long glance at the 
 veteran. Then they were modestly averted as she 
 continued her talk with Vaughan. Noadiah sighed 
 again, most prodigiously, and turned to me. 
 
 "There's a woman!" he exclaimed with conviction. 
 I nodded gravely. It was indubitable. 
 
 The widow's communication had been of moment, 
 for Vaughan was nodding his head with a curious 
 grin. The widow whisked her buxom self toward the 
 village, with an arch look toward Noadiah that pro- 
 voked another sigh, eclipsing the others. 
 
 A little later there was heard in the homes of the 
 hamlet a curious sound of rending and tearing. The 
 fruitage of the sacrifice was borne to the Old Sow by 
 the patriotic women. There was much enwrapping 
 and shrouding and the twenty-four-pound balls, by 
 the grace of God and torn carpets, were become 
 thirty-twos. Gunner Parkinson rammed one of them 
 home and cried out that a prayer went with it.
 
 n8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The Royal George had just come within range, her 
 gunners preparing to sound the first grim note of 
 the war. Parkinson anticipated them. The match 
 was applied, there was a flash and a thunderous roar, 
 and the first defiant shot of the historic struggle 
 belched out, swathed in glory, smoke and carpet 
 rags. 
 
 It fell harmlessly in the water, far short of the flag- 
 ship, whose crew yelled with derision and replied with 
 a broadside which struck the face of the bluff, far 
 down, between grass and water. Whereat the town's 
 defenders in turn retaliated with sneering outcries. 
 
 The affair then began in earnest. For two hours 
 there was incessant thunder. The militia could do 
 nothing, as the distance was too great for small arms, 
 so they stood behind the breastworks and watched 
 the drama. Thousands were gathered by this time, 
 drawn by the news that had flown on the wind's 
 wings; spectators watching the broad arena of land 
 and sea; praying for victory yet helpless to assist; 
 cursing the enemy ; trembling and torn with the frenzy 
 of that summer day. 
 
 John and I, with some picked men from our com- 
 panies, were helping the gunners, who were short of 
 capable assistants. John had Sergeant Noadiah; I 
 had Sergeant Cyrenus. Each veteran worked like a 
 machine, cool as an automaton, but neither looked 
 toward the other. 
 
 Not much damage had yet been done, though the 
 British seemed to cherish an antipathy toward the 
 luckless bluff and were literally pounding the face off 
 it. Hardly any of their balls came over the brink. 
 As for our battery, the only really formidable gun it 
 boasted was the Old Sow, and Vaughan had demon- 
 strated to his intense disgust that it was hard to
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH 119 
 
 obtain a proper range with the swaddled rations he 
 was obliged to feed her. A few shots, however, had 
 had some effect, but he prayed viciously for just one 
 thirty -two pound ball. And at last he got it. 
 
 A big thirty -two from the Royal George, which car- 
 ried some large guns, cleared the bluff, ploughing a 
 deep furrow in the ground and lying there, harming 
 nobody. In a twinkling Noadiah caught it up, 
 scampering like an unwieldy boy toward William 
 Vaughan. 
 
 "The redcoats can't play ball!" he yelled. "I've 
 caught 'em out ! See if they can catch back again !" 
 
 There was envy in the face of Cyrenus as I glanced 
 at him. And more, for I caught the eyes of Noadiah 
 slyly at corners, peering at the crowd. Sure enough, 
 there stood the widow, a plump hand violently brand- 
 ishing a handkerchief, her cheer mingling with the 
 rest. And Noadiah straightened pompously and 
 thrust out the great folds of his cheeks. 
 
 Meanwhile all was animation about the Old Sow. 
 Black Julius, of her crew, a herculean negro and then 
 a novelty in that section, being moreover one of the 
 most gallant fellows I ever met, showed a fortune in 
 ivory and hugged his ebony body, dripping with 
 sweat and naked to the waist. 
 
 " Ho, ho !" he shouted, pointing to the fleet. " Fo' 
 Gawd, massas, now de Old Sow grunt hawg fo' 
 suah!" 
 
 It was even so. The crew rammed the captured ball 
 home, aiming carefully at the flagship. That grunt 
 struck the stern of the Royal George and raked her 
 deck, a cloud of splinters flying clear to her mizzen 
 topsail. We learned later that fourteen men were 
 killed and eighteen wounded by the shot. 
 
 The bombardment from the circling ships was now
 
 i 2 o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 redoubled. They smarted yonder, and small wonder, 
 with a desire to retaliate. But few of their shots, 
 however, because of defective aiming, were of any 
 evident effect. As yet we had suffered no casualties. 
 At the peak of the flagstaff, set that very morning 
 through a happy thought upon the redoubt that 
 sheltered the crew of the Old Sow, waved defiantly 
 the stripes and stars for whose honor we fought 
 that day and for which our sons and their sons' 
 sons will fight forever. 
 
 Suddenly a ball from a gun of the Royal George 
 hurtled high over the edge of the cliff. There was a 
 splintering of wood, and the flagstaff, trembling to 
 its base, was denuded of half its length, the tip, with 
 the flag adhering to it still, tumbling to the ground. 
 A yell of derisive triumph came from the flagship. 
 
 Several of us who were near by sprang to recover 
 the banner. Ere we could do so, there was a rush 
 forward from among the cloud of spectators who 
 stood behind the breastworks. A pair of eager hands 
 caught up the trailing flag, a lithe young form sprang 
 to the Old Sow's mound. And there, with flashing 
 eyes and a dauntless, fiery zeal ; with one hand rest- 
 ing on the ancient gun and the other defiantly wav- 
 ing the glorious bunting in the very faces of its foes ; 
 an embodied goddess of that liberty for which we 
 have fought and will fight until the end, the liberty 
 whose spirit is woven in every thread and fibre of 
 the flag we love ; there stood Dorothy ! 
 
 So she stood, nor had a thought of self or fear, 
 while the din grew strangely still upon the wide water 
 and the land. Nor did she seem to realize the sudden 
 silence or its import until, from the decks of the 
 Royal George and the others of the king's ships 
 there pealed, as with one voice, a ringing cheer, a
 
 A BROKEN SABBATH 121 
 
 cheer that was echoed cleafcningly by the throngs 
 now gathered on the bluff. And thus recalled to 
 earth, poor Dorothy, a goddess no longer, but a 
 shrinking maid, aghast at the sensation her inspired 
 act of patriotism had created, thrust the banner con- 
 fusedly into the hands of Gunner Parkinson and 
 blushing fled away. 
 
 It was enough. The flagship had already suffered 
 seriously and so had two of her companions. Even 
 as we looked the signal for retreat was shown and 
 the demoralized fleet, headed by the Royal George 
 with the discomfited Earle sailed for the open that 
 led to Frontenac. Not a Yankee had been killed or 
 wounded. 
 
 Delirium reigned. The regimental band played 
 "Yankee Doodle" and the soldiery and citizenry 
 cheered till their throats might bear no more. They 
 gathered about our home and yelled for Dorothy, 
 who dared not appear and begged me to send them 
 away, while I laughed. 
 
 And so ended the first battle of the war of 1812, 
 of which it has been said, with grim humor, that 
 the British broke nothing in it but the Sabbath.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 Two Graves 
 
 Through a dense, whispering canopy of leaves the 
 sun shot uncertain lances of wavering light. Wood 
 creatures scattered at our approach, startled by the 
 crackling of twigs and the soft padding of our foot- 
 steps in the spongy soil. A little away sounded the 
 murmurous river, brawling softly over its shallows. 
 The July sun flamed fiercely in a sky whose blue 
 showed in tiny patches through the interstices of the 
 wooded roof. Here was a hallowed coolness. The 
 tempered shade was refreshing, for it was stifling in 
 the open. 
 
 The drowsy peace of a forest afternoon, the dron- 
 ing calm that dreams where the shadows waver, 
 stole in upon us as we strode. Our jaded spirits were 
 revived. The Sabbatarian quiet refreshed our senses, 
 dulled with din and wearied with the incessant strain 
 of months. In this dim, weird world, rich in royal 
 green, sentient and shadowed, the drama of but three 
 days gone seemed a remote and unreal thing. The 
 salient bluff, sullenly barricaded ; the breathless crowds 
 that bawled defiance from its brink; the circling 
 ships; the diapason of the cannonade; we might 
 have dreamed them all. The echoes of that fiendish 
 saturnalia of sound, still muttering dimly in our 
 brains, seemed in these woods a profanation. 
 
 "We are almost there, John," I called to the giant
 
 TWO GRAVES 123 
 
 who preceded me. "Somehow I feel gloomy, a 
 presentiment 
 
 "Don't be a woman, Gilbert," he boomed back at 
 me. " 'Sufficient unto the day,' you know. We shall 
 be the first to tell them of last Sunday's services." 
 
 "God grant it," I muttered, but could not shake 
 off the depression that gathered with every step. 
 
 We had secured leave immediately after the battle 
 to make this journey. Our anxiety was keen at the 
 failure of M. De Montefort and his daughter to reach 
 the Harbor, and we had set out to find how they 
 were faring. We had stopped at the intervening 
 settlements, but nothing had been seen of them and 
 we were now nearly to the cabin. 
 
 John's hound, Gypso, accompanied us, running 
 ahead and sniffing in the manner of his nosey tribe. 
 Suddenly he bayed and bounded forward, disappear- 
 ing in the thick foliage. 
 
 "The cabin is just ahead," said John, pausing in his 
 rapid walk. "You see it is all right. The hound has 
 run to meet them." We hurried on. 
 
 A few moments and we emerged into the clearing. 
 The fierce sunlight made us blink after the dim, re- 
 ligious shade of the woods. We hurried to the cabin, ex- 
 pectant. The door idled, swinging wide open. I looked 
 for Renee to emerge in welcome from the interior. 
 
 We entered. The hound was aimlessly nosing about 
 the living room. No one greeted us. The place was 
 still, still as the grave. Only the outer twittering of 
 birds ; the cawing of passing crows. We listened for 
 a remembered voice, but none came. An odd sense of 
 desolation rested in the room, desolation gray and 
 dreary. I noticed with a shock that the furniture 
 was dull with dust ; that a window had been broken, 
 the glass strewing the unswept floor.
 
 124 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 I stepped to the little kitchen, built off an end of the 
 living room. The evidence of desertion was unmis- 
 takable. The ashes of a dead fire, cold and gray, 
 the rusting utensils, told of long inattention. 
 
 I stared stupidly, hardly comprehending, when I 
 heard a low exclamation from John. He was bending 
 over the floor, examining something at which the 
 hound was sniffing. There were dark, sanguinary 
 blots there, dulled splotches of blood. Our faces 
 blanched. 
 
 "We must look outside," John said, and led the 
 way. Like a somnambulist I followed him. 
 
 As we stepped out upon the porch my eyes fell 
 upon a little book lying there. I glanced at the 
 title and the rush of a tender memory brought again 
 the spell of an autumn day, I lay again drowsily 
 watching a radiant face, the low music of a woman's 
 voice fell faint and far away and the impalpable 
 veil of sleep settled down like mist upon me. I 
 slipped the little book into my pocket. A terror 
 of foreboding seized me and left me shaking. 
 
 John stood still and scowling upon the porch, gaz- 
 ing about the clearing before us. Suddenly he grasped 
 my arm, pointing silently. 
 
 About a dozen feet away were the marks of a 
 struggle. The ground was trampled, the bruised 
 grasses trodden into the soil. In a moment we were 
 on the spot. John's keen eyes immediately espied 
 something which he indicated, a grim sternness gather- 
 ing about his mouth. It was the impress of a de- 
 formed foot, damningly distinct in the brown soil, 
 as plain as when first made, no rain having fallen 
 for days. 
 
 "That fiend!" I burst out, my voice shaking. 
 "John, why did you not kill him?"
 
 TWO GRAVES 125 
 
 His face went gray but he did not answer. 
 
 "It cannot be too late!" I cried, clutching his arm. 
 "They must have been here only recently, else the 
 mark would be obliterated ! Perhaps we may over- 
 take them!" 
 
 "You forget, Gilbert," he answered. "It has been 
 very dry. Still we can tell if the trail is fresh. Gyp- 
 so!" he called. The hound came bounding to him 
 from the rear of the cabin. Godfrey indicated the 
 foot-print. The hound sniffed, moved ahead a few 
 feet and paused, baffled. 
 
 "It is an old trail," said John, "but see, the dog 
 moves to the north. That hellhound and his red 
 curs are long since back in Canada. If he were here 
 now," his voice grown snarling, "I would rip him 
 in two, though God cursed me!" 
 
 "Though God cursed you!" I repeated, stupefied. 
 "That beast! That monstrous vile toad!" 
 
 "You do not know," he muttered, turning away. 
 I regarded him curiously, even in the midst of my 
 torturing fears. What unknown thing lay between 
 these two? 
 
 The hound had again disappeared behind the cabin. 
 We followed him, thinking perhaps to find a clew to 
 the mystery. 
 
 The dog was at the edge of the woods. He was 
 whining softly and scratching at the ground, brown 
 clods flying out behind him. 
 
 We drew nearer and saw something that chilled our 
 blood. Before us lay two mounds, the surmounting 
 forest earth still fresh upon them. We drew near fear- 
 fully, Godfrey snatching the hound away. 
 
 They lay just within some low underbrush. A 
 rude wooden slab, doing duty for both of them, waS 
 dimly visible through the leaves. Dashing aside the
 
 126 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 screening bushes we beheld the board, on which had 
 been rudely marked with charcoal the words : 
 
 VINCENT DE MONTEFORT 
 
 and 
 
 RENEE, HIS DAUGHTER. 
 June 29, 1812. 
 
 I do not know how long I stood petrified, gazing 
 straight before me with the stare that lies in the eyes 
 of the dead ere the lids are closed down forever. 
 There comes a moment into the lives of most of us 
 into which seems rolled all the agony of the ages ; a 
 moment in which the numb misery of all time, since its 
 beginning, is bursting the brain while the heart sheds 
 tears of blood. It is a horrible, soul-affrighting thing, 
 a blackness of stupefying darkness across which 
 writhes a single bolt of light; the livid lightning- 
 flash of realization of what a nightmare a bereft 
 eternity must be. 
 
 I was dimly aware of John grasping my hand. I 
 looked dully into his pitying eyes that searched my 
 own. Then, divining that I was in hell, he left me, 
 saying no word. 
 
 After a little I stretched my arms across the graves, 
 my eyes hard and burning in my stony face. "O, 
 God!" I breathed, despair and rebellion writhing 
 within me, "she saved my life. And I I came too 
 late!" 
 
 I flung myself face down in the grass, trying to 
 forget and to remember. The breeze crooned in the 
 leaves, the smell of ferns came fragrant from the 
 shadows, there was the song of birds. 
 
 It grew intolerable. I struggled to my feet, and as
 
 TWO GRAVES 127 
 
 if dazed, walked past the cabin to the tortuous little 
 path that led to the river and hurried along it, reel- 
 ing like a dnunken man, tripping and falling headlong 
 over roots and dead trunks, indifferent to my bruises. 
 There was a stealthy step behind me, but I did not 
 turn. 
 
 I had reached the rendezvous, the spot where Renee 
 had kept tryst with her birds in the long summers. 
 How I had pictured her a thousand times, threading 
 her way daily to the river, as the days lengthened 
 and the waters rose, freighted with their outgoing 
 crust of strangling ice. There she was wont to stand 
 expectant, her eyes to the southward. There she had 
 waited for the spring to bring them, her birds, and 
 finally they had come and she was lost to view in 
 the center of a white billowing cloud. Did they 
 grieve at her neglect now, I wondered dully. Had 
 they come daily to the spot, to coo mournfully in 
 vain, finally to wheel sorrowfully and soar away, 
 hurt because forgotten? Forgotten? Perhaps, but 
 only because the dear eyes that had watched for 
 their coming, with the fond light in them, were for- 
 ever closed; only because the little hands that had 
 fed them were eternally at rest. My eyes stung; I 
 gazed at the little river through blinding tears. 
 
 A little longer and I returned to the cabin. I heard 
 a rustling some distance in front of me, but John was 
 seated on the porch when I emerged into the clearing. 
 
 We sat sadly for a time, saying nothing. "Who 
 found and cared for them, I wonder, " I said at last. 
 . "I think it was probably some wandering hunter, 
 perhaps some one who had known and loved them," 
 he answered, "and he saw to it that they were laid 
 at rest. The date is probably that of burial." 
 
 For a time we sat in unbroken silence, the hound
 
 iz8 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 at our feet, watching us mournfully. Finally we rose, 
 and without looking back, shouldered our packs and 
 rifles and retraced our steps across the clearing and 
 into the dim woods.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 In the Lion's Jaws 
 
 I pushed my plate away impatiently. "No, Dor- 
 othy!" I exclaimed, almost roughly, "I tell you I 
 do not want it! Please take it away!" 
 
 My sister reached tentatively for the dainty dish 
 she had prepared. Her eyes filled and her sweet 
 young face was troubled. " I am sorry, Gilbert, but 
 I thought " she faltered. 
 
 I caught her hand. "Forgive me, Dorothy!" I 
 burst out. " I am a brute, but I am very miserable." 
 
 Leaving my barely tasted supper, I hastily left the 
 house, encountering John outside. 
 
 We walked to the main street and proceeded to the 
 quarters of our companies. It had been four days 
 since we returned from the cabin, four interminable 
 days for me. My grief was a stone that weighed me 
 down, I brooded constantly. John had tried tactfully 
 to bring me out of myself, but the wound was still 
 too raw. My father and sister had remarked my 
 depression, but I knew that they ascribed it to the 
 natural sadness I felt at arriving too late to be of aid 
 to friends who had so well served me in time of trou- 
 ble, though I think that Dorothy, with her woman's 
 perception, probed deeper and understood in part 
 the blow which had fallen upon me. Her manner 
 to me was tender in those days, evidencing a com- 
 passion which I appreciated at times.
 
 i 3 o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 As John and I approached the quarters we accosted 
 a curious character, who stopped, extending a skinny, 
 yellow hand, whining for alms. Her rapacious talons 
 clutched the resultant offering as if they would never 
 let it go. Her toothless jaws gaped in a senile smile. 
 
 "God save you for Christians, gentlemen," she 
 croaked. "I must have a crust and a pallet some- 
 wheres and few are the coppers I get to pay for 
 'em," and she blinked rheumy eyes at us. 
 
 "Hard lines, Mother Corp," said John, glancing 
 quizzically at the red cape she wore. "But war is in 
 the land, and truly, your cloak smacks of fealty to 
 all the Georges, living and dead." 
 
 "War, yes, red war!" mumbled the crone. "Blood 
 and war, both red ! The redder the better, good sirs. 
 Blood's made for the lettin'. It's to flow, mark me, 
 good red blood, your blood and his." She bit the 
 coins we had given her with her remaining snags, 
 melancholy monuments of her departed youth. Sat- 
 isfied, she thrust the money within her withered 
 bosom. It was safe there. 
 
 "A pleasant prospect, truly," rejoined John, with a 
 grim smile. "But, Mother Corp, who tells you of 
 these things?" 
 
 "Who tells me?" she replied, with weird chucklings. 
 "It's in the air, my gentlemen, in the air. The winds 
 blow it, the waters moan it, the breezes whisper it at 
 night. You shall bleed and many with you. The 
 sun sinks red these days and woe will come from 
 Frontenac." 
 
 "Woe came the other day; on a Sabbath day you 
 will remember, good mother," answered John. "It 
 came and it went away again, with its tail between 
 its legs and in a most ungodly hurry." 
 
 "True, my merry gentleman," chuckled the decrepit
 
 IN THE LION'S JAWS 131 
 
 dame, her sinister grin gleaming dim in the gathering 
 dusk, "but wait another day. Thy friends, they will 
 come again from Frontenac." 
 
 "And be sure, old mother," he replied, "that when 
 they do they will return again to Frontenac." 
 
 "May be, may be," mouthed the hag, "but some of 
 you will go with them, and many of you they will 
 leave behind them. For the dead are useless and it 
 is a waste of time to carry carrion." She moved 
 away up the street, mumbling and muttering, the 
 lake breeze billowing her crimson cloak in fantastic 
 fashion. 
 
 John burst into a loud laugh. "Well, upon my 
 soul!" he ejaculated. "The old woman's wits have 
 not all gone wool-gathering, I'll be bound. From 
 what strange, God-forsaken cranny did she come, 
 Gilbert?" 
 
 "No one knows," I answered, as we walked slowly 
 on to the quarters. "She has been in these parts 
 for years, subsisting on alms. When she has tempor- 
 arily exhausted Christian charity on this sparse side 
 of the water, the other has the doubtful blessing of 
 her. She always returns, however, and wanders from 
 one hamlet to another and even among the cabins 
 in the forest, seeking food and shelter. I take it her 
 pickings have not been plenty of late. That is why 
 she has consigned all of us to red ruin, as you heard." 
 
 "So no one knows whence she came," he observed. 
 "I take it she is not a native." 
 
 "Not she," I answered dryly. "The country is 
 hardly old enough for that, unless she be an abori- 
 gine, and if the redskins were accused of kin to her 
 there would be a rising and a general massacre of 
 us whites. They hate her, thinking she has a devil, 
 therefore fearing to harm her. As you have noticed,
 
 132 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 she is somewhat demented and they have a super- 
 stitious awe of such. The Indians on both sides of 
 the river give her a wide berth." 
 
 Approaching the quarters, we saw Sergeant Cyrenus 
 sitting astride a dismantled gun, his pipe in his lean 
 jaws, watching with malicious eyes someone across 
 the road. This proved to be Sergeant Noadiah, 
 sitting solemnly on the ground, his fat back resting 
 against a pyramid of casks, munching tobacco with 
 grave satisfaction. Sergeant Noadiah paused in his 
 munching at the sound of our footsteps and turned 
 his head. He saw Cyrenus. Rising, he lumbered 
 away with fat dignity. Cyrenus removed his pipe 
 from his mouth and spat with unction. 
 
 Lighting candles in the rough shanty which served 
 us for company headquarters, John and I set to 
 work on some plans of projected work on the de- 
 fences. We had not been long engaged when there 
 entered an infantryman, saluting. 
 
 "Captain Warburton," said he, "General Brown 
 desires you to report to him at once at Colonel 
 Bellinger's quarters." 
 
 I followed him from the room. Darkness had shut 
 down, blotting out the village, save for its twinkling 
 lights, like fireflies in a meadow. A pale moon 
 gleamed now and then through occasional rifts in 
 the heavy cloud masses overhead, driven by a rising 
 wind. There was a presage of rain; the air was 
 sodden with moisture. 
 
 General Brown's home was a few miles distant, 
 toward Watertown, but he spent most of his time 
 during these days at the Harbor, being in command 
 of the militia of the region. In a few moments I had 
 reached the quarters and was admitted by the sentry 
 on guard.
 
 IN THE LION'S JAWS 133 
 
 I stood in a plainly furnished room. Some military 
 maps and drawings hung upon the walls. A battered 
 old portrait of Washington, much the worse for wear, 
 gloomed down upon us. 
 
 General Brown rose, his hands behind him, his 
 powerful frame looming large in the dim light of the 
 guttering candles. Long legs he had and square, 
 powerful shoulders. No feathers and fuss about this 
 famous fighter; his was the simplicity of action, 
 swift and terrible. Such was the man who was mov- 
 ing heaven, earth and Washington to secure men, 
 money and munitions; the man whom, as I believe 
 before God, would have thrilled the world and his 
 generation, with others to be born, had not the wan, 
 compelling ghost of military precedent tied his hands. 
 Had the reins of power been held by Brown's fingers, 
 I believe that in place of those Canadian campaigns 
 which must forever, through the crass blunders and cow- 
 ardice of monumental military weaklings, be my 
 country's shame, there would have been one grand 
 movement, complete in project, overwhelming in 
 achievement, and the brightest page of the infant- 
 nation's endeavors in that war for right and liberty 
 would have been written. The genius to command 
 was stamped in every line of his face. The power of 
 conquest rang in his voice, flashed from his indom- 
 itable eye. He raised his strong arm and his sword 
 flashed in air; men cheered like mad and followed 
 him in desperation to their death; followed him, I 
 say, because he was always at the head of his troops 
 and did not fall himself only because the hand of God 
 was with him. With such a leader, armed with the 
 complete resources that were so badly needed but 
 so insufficiently bestowed, what could have prevented 
 Canada's undoing?
 
 134 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 I was at first minded to grasp his hand, for I 
 knew him well. But I was instinctively reminded of 
 the recent close of our civic relations. I saluted, he 
 returning it. 
 
 "Captain Warburton," he said, with that directness 
 which was characteristic of him. "I require a man 
 to sail for Frontenac immediately, and have chosen 
 you, in accordance with our recent conversation. 
 The mission, as you know, is a hazardous one. De- 
 tection means a noose, tight drawn. Are you willing 
 to go?" 
 
 "More than willing, General," I answered quietly. 
 "As I told you and at any time." 
 
 He regarded me keenly. "To-night?" he queried. 
 
 "It is dark and therefore more convenient," I 
 replied. 
 
 "Good!" he said, and the quiet word thrilled me 
 with a certain sense of worthiness. "It may be some- 
 what wet, but the sailors assure me they do not 
 look for a dangerously heavy blow. One of the best 
 sailors on the lake will take you there to-night. He 
 will leave you some distance west of the town. You 
 must then fend for yourself. Make rough maps of 
 defences, get the strength of the garrison and all 
 military resources you can gather, the extent of the 
 shipbuilding, and in a word all the data possible. 
 Do not expose yourself more than is necessary, but 
 do not be over-cautious, for it would arouse sus- 
 picion far sooner than the other extreme. Three 
 nights hence be at the spot where my man will leave 
 you, which will be a small cove a few miles west of 
 Frontenac. Prepare to leave in one hour. The sail- 
 boat is anchored near the Oneida, in readiness for 
 you. You have the uniform?" 
 
 "Lieutenant Stranahan had one of his own color
 
 IN THE LION'S JAWS 135 
 
 among his effects," I answered. "We are of a size." 
 
 "Good!" he commented. "When in Rome, you 
 know." He smiled. 
 
 My brow clouded as my memory reverted to the 
 capture. A black fate, indeed! "Poor devil!" I mut- 
 tered. 
 
 "He was a spy ! " replied the general, frowning. 
 "And a spy He paused. 
 
 I saluted and turned to go. "I, too, am a spy, 
 General," I answered low. He nodded silently, his 
 face troubled. I made to leave the room. 
 
 "Captain Warburton," called the General, and I 
 paused again. "I despatch you on this hazardous 
 duty because I have absolute confidence in your dis- 
 cretion and ability. And take care of yourself," he 
 added and offered his hand. I grasped it and left. 
 
 I hurried to the house and changed my uniform 
 for Stranahan's. My own I bundled up to don before 
 I should recross the lake to resume my supposed 
 surveillance on the southern frontier. These tactics 
 would assist in disarming suspicion. I took leave 
 of my father and sister, stating my mission, as I 
 thought it best to do. My father clasped my hand 
 and Dorothy smiled bravely, though with wet eyes. 
 I embraced her tenderly, mentally cursing my rough- 
 ness of an hour gone. 
 
 I stopped for a moment to acquaint John with my 
 matter. The bones of my hand cracked as he wrung it. 
 
 "I would caution you, but you will not need it, for 
 you will succeed," he told me. A little later and I 
 was on my way to the waiting boat. The sailor in 
 charge, a middle-aged man of medium height and a 
 shrewd, brown face, had everything in readiness. 
 We presently worked out of the harbor and sailed 
 down the bay toward the open lake.
 
 136 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The wind blew steadily; there was an occasional 
 drop of rain. We passed the outlying islands, black 
 patches in the gloom, which was relieved occasionally 
 when the wan beams of the moon pierced the shift- 
 ing cloud-reaches overhead. For a couple of hours 
 we drove along at a good speed, tacking but little. 
 The man in the stern, taciturn and unsociable, said 
 never a word, devoting himself to the management 
 of the boat. He could have guided it through dark- 
 ness that would have tried the eyes of a house cat, 
 for he knew the lake better than most know 
 books. 
 
 For a time it looked as if General Brown's opti- 
 mistic information regarding the weather would hold 
 good and we would get to Frontenac without trouble. 
 At one time when I judged we were about half way, 
 the sky was blown nearly clear of clouds and it grew 
 quite light. 
 
 But now the wind shifted, then veered again. Like 
 a howling banshee it tore straight across the lake, 
 driving a great bank of clouds down upon us, riven 
 with livid lightning, spreading blackness over us, 
 darkness in which one could scarcely see a hand. 
 Thunder muttered, growing till it bellowed in our 
 ears. There was a dash of rain, then the heavens 
 were opened. The wind howled in our rear, driving 
 us straight north. We were in the midst of one of 
 those terrific gales for which Ontario is famed ; famed 
 and feared. 
 
 My companion laughed dryly in the darkness. 
 "Headed for Frontenac, anyway," he chuckled. "No 
 gettin' around that." 
 
 The wind lashed the waters and great seas, foam- 
 crested, drenched us with their spray. The boat 
 heeled over, taking in a great wash of water. A
 
 IN THE LION'S JAWS 137 
 
 thundering wave crashed against her side. She 
 trembled like a wild thing. 
 
 "We're makin' time, anyhow," came from the stern. 
 "Was about in the middle when this struck us. 
 Liable to be at both ends, you at one and me at 
 t'other, when it's done with. Makin' this last 
 twenty-five mile in great time, I tell ye, boy. Feel 
 her buryin' of her nose ! " 
 
 At last we beheld a faint glow some distance to the 
 east, the lights of Frontenac. At any rate we would 
 land as instructed, if we landed at all, above the 
 town. 
 
 Some distance more we tore through the water 
 when suddenly there came a grinding shock. The 
 boat had crashed, head-on, into some obstacle. She 
 tipped violently. I had foolishly been standing up, 
 gazing toward the glow, and was thrown headlong 
 into the water. 
 
 I sank deep into that roaring waste, rising to the 
 surface choking and with ringing ears. I yelled aloud 
 for my steersman. Nothing came in reply but the 
 infernal howl of the wind, the wash of the mighty 
 waves. He, together with my boat and my own uni- 
 form, had evidently gone by the board. But there 
 was another sound, faint and far away. I listened. 
 It was the beating of the surf upon a shore still dis- 
 tant, and the wind was driving me with the swells 
 directly toward it. 
 
 I struck out. I was an expert in the water in those 
 days, but aquatic exercise with soaked clothing 
 proved exhausting. I relaxed, breathing hard, merely 
 keeping myself afloat while the waves carried me 
 shoreward. 
 
 The billows buffeted and strangled me. My limbs 
 were leaden and the breath seemed gone from me.
 
 138 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The waters rolled over my head. Half drowned, I 
 sought to swim again, but it was of no use. I was 
 exhausted. With a despairing groan I ceased my ex- 
 ertions and sank. 
 
 I rested on my knees, my mouth gaping with as- 
 tonishment because above water. Before I could 
 fully grasp the fact, along came a booming wave, 
 catching me sternward and heaving me, gasping and 
 choking, upon my face in sand and water. An in- 
 stant more and I had staggered to my feet, plunging 
 through the shoal water and sprawling, completely 
 done, on the Canadian shore; in the enemy's country 
 and thanking God.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Red Rolfe 
 
 I lay for a time inert. I was still so close to the 
 raging lake that its spray drenched me where I 
 sprawled. It was so dark that I could distinguish 
 but dimly the deeper murk of the wooded shore be- 
 fore me, and then only at infrequent intervals as the 
 rolling clouds occasionally broke and the pale moon- 
 beams feebly struggled through the rifts. The leonine 
 roar of the surf, thunderous and insistent, was in my 
 ears. I panted like a spent hound. After a while I 
 staggered weakly to my feet and clambered up the 
 precipitous side of a steep bank. Small stones rat- 
 tled under my feet ; the dark masses of the adjacent 
 woodlands, swathed in funereal gloom, loomed close at 
 hand. I swished through long grasses, drenched with 
 spray. I caught myself picking my way cautiously, 
 to escape the wet, and laughed grimly when I remem- 
 bered my soaked condition. 
 
 Now I had reached the crest of the bank and 
 plunged into a dense growth of bushes. I was deep 
 in impenetrable darkness. I went aimlessly on, the 
 growl of the surf sounding fainter in my ears. 
 
 I do not know how long I struggled on under these 
 depressing conditions, but I never exercised my legs 
 under more unpleasant circumstances. My soaked 
 garments sagged about my body. I was chilled, for 
 though it was July, the rain and the water were cold
 
 1 40 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 with the whipping gale. I pushed on only because it 
 was more comfortable to do so than to remain in- 
 active. Though I could see nothing about me, I 
 noted the proximity of objects in unpleasant ways. 
 Unseen branches scraped my face and left it bleeding ; 
 I tripped over logs and tree roots and fell upon my 
 battered visage with sundry imprecations. I hoped 
 the dawn was not far distant. 
 
 An owl hooted near me with chilling lugubrious- 
 ness. Vague stirrings sounded from the rain-swept dark- 
 ness. The wind had risen. The crashing of adjacent 
 branches startled me. I leaped aside as one came 
 tearing down, close to my head. I was willing to 
 be hanged, if need be, for the good of the cause, 
 but desired a chance to test my wits against those 
 of the enemy first. 
 
 Plainly, however, this was an aimless wandering. 
 The roar of the surf had grown again; I was evi- 
 dently traveling in a circle. I finally sank down dis- 
 couraged upon the soaked ground, which was no 
 wetter than I, and cursed the continuance of 
 night. I had frequently fared nocturnally in the 
 forest, but under more pleasing conditions. 
 
 On the whole, my luck was ill. I peered disconso- 
 lately ahead into the darkness. Suddenly I noted a 
 faint glimmer of light. I watched it intently for a 
 moment, thinking it one of those fancied flashes which 
 come from the straining of eyes that seek to pierce 
 intense gloom. But it remained and revived me. 
 Gaining my feet I made toward it. 
 
 In a few moments, while hastening along that dark, 
 uneven way, I stepped off into space and found my- 
 self to the neck in cold running water. Additional 
 wettings, more or less, could not disconcert me now, 
 and I struck out unconcernedly. It was a small
 
 RED ROLFE 141 
 
 stream and a few strokes served to carry me to the 
 opposite bank. The light was now close at hand 
 and I was speedily there. 
 
 In the midst of the black forest stood a tiny cabin 
 of logs, or shack would be a better word. From a 
 rude aperture which served for a window streamed 
 the light I had seen. 
 
 I made my way hastily to the door, at which I 
 knocked. There was no answer. I paused a moment 
 and knocked again. 
 
 "Who's there?" came in a quavering tone from 
 inside. 
 
 " No one that will harm you," I rejoined. " Let me 
 in and I'll tell you about it." 
 
 "Mon Dieu ! have you come for me?" asked the 
 voice, unmistakably frightened. 
 
 "I don't know you and you don't know me!" I 
 answered angrily, for my patience was nigh done. 
 "I want shelter and a little drying, that is all." 
 
 Now the door opened a very little. I inserted my 
 foot, whereupon the occupant sought to slam the 
 portal shut again. Exasperated, I flung my weight 
 against the boards that barred me. The door flew 
 open with such celerity that I fell through it. A 
 small figure reeled backward against the opposite 
 wall. 
 
 "You wear the red, m'sieur !" gasped a voice, "and 
 yet you say you have not come for me!" 
 
 "Nor have I," I grinned at him, regaining my 
 equilibrium and my temper simultaneously. "What 
 could I do with you if I took you? Why should 
 anyone want you?" 
 
 Indeed there was reason for the query. The little 
 man was far from prepossessing, either in face or 
 physique. His small, bent figure, with rounded
 
 142 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 shoulders, was illy clothed. His dark, wrinkled face, 
 unmistakably French, wore a hunted, furtive expres- 
 sion. The features had an oddly unfinished appear- 
 ance, as if hewn out with a dulled chisel. The black 
 eyes were large and staring. Cupidity leered from 
 them; the whites were splotched with red. A fringe 
 of ragged gray whisker straggled from either ear, re- 
 luctantly meeting under a lean jaw. A mass of long, 
 iron-gray hair snarled uncombed nearly to his 
 shoulders. His skin was leathery and his hands, 
 with abnormally long fingers and untrimmed nails, 
 were never quiet. They picked incessantly; now at 
 the thin beard, presently at his buttons, again at 
 the sorry whiskers. 
 
 I began to strip off my soaked uniform. " Pray 
 overlook my remaining without leave," said I, smil- 
 ing amiably at my gaping host. " But, as it is, can 
 we have a fire? And may I have some clothes while 
 these are drying?" 
 
 The little man arose without a word. Ascending a 
 rough ladder which led to a loft above, he rummaged 
 therein. He reappeared with a nondescript bundle 
 which he thought might do. I ascended the ladder 
 and effected the change, tossing down my own water- 
 logged outfit. The little man's trousers were far from 
 ample, and, as I sat down, I feared for their entirety. 
 Over my shoulders I had thrown a coat of my host's 
 and thrust my feet into a pair of well-worn boots he 
 had secured for me. I began to feel more comfort- 
 able. The odd little stranger bustled about, prepar- 
 ing a blaze in his rude fireplace to dry my uniform. 
 Presently the clothes were toasting and I had the 
 grace of an afterthought to thank him. 
 
 "Why were you frightened at my approach?" I 
 asked the little man, who was nervously regarding me.
 
 RED ROLFE 143 
 
 " I thought, m'sieur, that you had come from Fron- 
 tenac to bring me to fight, as they have many," he 
 replied. " Non, merci, m'sieur, I would rather not ! 
 It is safer not." 
 
 "True," I answered dryly. "Who are you?" 
 
 "One Jacques Pitou," he replied simply. "And 
 you, m'sieur?" 
 
 "Lieutenant Percy Stranahan, of Montreal," I 
 rejoined glibly, remembering just in time to lie. "I 
 have been in some little business on the other side 
 and was trying to reach Frontenac when we lost our 
 reckoning and almost our lives in this cursed storm. 
 I managed somehow to reach the shore. I don't 
 know where my boatman is. Perhaps in paradise." 
 
 He grinned and grunted. " How long shall you 
 stay, m'sieur?" he inquired, with ill-concealed anxiety. 
 
 " Only a few hours," I replied, " until my clothing 
 is dried and I have eaten and rested. I shall pay 
 you for your trouble, Pitou." 
 
 He burst into assurances of pleasure at my presence. 
 My promise to pay had made all the difference in the 
 world, as I had surmised it would. The gleam in the 
 mottled eyes, the clawing hands, had revealed the 
 woodsman's weakness. 
 
 I checked his impassioned utterances with some dis- 
 gust. "How far am I from Frontenac, Pitou?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Only a little over five miles, Lieutenant," he 
 purred in his broken English, grown suddenly servile. 
 " There's good path not far from here. Take you to 
 the town direct. But why haste? You are fatigued; 
 stay and rest t'ree, four day." 
 
 I laughed aloud. An odd jingle hummed in my 
 head, a queer Canadian scrap picked up somewhere 
 during a trip in the woods :
 
 144 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 For value received, 
 
 I promise to pay 
 T'ree or four dollar 
 
 In free or four day; 
 If man no come 
 
 Money no bring 
 Pass right 'long 
 
 All th' same thing! 
 
 I chuckled at the whimsy. Pitou was eyeing me 
 with resentment and a little suspicion. "Why do 
 you laugh, m'sieur?" he asked. 
 
 " A trifle, mon ami," I told him. " Only a passing 
 thought. It concerned money." 
 
 " Money !" he echoed, horrified. " Mon Dieu, m'sieur, 
 I should not laugh at money ! Sacre, non ! The 
 money, it is a serious matter with me, m'sieur!" 
 
 " So I gather," I replied. " But as for my remain- 
 ing, Pitou, it can be for no longer than a few hours." 
 His ugly face grew pensive. " But you shall be well 
 paid," I added, and taking heart of hope, he grinned 
 again. 
 
 My eyes were now heavy and small wonder. I ex- 
 pressed the wish to retire. The queer little fellow 
 jumped up with abject courtesy and swarmed up the 
 ladder, catching up a tallow dip as he ran. I heard 
 him thrashing about overhead. Shortly afterward I 
 was stretched upon the shakedown he had prepared 
 for me. Tired as a dog, I fell speedily asleep, the 
 rain pattering softly upon the bark roof over me. It 
 ran through somewhat in spots, but I did not mind. 
 
 It was broad daylight when I awoke. The sky 
 was swept clear of clouds and the warm sun was 
 drying the moisture which still glistened upon the leaves 
 overhead and dampened the rich dark mould beneath. 
 The air, newly washed, was freshly intoxicating.
 
 RED ROLFE 145 
 
 Pitou had my uniform, fully dried, ready for me. 
 I donned it and hastened out of doors for a few 
 deep breaths, while Pitou prepared my breakfast 
 of porridge, cakes and venison. Rude fare, to be 
 sure, but I tried the three courses in turn, reversed 
 and was half through on a third circuit before I 
 desisted. For I ate in those days. 
 
 Breakfast done I lighted my pipe, and securing 
 some tobacco from Pitou, my own being ruined by 
 the water, I went out doors. Pitou accompanied me, 
 tenderly solicitous, deluging me with inquiries as to 
 my well being. Wearied, I sought a respite, asking 
 information in my turn. 
 
 "How do you subsist, Pitou?" I inquired. "How 
 came you here? The towns are less lonely." 
 
 "Sacre ! I do not care for them," he responded. 
 "Also, they are insistent there. As it is, I fear they 
 will come for me to fight. Me, diable, me! Each 
 day I fear it. I prefer to be here and trap, for it 
 is thus I live. As for my country, I came from France, 
 but it is long ago." 
 
 "Is it always so monotonous here?" I asked him. 
 "Have you never excitement?" 
 
 "Not here, thank God !" he replied devoutly. "Once 
 though, far north in the deep forest, there was much 
 to excite me, ver' much!" 
 
 "Tell me about it," I suggested, idly interested. 
 
 "It is but two years that I have been in this spot, 
 m'sieur," he told me. "Fr several years I was far 
 north, away from them all; one, tw hundred miles. 
 It was on the shore of a lake where the woods are 
 thick. There was ver' much game; it paid to stay. 
 But one night; ah, it was near to my last! 
 
 "It was a dark, wild night; much lak that just 
 passed, but ver' much worse. I been goin' to bunk
 
 I 4 6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 when there is a crash and bang ! m'sieur, down comes 
 the door of my shanty. And who stand there and 
 watch me, who but that Red Rolfe and his Indians, 
 six of them. You know of Rolfe, m'sieur?" 
 
 "Vaguely," I answered. "He is a white man who 
 is reputed to control a gang of outlaws gathered 
 from among the Indians of this region, is he not? 
 I have heard incredible tales of their devil's doings." 
 
 "Ah, you know not Red Rolfe," said Pitou, almost 
 in a whisper, "but I do. Sacre ! He is a devil from 
 hell, m'sieur ! I see him standing there with wolf's 
 grin on the damned red face of him. His teeth show 
 like they was dog's, and his dirty redskins stand 
 behind him. My heart jumps, m'sieur, then froze lak 
 ice. Me, I have heard of this devil. 
 
 "'Come, old man,' he say. 'Give up your money. 
 1 know you and you die by bleedin' inches if you 
 don't!' 
 
 "Well, m'sieur, I had it, but I been tore in little 
 pieces, lak paper, before they get one penny. Red 
 Rolfe, he swear lak soul in hell, and after a little 
 he tell them tak' and torture me. They begin to do 
 lak he say, but I don't remember well after a little, 
 for it grow dark. They strip me with knives, m'sieur ! " 
 He rolled up his sleeve and showed me a great, 
 irregular scar, deep and angry looking. "There are 
 many such," he added. 
 
 "I can but recollect," he continued, "that they 
 crowd around me and cut and pinch and hold torches 
 that blaze to my roastin' feet, while I howl, howl 
 like dam dog. And when I am not howl I bite my 
 lips through and through, so I shall not tell where 
 the money is. Mon Dieu ! how I hated them, m'sieur. 
 And finally, lak I dream, I hear Red Rolfe swear 
 and snarl lak dog he is.
 
 RED ROLFE 147 
 
 "'By God!' he yell, 'if he no talk [now he never 
 will again ! Pull out his tongue ! ' He grab my 
 jaw and push it down and ram his other hand full 
 in my mouth, m'sieur, feelin' for my tongue. 'Get a 
 knife!' he yell. 
 
 "I am mad then, m'sieur, mad to foam with fear 
 and the hate of him. I champ his dam fingers till 
 my teeth grate on the bones, lak saw through wood. 
 He howl like wolf, and his redskins, they wrench 
 my jaws apart to save his fingers that drip with 
 the bleed, else, before God, m'sieur, I should have 
 eaten them. And so he rage there lak big wood 
 cat, froth at mouth and shaking his fingers that 
 drip blood like rain, m'sieur." 
 
 "They come at me again, m'sieur, with knife to 
 do it, and I am wag my tongue for last time in 
 whisper of a prayer, when there is a rush from out- 
 side and in there bounds a big, black hound lak 
 mad bear, on top the whole crew. And so hard 
 does he come, m'sieur, that they all go sprawl over 
 each other on the floor. One of them, he draw and 
 try to knife the dog, but the dog he spring, swish ! 
 lak that, and over he go with dog's teeth meet in 
 his throat. Then there is a rush of feet outside, 
 and in jumps the biggest man le bon Dieu has ever 
 let me see, m'sieur. He lands most on the top of 
 me, and as my arms they are tied together, I roll 
 out of the way and lay up against the wall, watch- 
 ing. And the sight ! Dieu ! it keeps me young to 
 think of it, m'sieur ! 
 
 "He grabs couple of them by dirty necks, so " 
 illustrating with an eloquent gesture, "and crack ! 
 their heads go bang together. They drop lak logs. 
 He grabs wrist of another who is comin' with knife. 
 He twist the arm, I hear it snap. The two who
 
 148 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 are left, they get away, just as he stretch out his 
 long arms for them, and I b'lieve them to be run- 
 ning yet, m'sieur. The one with the arm that is 
 broke, him he kick out door, and with them the two 
 whose heads are cracked. 
 
 "All this time Red Rolfe, he stand and gape like 
 fish on shore, m'sieur, back up against wall. His 
 red whiskers and his red hair, they bristle lak hide 
 on dog. 
 
 I stifled an exclamation. A growing suspicion had 
 been suddenly verified. 
 
 "The giant, who has so well arrive, for my com- 
 fort, m'sieur, he turn to Rolfe and the black eyes of 
 him is lighted with the red flame. But he say not 
 one word, though I know that each he know the 
 other. The big man, he point to door. 
 
 "The red one, he start for it, and the big man, 
 he turn away with never one word yet. Red Rolfe, 
 he go sneak to door with look that is wicked as 
 hell in the cat's eyes of him. But just before he 
 reach it, because big man has turn his back, he grab 
 his knife and lunge at big man. I shout, m'sieur, 
 but it is too late if the hound had not been there. 
 But he has left the redskin, whose blood from his 
 torn throat has daub the floor, and the dog is meet 
 Rolfe half way and the back of the red one's head, 
 it hit the floor mos' ungodly hard, m'sieur, while 
 knife fly out his hand. 
 
 "The big man, he pull the growlin' dog off Red 
 Rolfe, and the big man's jaws, they grow set as 
 the hinges of hell, m'sieur. Then he speak the first 
 words I have hear him use. 'So,' he say, 'you have 
 got down to stab in back.' That it is all, then he 
 do a thing that keeps me young, m'sieur, only to 
 think of it.
 
 RED ROLFE 149 
 
 "Now Red Rolfe, he is a broad, short man, and 
 bull-like in the strength, but he is like a child, m'sieur, 
 in those terrible hands. I see the giant stand him 
 up and knock him down till his face, it is bruised 
 jelly, and his eyes they are shut tight lak kitten's 
 that is newly born. The blood, it stream down, 
 and the red whiskers, they are redder yet. Then, 
 when he is quite still and move no more at all to 
 get away, the big man, he pick him up and throw 
 him out door lak the others. And then, m'sieur, he 
 untie me and dress my hurts, and then bimeby he 
 make to prepare for himself his supper. 
 
 "The nex' day, we leave together, for I know it 
 is not safe for me there, and he carry me good part 
 of the way and is never tired. Dieu ! he is a giant, 
 m'sieur. He take me here, to this spot, where I make 
 to build me this cabin while he go on to Mon'real. 
 His name, I never know it, but my life, it he can 
 always command, m'sieur. Ah, the struggle ! Nom 
 de Dieu! If you could imagine it!" 
 
 I could imagine it. My thoughts flew back to the 
 scream of an involuntary suicide, so well remembered; 
 to the sight of a dark body shooting out from a 
 wooded bank into swift waters, as if hurled by a 
 catapult. I recalled a grim, straining struggle for 
 the possession of a rifle, a crashing blow full in a 
 fiend's face, a bleeding mouth despoiled of fangs. 
 Did I know the identity of the rescuen of Jacques 
 Pitou? As surely, indeed, as I knew Red Rolfe. 
 
 I took leave of my host shortly after dinner. "I 
 must get on to Frontenac," I said as I left him, 
 "and I hope we may meet again." As I had feed 
 him liberally, I made no doubt that a correspond- 
 ing sentiment, which he expressed, was unaffectedly 
 sincere.
 
 153 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 I set off toward Frontenac, gloating over the 
 vision conjured by the Frenchman's graphic words, 
 picturing the dismay of Red Rolfe and his villainous 
 crew that followed the entry of the terrible pair 
 among them. I imagined the red one's hateful face, 
 bloody and pulpy from righteous, honest blows, the 
 eyes closed tight as a baby kitten's. There were fat 
 chucklings in my throat that scandalized scolding 
 squirrels who peered at me, with inquisitive eyes, 
 from adjacent trees.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 At the King's Inn 
 
 I walked leisurely on through the forest. The 
 course, but dimly distinguishable in places, wound 
 on through the thick of the woods. The afternoon 
 was yet young and there was no need for haste. 
 Discretion counselled that it would be better to make 
 my entry into the town in the evening, so I pro- 
 ceeded slowly. 
 
 I felt reasonably confident and well equipped for 
 the enterprise. Moreover, I entered into it with a 
 certain recklessness of indifference that would cer- 
 tainly neutralize the excess of caution against which 
 General Brown had warned me. I brooded constant- 
 ly over the bitter fate that had befallen Renee and 
 her father, and, had it not been for duty, I had 
 cared but little in my present mood what might be- 
 fall me, short of a rope. That I would not brook. 
 If the worst came, why then I could anticipate it. 
 
 The sun was quite low when I had leisurely gone 
 the five miles or thereabouts that intervened between 
 the cabin and the outskirts of the town. Stopping 
 at intervals to lounge under some friendly tree, I 
 had prolonged the walk, but now I had arrived at 
 the forest's edge and was close to the grim Mecca 
 of my journey. Prowling among the trees, I gazed 
 at the adjacent bundle of quaint, limestone build- 
 ings, sprawling squat and burly, dull gray in the
 
 1 52 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 fading sunlight. A gilded cross, surmounting the 
 spire of a large, stone church, flamed in the crimson 
 glow. The town's main streets, white, dusty ribbons, 
 ran straight back from the long, close-built water 
 front, the principal thoroughfares cris-crossed by 
 smaller ones in checkered design. Here and there, 
 like sentinels, grimly in advance, stood blockhouses, 
 facing the water. The outflung islands that hedged 
 the harbor lay, green with verdure, great emeralds 
 in the lake which, a stone's throw further on, merged 
 its waters with the wide current of the mighty St. 
 Lawrence, for here began the Canadian channel. 
 Below the town, facing the flood that was disquieted 
 with the breath of a whispering summer wind, stood 
 Frontenac's guarding fortress. Low and gray and 
 rambling, massively imperturbable, it sprawled on a 
 low, green hill, grimly watchful, leashed thunders 
 prisoned in the gullets of its guns. 
 
 The harbor itself, full of shipping, pulsed and 
 throbbed. Late as it was growing, my ears caught 
 the distant sound of hammers and the vague stir of 
 strenuous preparation in the dockyards. Additions to 
 the formidable fleet, with which Yeo dreamed of sweep- 
 ing the lake, were building there. Clearly our Can- 
 adian cousins were alive to the harried situation and 
 I made no doubt, even from my distant vantage 
 ground, that they were much better equipped than 
 ourselves. 
 
 But now the sun had dipped beneath the western 
 rim and the dusk fell softly. The music of the ham- 
 mers ceased and quiet fell. The shadows deepened 
 where I prowled, becoming merged in murk. A little 
 longer and the stars came glimmering; the crescent 
 moon curtsied to a cloudless sky. The wind ruffled 
 the leaves above me, a soft wind, free from all
 
 AT THE KING'S INN 153 
 
 boisterousness. The bull-like brawl of the night 
 previous seemed strangely remote. 
 
 The time was at hand. I repeated my new name, 
 for practice, and strode on toward the town. Pres- 
 ently I passed some straggling houses. The clatter 
 of belated supping came to me. I was reminded of 
 my own need. 
 
 I soon reached the clocks, and turning, walked up 
 a main street of the town. Soldiers were here and 
 there; splotches of crimson covered the thorough- 
 fare like the floor of a forest in September. They 
 sauntered, they stood in small knots. They rolled 
 pensive eyes at bug-eyed maids, loitering hard by, 
 and were grandly oblivious to round-orbed children. 
 I brushed elbows with these apparent comrades as I 
 hurried on for supper. No nervousness dwelt within 
 me. I was a gambler, confident and cool. The stakes 
 were heavy, but my state of mind admitted no timor- 
 ous fear. Besides, I held a hand far better than my 
 opponents knew. So, with a reasonable degree of 
 faith in the outcome, I reached the King's Inn. 
 
 The inn, low and rambling, stood to the right of 
 the long, straight street. Of rude but massive archi- 
 tecture, its limestone walls, seamed and weatherbeaten, 
 supported an ancient roof. For Frontenac was a 
 venerable town and this, its chief inn, had grown 
 hoary with it. As I approached it a babel came 
 from within; hoarse voices, clamorous laughter. A 
 number of the king's men in uniform stood with some 
 civilians in front of the door. They moved to allow 
 me to enter. 
 
 I paused a breath upon the threshold, for this was 
 the crucial moment, then went in. 
 
 I stood in a large, low room, lighted with great, 
 guttering candles. The smell of tallow smote the air,
 
 i 5 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 mingling with the stronger, spirituous odors. Great 
 gouts of sound bellowed about me, the room was full 
 to overflowing with redcoats. Full to overflowing 
 were some of these latter also, as I gathered at a 
 glance. Their thick tongues were loosened, gushing 
 boisterously, while their quieter companions grinned 
 with the appreciation which men feel for the condition 
 of those more drunken than themselves. 
 
 Through the babbling vortex I twisted unnoticed, 
 seeking the landlord. I met him half way, for he had 
 noted my coming and scented custom. He was a 
 weasel-faced little man with furtive eyes that gleamed 
 with the love of money rather than for the things 
 which money brings. He stood rubbing thin hands, 
 a servile grin cracking his unhallowed face. 
 
 "Supper," I ordered briefly. "I am just arrived 
 from a long journey and am tired. Take me out 
 of this bawling mob." 
 
 The innkeeper led me out of the maelstrom into 
 the eating room, the brawl coming more faintly to 
 me through the thick, closed doors. I was served 
 substantially and rose renewed. Filling and lighting 
 my pipe, I repaired to the room wherein my whilom 
 comrades were disporting. 
 
 The fun had grown more furious, serving men were 
 rushing hither and yon, laden with flagons and 
 glasses, no sooner replenished than emptied. Uni- 
 formed figures sprawled in the heavy chairs about 
 the small tables. Glasses clinked and bumping mugs 
 pledged healths interminable. A stalwart figure rose 
 unsteadily, a filled mug circling tremulously over 
 the speaker's head. A bibulous voice proposed a 
 toast that was lost in the general confusion, whereat 
 the owner of the voice, grumbling in his mug, sat 
 down again.
 
 AT THE KING'S INN 155 
 
 Scraps of disjointed conversation caught my ear. 
 I was edified to learn that, for the most part, it 
 concerned the Yankees. However, as the Red-coats 
 were the subject of like discussion at the Harbor 
 opposite, probably under similar circumstances 
 at this very time, it was not seriously wounding. 
 What did cause me concern was the number of officers 
 in that room. Captains and lieutenants galore, 
 subalterns a plenty and more coming in. The gener- 
 als, majors and colonels, how many of them were 
 there I wondered whimsically, and where was their 
 trysting place? They had evidently not been wast- 
 ing time in Frontenac. Their harbor was clamorous 
 with the sound of preparation; a formidable fleet 
 already rode at anchor within it; more brigs were 
 building. Even in the short time, I had noticed 
 the scope of the defences and the possibilities for 
 offense. Contrasting this state of affairs with our own 
 pitiful paucity of resource, my heart might well sink 
 within me. True, the first attempt had failed, but 
 what might the second bring to us? That it would 
 be made was wholly certain. A little more time for 
 preparation, a more thorough organization of forces, 
 and, as Mother Corp had said, woe would surely 
 come from Frontenac. The Harbor was a portal to 
 the patriot frontier. Let the key be possessed by the 
 enemy, and the entire region would be at his mercy. 
 
 All this I thought in a breath of time. The noise 
 about me increased in volume. Thus far the situation 
 had been merely convivial. There had been nothing 
 of ill nature. United in a common denunciation of 
 the Yankees, no taint of internecine strife had 
 yet disturbed the exuberant serenity of the gath- 
 ering. I sat there regarding my fellows with some 
 amusement, till now happily unnoticed.
 
 156 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 But now a burly figure arose unsteadily from a 
 seat at the end of the room, coming toward me. It 
 was that of a middle aged man, somewhat above 
 medium height, compactly and powerfully built. He 
 lurched a trifle as he approached. Stopping, he 
 brought a thick hand down resoundingly on my 
 shoulder. A red, blotched face, lighted luridly with 
 bloodshot eyes, was thrust nearly into my own. The 
 reek of drams innumerable was in my shrinking 
 nostrils. 
 
 "A stranger, eh ?" roared a hoarse voice, thick with 
 drink. "So that you wear the scarlet coat, you're 
 welcome. But who. are you?" 
 
 The attention of the entire crew was drawn by 
 the rough salutation, so it was amid silence that I 
 answered him. 
 
 "I am Lieutenant Percy Stranahan," said I, "and 
 I am just arrived from Montreal on certain business 
 which I hope will result fortunately for our cause. 
 You will all probably know of it later." 
 
 "To-morrow will care for itself," bellowed the man 
 before me, thrusting his beefy face further into my 
 own. "It's to-night we're living in ! And now you're 
 here, lieutenant, you must drink with us. Drink to 
 
 the army and ourselves, and to King George, d n 
 
 him!" The latter was an afterthought. 
 
 While no habitual abstainer, this assuredly would 
 not do. There would be the first dram and after 
 that the deluge. I must preserve a clear head, let 
 what unpleasant circumstances that might ensue 
 attend the abstinence. 
 
 "Your pardon, sir," I replied courteously, "but I 
 will not drink to-night. I am indisposed." 
 
 Deep in his cups, my companion's choler rose like a 
 trout at a helpless fly.
 
 SNATCHING THE GLASS FROM THE FELLOW'S HAND, 
 
 HE LUNOKD AT ME Page 157
 
 AT THE KING'S INN 157 
 
 "Will not drink ! " he roared, in a ludicrous rage, 
 "but, by God, you shall !" He beckoned to a passing 
 serving man. 
 
 "Bring this fellow a glass of brandy," he ordered. 
 "He is thirsty, make it a big one." He regarded me 
 with drunken triumph as the attendant hurried away. 
 
 My blood boiled. There were murmurs about the 
 room; a scarlet cordon was closing about the pair 
 of us. 
 
 "Sir," I said through my teeth, "you had best have 
 a care! I am not to be bullied ! If you seek to force 
 this potation on me, be sure that I shall wash your 
 face with it!" 
 
 He empurpled. "Wash my face, will you!" he bel- 
 lowed. "Why, you d d young dog, do you 
 
 know who I am?" 
 
 "I have not the dishonor," I replied, with mock 
 courtesy. There arose a general laugh. 
 
 "How dare you," he continued without heeding, 
 "a petty, penniless, Irish pup, to talk with such cursed 
 impudence to a descendant of one of the oldest houses 
 in England?" The general laugh sounded again and 
 louder. His compatriots seemed strangely wanting in 
 respect for his pretensions. 
 
 I smiled contemptuously. "That you area descend- 
 ant I can well believe," I told him. "Whatever your 
 antecedents, and I find it difficult to believe them as 
 you say, yours is a descent in all senses of the word." 
 
 His naturally heavy wits being further deadened 
 with his drams, the subtle irony of this thrust was 
 not at once patent to him. But the roars about him 
 fired him to sudden understanding and to blazing 
 wrath. The menial had arrived with the liquid he 
 had ordered. Snatching the glass from the fellow's 
 hand, he lunged at me.
 
 158 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 One hand sought my throat while the other was 
 extended, the glass tilted in his hand in order to 
 pour the stuff into my mouth. Furiously cautious, 
 I evaded the one clutching hand, and, wrenching the 
 glass from the other with a quick twist, I flung the 
 fiery fluid straight into his evil face. Snorting and 
 gasping he rubbed his blinded eyes, while men sprang 
 forward and held both of us. 
 
 My anger suddenly cooled as I remembered my posi- 
 tion there. I stood quietly in the grasp of the 
 restrainers. Meanwhile my enemy was bellowing like 
 a mad bull, wild to get at me. Horrible oaths broke 
 from him. 
 
 "Let me go, I'll kill him!" he shouted. There 
 followed a torrent of blistering imprecations. 
 
 " Chichester," expostulated an officer indignantly, 
 "this is a sorry spectacle for any man wearing His 
 Majesty's uniform." 
 
 "His Majesty be d d!" vociferated the riotous 
 
 subject. And I, for one among that company secretly 
 endorsed the sentiment. 
 
 "Oh, I'll cut him to pieces !" snarled my opponent, 
 still struggling to be free. "He questioned my 
 descent!" 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," I urged, the ludicrous aspect of 
 the situation suddenly striking me, " witness you all 
 that that is not true. I did not question it." 
 
 A gust of laughter sounded, during which Militia 
 Captain Egbert Chichester, as I found my opponent 
 to be, was hustled away, still bewailing in maudlin 
 fashion the aspersion which he conceived to have 
 been cast upon his genealogical tree. He was liter- 
 ally forced into his bed by some officers, where he was 
 soothed with more drink, finally sinking into a 
 drunken slumber.
 
 AT THE KING'S INN 159 
 
 "This Chichester is a great deal of a bully," ob- 
 served Lieutenant Langham with quiet contempt. 
 He was a fine young fellow with whom I was ~on- 
 versing. "You pursued the right course with him, 
 the only one which a man with red blood in him 
 could have taken under circumstances so ex- 
 asperating. He should have received the lesson long 
 since. He is not one of us," he explained apolo- 
 getically. "His field of effort lies with the militia. 
 This is a public place, you know, and," with an 
 expressive shrug, "he is simply tolerated." 
 
 "I suppose I may expect a call from his friend 
 to-morrow," I hazarded. 
 
 The lieutenant smiled, elevating his brows. "Per- 
 haps," he drawled. "Yet, when the fellow is sobered, 
 he may reflect that these affairs are not desirable in 
 any branch of the service. Moreover, he may recall 
 the fact that discretion, in the matter of the preser- 
 vation of one's skin, is an admirable virtue." His 
 shoulders lifted again in an eloquent shrug. 
 
 I talked for some time with the officers, whom I 
 found to be thoroughly good fellows. I may record 
 that I was not again asked to imbibe. They were 
 gentlemen and respected my recent vigorous objection 
 to dramming. As for the snoring sot upstairs, I had 
 learned that he was not one of them and felt relief 
 accordingly, for 'twould have been a pity to have thus 
 marred so gallant a crew. 
 
 As the conversation concerned the projected anni- 
 hilation of our defenses, the talk being fluently cease- 
 less by grace of the libations, I found myself in 
 constant receipt of valuable information, which I 
 mentally recorded. The work of a spy, to be sure. 
 But a spy, at the constant jeopardy of his threatened 
 neck, works for the honor of his flag and country,
 
 160 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and I well knew there was not one of the gallant 
 fellows with whom I was talking who would not 
 welcome the chance to render his king a similar 
 service in the land of the enemy. 
 
 It was well toward the morning when the company 
 dispersed and I, taking leave of them, repaired to 
 the room assigned me to sink into a heavy slumber.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 A Duel and a Revelation 
 
 I rose early, and having breakfasted, walked down 
 the street to the dockyards, where I could hear the 
 incessant ring of hammers. The day was perfect. 
 The sun flamed in the blue sky, but its heat was 
 tempered by a cool breeze that blew from the lake, 
 ruffling the green of the harbor. 
 
 I wandered leisurely about, using my eyes. The 
 enemy's resources were easily double our own. His 
 fleet was far more formidable and his land troops 
 were largely seasoned regulars, in goodly force, con- 
 trasting dishearteningly with our own mere handful 
 of experienced men. True, we each had also the 
 militia, but our men were raw and untrained and I 
 had grave doubts of their efficiency. I made no 
 doubt that the enemy was in similar case. Then, too, 
 there was the coalition which the enemy had effected 
 with the Indians, whom I feared might be depended 
 upon to smite us vengefully whenever the oppor- 
 tunity afforded. The redskins looked upon the 
 settlers of the new country as interlopers, as they 
 did the French in Canada. The English, pursuing a 
 diplomatic course, had for years fostered the red 
 enmity toward us, fanning it to a flame until they 
 had secured them as pitiless allies Red Rolfe and his 
 band furnished a striking instance of this tactful 
 means to a grim, end, though after all, Rolfe and his
 
 1 62 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 predatory cutthroats were mainly concerned for them- 
 selves, looking to their own advantage and holding 
 themselves amenable to no regulations that con- 
 flicted with their own desires. Theirs was a guer- 
 rilla warfare of the most lawless type. Their mas- 
 ters were themselves disgusted with them. 
 
 But the significance of this affiliation smote me as 
 I recalled the vivid account of the lawless leader 
 and his red scoundrels given me by the miserly hermit 
 I had met but a few hours previously. What of the 
 fate of our well nigh unprotected frontier, between 
 Niagara and Champlain, when red death should 
 swoop down upon it in the shape of scarlet coats 
 and their tawny allies? There was a stir of swift 
 and deadly preparation in Frontenac, while at Os- 
 wego, Sackets Harbor, Port Putnam and Ogdens- 
 burgh, keys to the entire shore line of Ontario and 
 the upper St. Lawrence, were feeble garrisons of mere 
 handfuls of regular troops, tentatively supported by 
 a raw, naturally timorous militia, unused to warfare, 
 with inadequate munitions which no prayers of Gen- 
 eral Brown to the dilatory powers could augment. 
 
 I stood in gloomy reflection upon the dock, gazing 
 out upon the harbor. The Royal George lay at 
 anchor, her canvas furled, lazily cradled in the swells 
 that slid gently under the breath of the soft wind. 
 Several other ships lay near her, most of which, as I 
 remembered, had assisted recently in helping the flag- 
 ship to break the Sabbath. Swarms of men were 
 still busy on the Royal George and other ships 
 repairing the damage wrought on that memorable 
 occasion by the Old Sow and her lesser companions. 
 My mouth resolved itself into a grim smile, which, 
 however, speedily froze. I turned my back upon the 
 prospect and slowly walked away toward the town.
 
 A DUEL AND A REVELATION 163 
 
 I had suddenly observed on the deck of the Royal 
 George the young officer who had delivered Earle's 
 Sunday ultimatum to John. Perhaps he had seen 
 me at that time, as I stood close to Godfrey, and I 
 had no wish to test the young fellow's memory for 
 faces. 
 
 I spent some further time in quietly gaining some 
 further facts regarding the town's defences and the 
 plans, so far as they were made. I could not learn 
 that there was any immediate further attack arranged, 
 but the temper of all Frontenac showed that the 
 sooner another was made the better they would like 
 it. British pride had been stung to the quick by 
 that first repulse. That a miserable hamlet like ours 
 had withstood their sally was a source of wonder 
 to them, and the contempt they felt for our equip- 
 ment from the beginning was now tinged with a mer- 
 ciless rancor that boded ill for us, did they once 
 succeed in scaling the rocky wall of our natural 
 barrier. 
 
 After a time I walked leisurely back toward the 
 inn, meeting knots of the soldiery on the way. I 
 met several of the officers who had witnessed my 
 affair with the drunken Chichester the night before. 
 They greeted me with cordiality, and it was easy to 
 see that my clipping of the bully's claws had pro- 
 duced a general satisfaction among his acquaintances. 
 
 But now, as I stood near the door of the inn, 
 talking with some of my new acquaintances, a 
 young fellow of forbidding countenance, in the 
 uniform of a militia officer, approached me. I remem- 
 bered to have seen him with Chichester, assisting in 
 holding him, after I had drenched the captain in the 
 tap room. 
 
 "Lieutenant Stranahan, I believe, sir?" he queried.
 
 1 64 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "Yes, sir," I responded. He bore the unmistakable 
 stamp of the emissary. 
 
 "I am Lieutenant Benson, of Captain Chichester's 
 company," said he, "and I represent my friend and 
 superior officer. You grossly insulted him last night. 
 I am commissioned to request you to afford him 
 satisfaction." 
 
 "As for the insult, sir," I responded sarcastically, 
 "I had labored under the delusion that it was offered 
 me. However, I am willing that your friend shall 
 have whatever satisfaction he can obtain at any 
 time or place." 
 
 I turned to one of my new acquaintances. "Lieu- 
 tenant Carew," I inquired, "will you act for me in 
 this matter?" 
 
 He smiled slightly. "Lieutenant," said he, "this is 
 very irregular, so serious a quarrel between officers 
 of the service; but I will act for you if you wish it. 
 Meanwhile," he added, coldly addressing Lieutenant 
 Benson, "I would suggest that all of us maintain a 
 becoming reticence regarding this affair. When do 
 you propose it shall occur?" 
 
 "The sooner the better," I put in savagely, for, 
 because of the hidden delicacy of my mission, the 
 thing annoyed me, though in honor I could not 
 recede, nor would in any case. 
 
 "And the weapons?" continued my second. "I 
 believe we have the choice." 
 
 "Pistols will suit me," I replied. Benson bowed 
 and retired. 
 
 Lieutenant Carew laughed. "I expected this," he 
 said. "Chichester has been prize bully and cock of 
 the walk so thoroughly here, among those whom he 
 dared to dominate, that your dousing him last night 
 has combined with his potations to give him a sour
 
 A DUEL AND A REVELATION 165 
 
 stomach this morning, thereby also screwing up 
 his courage. He will shoot to kill and it behooves 
 you to do the same. I pray you may be first and 
 successful." 
 
 "He seemed last night to be peculiarly punctilious 
 about his ancestry," I mused. " It seems rather 
 ridiculous as I recall it now." 
 
 Carew smiled sarcastically. "When in his cups," 
 he answered, "which is most of his time, he never 
 tires of talking of an imaginary family, whom nobody 
 knows. I believe he boasts of noble blood. Perhaps 
 he possesses it on one side," a sneer accompanying 
 the innuendo. "But, to speak seriously, it is considered 
 generally as doubtful whether he knows of this family 
 himself. It is believed hereabouts that he is a name- 
 less adventurer, though he undoubtedly receives 
 something of an income from some mysterious source. 
 What freak drove him into the service and here, no 
 one knows. He was probably driven from every- 
 where else. This fellow Benson is a satellite of his. 
 He is, if possible, a bigger blackguard. Had Chi- 
 chester not been drunk, as he, however, usually is, 
 he would not have presumed to have affronted you 
 last night. We were minded to interfere, but thought 
 you amply able to take care of yourself, as you 
 proved." 
 
 We repaired to the inn, where we were shortly 
 joined by Lieutenant Benson, who returned with the 
 information that our speedy answer to Chichester's 
 challenge was a source of much satisfaction to that 
 gentleman. The preliminaries were soon arranged. 
 The affair was to occur at three that afternoon in 
 an unobtrusive spot outside the town, which I was 
 informed had been the scene of previous affairs of a 
 similar nature. Chichester had himself, for a trifling
 
 1 66 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 provocation, shot a French Canadian civilian there 
 only a month previous. 
 
 "It was cold blooded murder," declared Carew, in 
 speaking of the affair. "The man was almost uncon- 
 versant with firearms, and Chichester, who is a good 
 shot, knew it. He deliberately picked a quarrel with 
 the poor devil and then called him out. It was done 
 without the knowledge of the regulars or we would 
 have prevented it. The man, though he knew he was 
 doomed, went to his death like a stoic. Chichester 
 killed him like a dog." 
 
 1 said nothing, but a sullen hatred of the coward 
 welled within me. At the noon hour we lunched. 
 Afterward, Carew, who had a case of dueling pistols, 
 produced them. I found them to be excellent 
 weapons. Shortly after, Carew went out, strolling 
 over to Chichester's quarters. He shortly returned. 
 
 "The brute is in a murderous rage against you, 
 but his aim is likely to be deflected," he said dryly. 
 "He has been punishing brandy all the morning I 
 am told." 
 
 A little later we set out for the rendezvous. The 
 matter had been well guarded, and, with the excep- 
 tion of two other officers who had been with Carew 
 and myself when the challenge was delivered, none 
 knew of it. We quickly left the town and were soon 
 upon the spot selected. The underbrush and small 
 timber had been cut away, forming a pleasant grove. 
 In the center there was a large open place, the 
 ground of which was as level as a floor. 
 
 We had been there but a few moments when Chi- 
 chester and his second, Benson, arrived. The militia 
 captain was in an awful mood and his eyes glowed in 
 his coarse, blotchy face like the sullen, dull-red embers 
 of a dying fire. The lids were puffed and above the
 
 A DUEL AND A REVELATION 167 
 
 upper ones there swarmed a web-like network of tiny, 
 swollen, red veins. The whole hateful face of the 
 fellow, bulging with brutishness, was eloquent of 
 alcohol and alive with low malice. He strode upon 
 the seen ewithout recognition of any one present. 
 Reaching upward to push back his cap, I observed 
 that his hand shook slightly, the result of dramming. 
 
 My second turned doubtfully toward Lieutenant 
 Benson. "I see you have brought no surgeon," he 
 observed coldly. "I spoke to you this morning 
 
 Benson interrupted him. "There will be no neces- 
 sity for one," said he, with an insultingly contempt- 
 uous glance in my direction. "The man who will fall 
 here will be beyond the service of a surgeon." I 
 grated my teeth. "Let it go," I told Carew, who had 
 turned inquiringly to me. "It may be as he says." 
 
 It was soon arranged. I had nothing of fear, or 
 even the natural nervousness I might have felt had 
 I been about to do battle with an equal. The man 
 before me maddened me. I was conscious only of a 
 fierce, impelling desire to shoot to kill, when the time 
 was come. I had never before felt the lust for blood, 
 but there comes to most men a moment, when, con- 
 fronted by some hideous, reptilian travesty of man, 
 the thin veneer of civilization seems brushed away 
 like a cobweb, and the primal stands out, terribly 
 insistent, mad with the savage longing to crush, to 
 stamp out and to destroy. 
 
 Stripped of coats and waistcoats, ready for action, 
 we waited the word, motionless, facing one another, 
 right arms extended, the sun glinting the long pol- 
 ished barrels of our weapons. A very demon writhed 
 in Chichester's face. 
 
 Now Carew was counting. "One, two," and the 
 word had hardly left his mouth when the cur opposite
 
 1 68 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 me fired. The ball whizzed harmlessly over my head. 
 Chichester had aimed too high; it was the brandy. 
 
 I heard cries of "Shame !" from Carew and the two 
 men near him. A blistering curse fell from Chiches- 
 ter's lips. His face told the condemning truth, for 
 it had been no accident. He had anticipated the 
 word deliberately and had shot to kill. 
 
 An instant's relaxation and I had again levelled 
 my pistol full at him. The pitiful coward instinctively 
 reeled backward, his bloated face paling visibly. I 
 crooked my elbow and shot into the air, then threw 
 the weapon on the ground. All the elementary pas- 
 sion of the primeval surged through me; the brutal, 
 animal instinct to maim, to stamp upon, to seize a 
 gasping throat with hungry hands and knead it in a 
 very ecstasy of savagery. 
 
 "You d d dog !" I cried, my voice grown strange 
 in my own ears ; "you treacherous hound ! Your 
 beast's carcass is not worth a shot, you carrion ! 
 Fists were made before foils or bullets ! Defend your- 
 self!" And, wrenching myself from Carew, who tried 
 to hold me, I rushed full at the hound. 
 
 He had the lower animal courage that marks the 
 brute when cornered. He stood his ground, and, 
 as I reached him, he struck at me with a snarl, all 
 the strength of his burly body behind the blow. I 
 dodged and it grazed the side of my head, staggering 
 me slightly. Then I dealt him a smashing blow 
 on the nose, breaking it and bringing a gush of 
 blood. He fell like a log. ' 
 
 For the next few moments I saw only dimly and 
 through a red haze. All the madness of maniacal 
 fury possessed me and I gloried in it. I was vaguely 
 conscious of raining blows upon a pulpy, battered 
 face; of lovingly locking my two bruised hands
 
 A DUEL AND A REVELATION 169 
 
 around a fat, red throat which lent itself, with pleas- 
 ant softness, to the clasp, and kneading it until it 
 cracked; of glaring with exceeding joy into an em- 
 purpled face and a pair of protruding eyeballs, like 
 pale-blue marbles edged with red; of noting with 
 glee the shivering and extended length of a lolling 
 tongue. And finally I was conscious of insistent 
 hands that tore me, reluctant, from the quivering 
 shape on the grass; of horror stricken faces that 
 gazed into my own. 
 
 "Good God!" I heard Carew saying, as if it had 
 come from some one far away, " do you want to 
 kill the man that way?" 
 
 And then the mists gradually cleared away from 
 my eyes and brain, and I hope my face began to look 
 more like that of a human being. Chichester was 
 writhing on the ground, gasping and clutching at his 
 throat. His face was horrible. Lieutenant Benson 
 stood by, surveying me with the scared look he might 
 have bestowed upon a wild beast rampant. 
 
 "Don't you think, after all," I asked him, with 
 savage sarcasm, " that you would have done well to 
 bring a surgeon?" 
 
 I turned to Carew. " Help to take care of him, will 
 you?" I asked. "I'm off for a stroll. I want to 
 be alone awhile." I left them abruptly, breaking 
 through the underbrush, hurrying as if pursued. 
 
 My head was still whirling. The wretched affair had 
 wrenched every fibre of my being. I smouldered with 
 hate of the coward who had violated every tenet of the 
 code. So had I, but my brutal avengement of his act 
 as yet only partially appeased me. Still, I no longer 
 wished the cur's death; he was after all hardly 
 worth the killing. Yet I longed to wash my hands. 
 Ere long I came to a little brook and did so.
 
 170 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 My knuckles were badly barked and began swell- 
 ing. I filled my pipe with stiffened fingers and kept 
 on, circling through the forest, back toward the 
 town. 
 
 Presently I came in sight of a straggling road. 
 Emerging upon it I found that it led to Frontenac 
 and was sparsely lined with houses, forming an outly- 
 ing district of the town. Some distance away was 
 the shore line, the green water sparkling in the sun- 
 light. I walked leisurely up the street, which ran 
 parallel with the shore. Modest cottages now flanked 
 it at intervals on either side. 
 
 Near one of these I threw myself down, reclining 
 on the grass which fringed a neat fence enclosing the 
 yard of the dwelling. Flowers grew within ; the chirp- 
 ing of birds filled the air. With half closed eyes I 
 puffed on, my troubled spirit calming as I watched 
 the curling smoke wreaths through narrowed lids. 
 
 An incessant chirping, directly over my head, at- 
 tracted my attention. I looked up and saw a red- 
 breast, perched on the fence, peering curiously at me 
 with beady eyes. I lay quietly watching him. Pres- 
 ently he fluttered down, and, hopping around almost 
 within my reach, pecked gingerly at the grass. Curi- 
 ous bird, I reflected and oddly tame. 
 
 There was a stir in the yard behind me. The bird 
 rose in the air; his flight was strangely awkward. 
 
 "Toti!" cried a voice, a voice like sweet bells. 
 "Come here, you silly rascal!" I leaped to my feet 
 and turned. 
 
 "Why, m'sieur !" exclaimed the voice, "M'sieur War- 
 burton!" And standing there, sweet eyes wide and 
 startled, white teeth gleaming through parted, smiling 
 lips, soft hair stirring in the fragrant breeze, stood, in 
 the flesh, herself, Renee !
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 A Friend in Philistia 
 
 In the flesh, Renee ! I stared incredulous, super- 
 stitious fear dilating my eyes. It was a chimera of 
 my brain, for my head was swimming; it must be 
 that my eyes saw things unseen; that the echoes of 
 a voice that lived only in memory rang in my ears. 
 But it sounded again; now with a sharper note; still 
 like bells, but somewhat jangled. 
 
 "M'sieur Warburton," it said with some exaspera- 
 tion, "why do you stand and stare in that blood- 
 curdling way? Am I so hideous? It is positively 
 idiotic, sir !" 
 
 "Mam'selle," I said slowly, still fearing that I 
 dreamed it, but quickened with the rush of exceeding 
 joy; "are you really alive?" 
 
 "As you find me," she replied, demure and dim- 
 pling. "It is very warm." 
 
 "Thank God!" I burst out, stepping closer to her, 
 seizing both her small, extended hands in mine and 
 holding them as if I would never let them go. She 
 stared at me blankly, wide-eyed. 
 
 "Ciel! Why such vehemence, m'sieur?" she cried. 
 "I could understand it if it were cooler." 
 
 "No, not that!" I returned, with glad impatience. 
 "I thought you dead, Renee!" 
 
 As once before, she ignored my use of her Christian
 
 1 7 2 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 name, unnoticed now as then. She gazed at me, 
 mystified, her sweet eyes wondering. 
 
 "Thought me dead!" she repeated. "Jamais! 
 But, why 
 
 Her eyes suddenly darkened, arrested by a flash of 
 inquiring reflection. They swept the uniform I wore, 
 alight with a growing scorn and anger, which I, 
 being immune, enjoyed. 
 
 "M'sieur !" she demanded, her voice bitingly vibrant 
 drawing away from me; "you, in that uniform? 
 How happens that, s'il vous plait?" 
 
 I smiled at her. "Mam'selle," I submitted, "how 
 come you to be in the enemy's country?" 
 
 "I make assurance," she rejoined with hauteur, 
 "that is from necessity and not from choice. But, 
 you 
 
 "And I," I interrupted, "can but plead the same. 
 Should our mutual enemies," I added grimly, "sus- 
 pect my real identity, I should be immediately ex- 
 posed to a serious throat affection and my breath- 
 ing would be permanently impaired. But they know 
 me, fortunately, as another. Allow me to introduce 
 to you Lieutenant Percy Stranahan, of His Majesty's 
 Service," and I bowed. 
 
 A relieved laugh, in which rippled genuine joy, 
 escaped her. " A nom de guerre ! Ah, then, you 
 are a spy!" she cried happily. "You are not a 
 traitor, which seemed a horrible possibility for a 
 moment. Pardonnez moi, m'sieur!" and she swept 
 me a curtsey. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, with an apprehensive glance 
 around, "but pray speak softly, mam'selle, for on 
 this side one is apt to be held in as little esteem as 
 the other." 
 
 " Your pardon," she rejoined. " Perhaps I should
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 173 
 
 not have used the term, but to my mind, m'sieur, the 
 word spy is a noble one that is hateful only to the 
 enemy. It takes resource and much of courage to be 
 a spy, does it not?" 
 
 "I do not know," I answered vaguely. "At least, 
 not yet. You see, mam'selle, I have not been spying 
 long enough. Later, perhaps, 
 
 Her eyes had caught sight of my bruised, puffed 
 knuckles. "Why, m'sieur," she broke in, "whatever is 
 the matter with your shocking hands?" 
 
 "They suffered accident," I answered evasively. But 
 being pressed, I told her of my encounter with 
 Chichester. My heart misgave me that she would find 
 me unspeakably brutal, but my fears were set at rest. 
 
 "M'sieur Warburton," she told me, with shining 
 eyes, "you have at least proved that you have the 
 courage which a spy must need and I think you have 
 also much resource. As for that brute, you should 
 have killed him ! " 
 
 "I suppose I should," I answered ruefully, "but I 
 flew mad and hammered him instead." 
 
 "But that is what I mean!" she exclaimed, with 
 charming savagery. "Why did you not kill him that 
 way?" 
 
 "But, mam'selle!" I muttered, aghast. 
 
 "0, I know what the world says of the code," she 
 averred, "and that it debars from gentlemen the 
 use of their fists, which God gave them, and substi- 
 tutes weapons, which He did not. You did right to 
 thrash him, je vous assure. He tried to murder you. 
 Ah, how you must have mauled him ! I should 
 loved to have seen it!" And she clasped her little 
 hands, her eyes shining. 
 
 "Mam'selle!" I exclaimed in dismay. "No, you 
 would not; you do not mean it!"
 
 174 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "I do, I do!" she retorted. "O, m'sieur, I hate a 
 coward! Were I able, I would thrash one myself!" 
 
 It was a bewildering flash of a phase of the complex 
 feminine nature. Strangely incongruous it might seem 
 for the moment, yet the very tenderness that lies, 
 like a deep pool, in the heart of a woman, the in- 
 herent gentleness that gushes in her being like a 
 spring, furnishes in itself abundant explanation of 
 the seeming anomaly. Filled with a chaste love for 
 true nobility and the higher ideals, the base or igno- 
 ble rouses in her a spirit of the most passionate 
 resentment, an alluring savagery. Such I now saw 
 and began to believe that I had done a creditable 
 thing. I gazed into her eyes, bright with an anger 
 which I found only satisfying; into her face, flushed 
 pink with health and heat, and was content. 
 
 "But, mam'selle," I asked, "tell me of that which 
 concerns yourself. How came you here? Where is 
 your father?" 
 
 "Father is inside," she answered sadly. "He is so 
 wan, so pale, that I fear you will scarcely know him, 
 m'sieur. He is sleeping now. You shall see him pres- 
 ently. As to our coming here, we came against our 
 will and we shall return as soon as he is able." 
 
 "I know," I answered grimly. "You were brought 
 here by the man you saw with John and I that day 
 at the cabin, the man you were not obliged to endure 
 at your dinner table. Do you remember?" 
 
 "True," she replied, with a startled glance at me, 
 "but how did you know?" 
 
 "Tell me about it first," I rejoined, "and then I will 
 tell you how we knew." 
 
 "It was a terrible experience, m'sieur," she returned. 
 "When you and Monsieur Godfrey left us last autumn, 
 we passed the lonely winter quietly enough, though
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 175 
 
 occasional hunters brought us startling reports of 
 the growing trouble between the States and England 
 and of the preparations. Finally, after what seemed 
 an interminable time, the spring came on and brought 
 the birds and I found comfort in them. But the 
 reports came thicker and faster as more trappers 
 passed our way, and father and I began to reflect 
 that the time might be arrived for us to act as you 
 suggested and make our way to Sackets Harbor. 
 We were preparing to do so when there occurred the 
 interruption." 
 
 "It was warm that day and dry, the sun shining 
 brilliantly. Father had been ailing for several days 
 and I was caring for him. I had just been to the 
 river to feed my pigeons. It was about two of the 
 afternoon and I was preparing for dinner. Father 
 was sitting, quite ill, in the living room. Through 
 it was quite warm, he suffered from chills and was 
 feverish. I was worried for him." 
 
 " Suddenly I heard a step, and, looking up, who 
 should confront me but that monster, m'sieur. He 
 looked at us with evil eyes. Behind him, on the 
 porch, stood several big Indians. We stared at them, 
 father and I. The leader blinked his wicked, cattish 
 eyes a moment, then spoke." 
 
 "'You were about getting dinner, were you, 
 mam'selle? he asked, in that strange, rolling voice 
 that is so like an organ, you remember it, m'sieur? 
 'Well, you need not trouble. You will dine with us 
 further north.' 
 
 " * What do you mean ?' demanded my father. * If 
 this is a jest, it is a sorry one.' 
 
 " ' It is no jest,' replied the leader. ' If war is not 
 declared already against this puling country, it will 
 be very shortly. I mean to anticipate it. You and
 
 176 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 your fetching daughter, M'sieur De Montefort, will 
 accompany me to the Canadian frontier, for certain 
 reasons of my own.' And he bestowed upon me a 
 look that was horrible." 
 
 "He called his savages and they swarmed into the 
 room. He told us to prepare at once to accompany 
 them." 
 
 "Up to now we had remained nearly paralyzed with 
 dismay. But now my father, weak as he was, 
 bounded from his chair and caught up his rifle, which 
 had been resting on crotched sticks against the wall. 
 He had shot an Indian in his tracks before they 
 knew what he was about. Then, as they made a 
 rush for us, I thrust a loaded pistol into his hand 
 and he exploded it full in the face of another Indian. 
 We dashed between them and got out of doors, but, 
 before we could go far, they overtook us in front of 
 the cabin, and, after a struggle, overpowered us. 
 Father would have been killed outright by the In- 
 dians, but the white leader leaped in front of them, 
 beating them back." 
 
 "'I will kill the first of you that harms him!' 
 he cried. 'I have my own plans! Stand back!' 
 They sullenly obeyed him." 
 
 "As they held us there, captives, the bird Toti 
 yonder fluttered to my shoulder. When we left he 
 accompanied us. I carried him, m'sieur, all the way. 
 Ah, he was comforting!" 
 
 "Father and I were securely guarded by some of 
 them, after our capture, while the leader and the 
 others dragged the two bodies away, and I suppose 
 buried them somewhere." 
 
 I started, at last understanding. Red Rolfe's keen 
 and wicked wit had suggested the apparent closing 
 of the earthly accounts and careers of the Frenchman
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 177 
 
 and his daughter, for he knew how popular they 
 were throughout the region. By this ruse, search on 
 the part of ourselves or others would inevitably end 
 at the cabin. It was plain to me that he had ex- 
 pected John and I to return. I clenched my hands 
 at the realization of the fiend's diabolical cunning. 
 The rude headboards ! A piece of deception grimly 
 humorous indeed. 
 
 Renee's narration proceeded. She told of the jour- 
 ney northward to the St. Lawrence, through the 
 forest and by waterways in which canoes were in 
 readiness, the party approaching the great river 
 with swiftness. M. De Montefort grew weaker and 
 was quite ill. Rolfe forced the savages, who would 
 have rather killed him, to carry him through the 
 rougher places. His daughter, torn with grief and 
 anxiety, was more fearful for his safety than for her 
 own. 
 
 At last they reached the St. Lawrence, at a point 
 beyond the American settlements, crossing the broad 
 current in their canoes. Rolfe pushed on with his 
 party some distance into the Canadian forest, finally 
 camping for the night. The next day they proceeded 
 in a northwesterly direction, keeping far away from 
 the towns that lay along the bank of the river. 
 Renee began to be seriously alarmed. She had dared 
 hope that she would be taken with her father to be 
 imprisoned at Frontenac or some other Canadian 
 town. 
 
 Had he not been so weak and ill, M. De Montefort 
 and his daughter might have attempted escape, but 
 it was now out of the question. The Frenchman 
 required the assistance of the Indians by this time 
 to make any headway at all, and seemed to grow 
 worse hourly. Renee was in despair, her disquietude
 
 1 78 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 being increased by the evil glances occasionally be- 
 stowed upon her by the wretch who led the accursed 
 band. But she maintained a brave front, hoping for 
 succor from some vague source. 
 
 Progress was necessarily laborious, and, as the route 
 was difficult, they made but a short distance the 
 first day, stopping for the night deep in the silent 
 woods. Early the next morning they were again 
 astir, repeating the experience of the preceding day. 
 So it went until they came upon a well beaten trail 
 which led in a southwesterly direction. This they 
 followed, making good headway. 
 
 After some time Renee made out through the trees 
 an expanse of green water, which widened beyond 
 some islands to the westward. A little further and 
 she perceived that they had arrived close to the foot 
 of Lake Ontario. Her spirits rose. So they were to 
 be taken to Frontenac after all. They were close to 
 the town. 
 
 But here Rolfe halted his villainous crew. He 
 had noticed the revived animation in her face and 
 an evil grin distorted his own. 
 
 "Here we proceed northward again, my lady," 
 said he. "I must not pass too close to the houses 
 just now." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she demanded. "This is 
 the way to Frontenac." 
 
 "But I do not propose bringing you to Frontenac," 
 he replied with a leer. "There are many there more 
 comely than I. I should be robbed of you. This 
 trail was convenient for a season, since it is difficult 
 smashing through the woods, encumbered as we are 
 with your useless parent. But now we must get 
 into the thick of it again, since it is to the north 
 that my own place lies, where I shall bring you."
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 179 
 
 A slow horror gripped her. "Why do you not 
 kill us now," she moaned, as if dazed, "my father 
 and I?" 
 
 "Your father I may kill later, ma chere," he an- 
 swered, leering the more, "if it pleases me. As for 
 you, never, unless it be with kindness," and he made 
 to take her in his arms. M. De Montefort, pale and 
 trembling with anger, leaped forward, but was re- 
 strained by the savages. 
 
 Renee sprang from Rolfe with a cry of fear. With 
 a brutal laugh he was pressing forward, when his 
 collar was grasped violently from behind and he was 
 hurled backward. 
 
 "What is this?" demanded a man's angry voice. 
 "My dear young woman, what is the trouble?" 
 
 A tall man confronted her, in the uniform of a 
 British officer. He was physically in his vigorous 
 prime, though the strong face looked seamed and 
 old and the hair was nearly white. A heavy gray 
 moustache shaded the stern mouth. 
 
 Renee poured out her agitated story. During the 
 recital Rolfe remained in sullen silence, maintaining 
 a cheap bravado. His Indians, still guarding the 
 Frenchman, stood impassive, awaiting the word of 
 their leader. 
 
 The officer turned to them. "Release that man!" 
 he ordered. They looked inquiringly at the fellow 
 they followed. He nodded sulkily and M. De Monte- 
 fort was thrust violently toward his daughter and 
 her new-found friend, where he sank exhausted on 
 the ground. 
 
 The officer spoke, bitter anger in his voice. "You 
 who choose to call yourself Red Rolfe," he said, 
 "get yourself and your red cut-throats out of my 
 sight this instant, or the pack of you shall swing in
 
 i8o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Frontenac ! I wish only that one stood in my place 
 who might kill you now, where you stand. Now go !" 
 
 And he went, without a word; went with a last 
 baleful look out of his yellow eyes, that were like 
 those of a blinking cat, heading for the northward, 
 and took his red devils with him. 
 
 The officer proved to be one Major Aberdeen, stand- 
 ing high in His Majesty's service and a member of a 
 distinguished English family. He would gladly have 
 furnished M. De Montefort and Renee with safe con- 
 duct back to the American side, but the old French- 
 man was now seriously ill and it was plain that he 
 must have skilled attention at once. 
 
 In her extremity Renee found Major Aberdeen 
 nobly sympathetic. He made arrangements for the 
 harboring of the fugitives in the little house in which 
 I had found them, where they were living with a 
 pensioned old veteran, John Storrs by name, who 
 had been with Major Aberdeen's forces through many 
 historic campaigns. Finally retired and having fol- 
 lowed his former commander from England, he was 
 now living in the outskirts of Frontenac with his old 
 wife. Medical attendance was furnished M. De Monte- 
 fort by Major Aberdeen, the Frenchman being found 
 suffering with an aggravated fever. Assiduous nurs- 
 ing had been given him and he was now better, 
 though still very weak. He could not be moved for 
 some time. 
 
 "Then you will have to remain in the enemy's 
 country yet awhile," I observed at the close of 
 Renee's story, with a sinking of the heart, for I 
 had hoped to bring them back with me. 
 
 "Yes, m'sieur," she answered gently, "but one of 
 the enemy has proved a noble friend." 
 
 I smiled. "More than he would prove to me,
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 181 
 
 should he find me for whom I am," I commented 
 grimly. 
 
 I told her of the stirring events which had tran- 
 spired since John and I had left them; of the prep- 
 arations made; of the unsuccessful descent upon the 
 harbor by Earle's ships, which account, as it had 
 really happened, she heard with pleasure for the 
 first time. I told of the visit John and I had made 
 to the cabin and our discovery of the two new made 
 graves. 
 
 Her eyes widened. "How like that charmante 
 fiend!" she exclaimed, with rising wrath. "Tres 
 jolie, to be sure ! He intended us to be practically 
 dead, didn't he?" 
 
 "Evidently," I returned. "And if I have the good 
 fortune to encounter him, I trust there will be no 
 mistake about his own demise, and his headboard 
 will contain no lying information, except possibly 
 his name. For no one seems to exactly know his 
 real one." 
 
 I concluded my account with the story of the mis- 
 sion entrusted to me by General Brown and my ex- 
 periences in Frontenac. 
 
 " But your simulation of this Stranahan," she said 
 doubtfully. "Is it not dreadfully risky?" 
 
 I smiled, and looking about discreetly, told her 
 something in a low tone. She nodded with quick 
 understanding, a keen appreciation of the novel 
 situation dawning in her eyes. 
 
 "A moment, Lieutenant," she said, "until I go in 
 for a word with my father, for he must know you, 
 or rather meet you, for whom you are not. Our 
 friend Storrs and his good wife are sturdy loyalists," 
 and she was gone. Presently she returned. 
 
 "Ye meet as strangers," she smiled. "Father will
 
 1 82 THE TRAIL OF THE BRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 bestow upon you the languid stare of chance ac- 
 quaintanceship. The Storrs, they know you simply 
 as a British officer who has strolled hither from the 
 garrison yonder, and, beholding me, engaged me in 
 informal converse. We find that we have mutual 
 friends. Then I ask you to remain to supper. The 
 Storrs always yearn to entertain coats hued like 
 yours." 
 
 "I will remain to supper," I said, "but shall not 
 go back to the town. I fear Chichester's condition 
 may lead to inquiry that would be apt to prove em- 
 barrassing to me. You know I told you that the 
 man who sailed me here was to wait my return- 
 ing a few miles above the town, in a little cove 
 that General Brown designated. It is barely possible 
 that he escaped drowning and his boat scuttling 
 that night. After supper I will make my way to that 
 point, avoiding the town, to see if I can find him. 
 I have all the information necessary for the present 
 and wish to avoid detection." 
 
 "I think you are right," she said thoughtfully. 
 "I am sorry we cannot return with you, but when 
 father is recovered, be sure we shall come to our 
 friends. In the meantime, God keep you, m'sieur." 
 
 " And you," I answered low. We entered the house. 
 
 Lieutenant Stranahan met M. De Montefort, who 
 acknowledged his daughter's formal introduction 
 with no sign of former intimate acquaintance. He 
 was sadly changed and pale with weakness, but the 
 indomitable eye flashed a discreet welcome. The 
 Storrs bustled about in voluble delight. Supper was 
 prepared. It disappeared. My vigorous exercise had 
 sharpened my appetite. 
 
 I stood in the doorway, muttering my formal 
 adieux, assenting to a warm hearted proposal to
 
 A FRIEND IN PHILISTIA 183 
 
 call again. I touched the finger tips of the girl I 
 loved in formal parting, then was out in the gather- 
 ing dusk. Gaining the road I looked back. She 
 stood in the open doorway, dimly lovely in the 
 gathering shadows. I turned with a heart of lead 
 and strode on. 
 
 I gained the outlying forest by a detour through 
 the unfrequented portion of the town. A silvery 
 moon lent her radiance and I speedily found a trail 
 which led along the shore of the lake, westward 
 through the forest. 
 
 I tramped briskly along for some time, finally 
 coming to a cove like that General Brown had de- 
 scribed. A single boat lay close at hand. I hailed 
 faintly. A reassuring grunt sounded in response. 
 It was enough. I was speedily aboard. 
 
 "So you were not drowned," I observed inanely, 
 as the taciturn helmsman, a self evident, breathing 
 fact, was making preparations to get under way. 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "This is a different boat," I ventured again. 
 "Where's the other?" He pointed downward com- 
 prehensively. 
 
 " Gone to h 1," he explained laconically. " I might 
 ha' been there too, only I swam ashore. Brown 
 said to wait here for you, so I hung around Fron- 
 tenac. Saw you there this mornin'. Stole this boat 
 from their harbor 'bout an hour ago." 
 
 We drifted out of the cove. A smart breeze caught 
 the sail, and, headed southwest, we filled away for 
 the Harbor.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Gray Wreathing Mists 
 
 John removed his pipe from his mouth, the blue 
 smoke curling lazily from the bowl. A slight wind, 
 blowing from the north, ruffled the waters of the 
 lake, which stretched far under the gray November 
 sky, though the air was not unpleasantly chill. We 
 stood near the brink of the bluff, the grass beneath 
 our feet sere and brown. 
 
 " It sounds more like business yonder," said John, 
 indicating the town with a wave of his pipe. " Who 
 knows, Gilbert, but that we may one day do some- 
 thing here?" 
 
 There was indeed music in the sound. The ring of 
 hammers, in harmonious staccato, came to our 
 ears from the dockyards, where was building the 
 nucleus, straight from the forest yonder, of the for- 
 midable fleet with which Commodore Isaac Chauncey, 
 by grace of national authority, though some later 
 misdoubted of God, the commander of the nation's 
 naval forces upon the lakes promised to sweep Ontario 
 and the St. Lawrence clear of British shipping and 
 make of Sir James Yeo but a bombastic memory. 
 Ah, the futility of words unbacked by deeds ! The 
 historians grow eloquent of Perry, for Erie's waters 
 in a single hour ran red with blood, while those of 
 Ontario in three long years were scarcely tinged. 
 Commodore Isaac and Sir James, with all due allow-
 
 GRAY WREATHING MISTS 185 
 
 ances for excellent intentions, were ultra-conserva- 
 tives in warefare, which fact my old hand pens more 
 in sorrow than in anger, for the hot blood cools 
 under the frosts of the added years and those whom 
 I and others criticised in the olden time have long 
 been dust. 
 
 Commodore Chauncey had arrived at the Harbor 
 early in October. There had since been hewing in the 
 forest and the thews of lusty brigs sprawled upon 
 the stocks. Meanwhile, during the summer, General 
 Brown had been hammering at the executive doors, 
 thundering at the portals at Albany and causing 
 earnest presentments of the necessities to be made 
 at Washington. Now some belated good was coming 
 out of the national' capital. The garrison had re- 
 ceived reinforcements of regulars and the defenses of 
 the port were being strengthened, relieving the anx- 
 iety felt of another swoop from Frontenac. General 
 Brown was anxious for a decisive movement against 
 that Canadian port this fall, together with other 
 towns in its vicinity, but in the interest of military 
 precedence, Brigadier General Richard Dodge had 
 superseded Brown at the Harbor in September. Gen- 
 eral Brown had been ordered to Ogdensburgh to 
 take charge of the defenses there. He had gone 
 straightway and shortly afterward repulsed a deter- 
 mined attack of the enemy upon that port. 
 
 General Dodge retained some companies of militia 
 at the Harbor, among them John's and my own. 
 They were small, neither possessing the full quota of 
 men. Such was the elasticity of existing militia 
 regulations that when one of us happened to be de- 
 tailed for special duty elsewhere, as often happened, 
 the other took command of both attenuated bodies. 
 Neither of us fared sumptuously in subordinates.
 
 1 86 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 What rank and file we had was composed of sturdy 
 material. As for the under officers, there were but 
 two worthy the name. John's Naodiah shone above 
 his fellows with a superiority as pronounced as that, 
 relatively, of my Cyrenus. Diametrically diverse as 
 they were, each had in him the stuff of the real 
 soldier. 
 
 The only engagement we had enjoyed since the 
 breaking of that historic Sabbath by the British had 
 been late in September. The defending force at the 
 Harbor was then discouragingly light and a second 
 descent from Frontenac was feared. With his usual 
 shrewdness, General Brown, who had not yet been 
 replaced by General Dodge, hit upon this disquieting 
 moment for a demonstration which should result in 
 the acquisition of some needed stores and effectually 
 alarming the enemy for his own safety. So, to this 
 end, he fitted out a secret expedition, under Cap- 
 tain Forsyth, he had no colonels to spare, against 
 Gananoqui, a small British post twenty miles below 
 Frontenac, on the St. Lawrence. John and I, with a 
 portion of our commands, went along, a sprinkling 
 of men being left to man the garrison. The move- 
 ment proved a satisfying success. Moving quietly 
 down the river from Port Putnam in the night, we 
 gained the Canadian channel and landed two miles 
 above the town in the open day. Dispersing a hand- 
 ful of horsemen and a detachment of indifferent 
 militia, we marched in meagre triumph to the vil- 
 lage, rifled the king's stores and returned unscathed. 
 Only an appetizer, as John had remarked, and we 
 had had nothing since. 
 
 An incident occurred during this opera bouffe affair 
 which raised John still higher in the estimation of 
 those at the post who loved to retail the tradi-
 
 GRAY WREATHING MISTS 187 
 
 tions of his great strength. Cyrenus, who accom- 
 panied us in this sortie, upon seeing the force drawn 
 up to intercept us, had in his eagerness run ahead 
 like a terrier in advance of the rest. In a moment 
 he was swallowed up in a brawny mess of opposing 
 militia. It bade fair to go hard with the little man, 
 and I ran forward as the firing began. But John 
 pressed ahead, preceding me to the rescue. There 
 were three of them sitting upon the swearing Cy- 
 renus and one was in the act of presenting a loaded 
 pistol at his head when John arrived. The giant 
 knocked the weapon from the fellow's hand, and, 
 seizing him and the man next him by the scruffs of 
 their necks, he tore them from Bantwell's writhing 
 body and crashed their heads together. They fell. 
 The third man levelled his rifle and tried to shoot 
 John, but I was there by then and wrenched the gun 
 from him. John seized him, and, sinking on one 
 knee, he doubled the Canadian, who was a brawny 
 wight, over the other as if he had been a sack of 
 meal. Then, drawing his short sword, he belabored 
 the enemy's trousers with the flat of it until he 
 howled for mercy. Upon being released, the man 
 ran to his fellows, who were slowly backing as they 
 fired. Then John turned to Cyrenus. 
 
 "You confounded little whiffet," he growled, "don't 
 get ahead of the procession next time!" Cyrenus 
 grinned, and told the story till he died. 
 
 We had seen no active service since this small skir- 
 mish, which was modest enough. We had been busy 
 enough, however, especially since the arrival of Com- 
 modore Chauncey, in preparing for another possible 
 call from the enemy. We knew that Sir George Pro- 
 vost had forces far superior in numbers to our own 
 at Frontenac, Prescott and other convenient towns,
 
 1 88 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Frontenac possessing the most formidable resources. 
 He also had troops in plenty at the head of the lake. 
 We marvelled that he did not come to annihilate us. 
 But as he deferred his visit, we improved our time. 
 
 John knocked the ashes from his pipe impatiently. 
 Lost in a reverie, I was gazing out upon the lake 
 that stirred with the fanning of the wind. 
 
 "Gilbert," burst out John testily, "is winter to 
 come without the semblance of a blow being struck ? 
 I'm tired of this old woman's game." 
 
 "So say we all, John," I rejoined, "but what's the 
 use? Come back to the barracks." 
 
 We left the bluff, sauntering slowly toward the 
 town. He swung along with a free, splendid grace, 
 his black, luxuriant beard and piercing eyes giving 
 him the air of a buff and blue brigand. H ; s swarthy 
 face was tanned the darker with exposure; in be- 
 holding him, one derived the impression of vast 
 strength, measureless and terrible. There was that 
 in his appearance, too, that rendered his English 
 name strangely incongruous. His face suggested the 
 Latin races, and, though his actions were marked 
 with a thorough steadiness and a certain calm, 
 quiet shrewdness, I had often caught glimpses of a 
 fiery, impetuous spirit behind the cool, reserved ex- 
 terior. Knit together as we were in the bonds of our 
 strange friendship, he was still an unsolved puzzle 
 to me. I knew but little more of him than what 
 tradition had told before I met him. I had informed 
 him of my encounter with the eccentric miser in the 
 Canadian forest and of the old man's account of 
 his extremity and rescue. He smiled slightly, ac- 
 knowledged that he was Pitou's deliver and said 
 no more. 
 
 Musing upon the strange, baffling personality of
 
 GRAY WREATHING MISTS 189 
 
 my companion, I walked with him in silence to the 
 quarters. There a surprise awaited me. An odd 
 gray nag, a nag" of years and unquestionable re- 
 spectability, stood saddled and bridled at my door. 
 I would know the animal anywhere. It was Abner 
 Holcomb's. 
 
 As I gazed speculatively at the beast a listless 
 footstep shuffled and Abner stood in the doorway 
 of the quarters, regarding me with sepulchral so- 
 lemnity. Woe illimitable brooded in his faded eyes; 
 dejection rioted among his drooping whiskers. His 
 voice was dreary as an owl's hoot at midnight. 
 
 " Betsey'll run the farm," he announced. 
 
 I made to look as if I considered it a new arrange- 
 ment. " It's a great sacrifice for you, Abner," I 
 murmured hypocritically. 
 
 He gloomed with tobacco munching jaws. I 
 watched them fascinated. Did he champ in his sleep? 
 At last he answered. 
 
 " It is that," he agreed. " But you're needin' men. 
 Betsey, she kep' at me. And here I be." His sombre 
 eyes, diverted from space, ranged upward till at last 
 they rested on John's amused face. "Who's yer 
 pardner?" he inquired drearily. 
 
 I introduced them, John grasping a listless hand. 
 Abner still continued his survey, his expression, as 
 always, like a mournful somnambulist's. 
 
 "I suppose you want to enlist now?" I said. 
 
 "Yuh," he answered, without the faintest thrill of 
 martial spirit in his tone, " in your company. Betsey, 
 she sid to look you up." 
 
 I led him, this bewhiskered lamb, to the slaughter, 
 and the deed was done. Betsey the persistent, 
 Betsey the indomitable, had conquered. In spite 
 of rheumatism and responsibilities Abner and the
 
 i 9 o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 farm had parted company. It was a final crushing 
 proof that Betsey was able to run both. 
 
 I left Abner, munching in sorrow, in the ruthless 
 hands of Sergeant Cyrenus, who had pounced upon 
 him, as he always did with raw recruits, with ghoul- 
 ish glee, reckoning him as appreciated prey to be 
 licked into shape. Then I returned to the quarters. 
 
 "Well, upon my soul," laughed John, "if you 
 don't land some curiosities in the shape of recruits. 
 First Cyrenus, and now ' 
 
 " Meanwhile," I reminded him, with leering triumph, 
 "you have Noadiah." 
 
 He properly subsided. "True," he murmured. 
 "How could I have forgotten Noadiah?" 
 
 We busied ourselves about the barracks awhile, but 
 time dragged for me. Looking restlessly about my 
 eyes noted the dockyards. Ships were being over- 
 hauled and canvas stretched. 
 
 "When does Chauncey propose to sail?" I asked 
 with lowered voice. 
 
 " To-morrow," replied John. " He will sail out and 
 see if he can run across any of Yeo's boats. I hope 
 we will have a chance to go. I am not conversant 
 with the plans, but they may want to land a force 
 somewhere." 
 
 "God grant it," I commented, watching the prep- 
 arations. " I think I will take a small cruise myself, 
 just out to Snake Island," I added suddenly. " Want 
 to come along?" 
 
 " No," he answered, again fishing out the inevitable 
 pipe, "I've some work to do. If you run across 
 Yeo's fleet, bring it back with you." 
 
 I left the barracks for the docks. My own boat, 
 a small affair that slipped through the water as if 
 greased, was close at hand. I had her ready in short
 
 GRAY WREATHING MISTS 191 
 
 order. Gliding out around the point into the bay, I 
 skimmed on with a favoring wind. The waves were 
 rising as the breeze had grown stronger. The lake 
 was flecked with tiny whitecaps. I flew on, past 
 Snake Island, determining to keep on to Stony, a 
 larger patch several miles out from the town, where 
 I might glimpse the enemy's fleet. There would 
 be ample time to return before nightfall, and 
 if not, I knew the lake like a book. I needed only 
 the lights of the Harbor in case of a shifting wind 
 and consequent delay. It was an ideal day for sail- 
 ing. My spirits rose as I sped on through the sliding 
 waves. 
 
 The boat rushed on, sail taut in the long, low 
 sweep of the wind, diving and skimming, riding the 
 hissing, pounding surge like a swallow. With oc- 
 casional short tacks it took but a brief time to 
 reach the island. I anchored in a deep place close to 
 shore, and lowering the sail, jumped to a projecting 
 point of land and walked across, scanning the vast 
 expanse of the rolling, open lake. A flash of sun- 
 light broke through the gray vault overhead, glinting 
 the sail of a distant small vessel. Nothing of Yeo's 
 squadron was, however, to be seen. A moment more 
 and the sombre curtain closed again. The transitory 
 flash was gone. 
 
 I threw myself down with my back against a tree 
 trunk and became lost in a wistful reverie, my gaze 
 bent to the northward. My eyes beheld but the 
 tossing waters, sullen beneath the shadow of the 
 cheerless sky. Nothing of life was in sight except a 
 few birds wheeling across the heaving swells, and far 
 out, a splotch of white in the gray, a solitary sail, 
 moving to the west. The wind was dying now. 
 The wash of the surf on the stone-strewn beach
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 sounded in my ears, rhythmically interminable. The 
 low monotone of the wind grew fainter, a lulling 
 calm stealing over me, for I was fatigued with the 
 arduous work of the past days. I had but to close 
 my eyes and it was another autumn. The woods 
 loomed, many-hued and fragrant. I trod a path 
 that wound serpent-like through the dim reaches; 
 over mossy logs, green and cool in their decay; 
 walking upon a carpet of the fallen glory of the 
 turning leaves. Through the balsamed stretches of 
 the forest a voice echoed, silvery sweet, for she walked 
 before me, rifle resting in the hollow of a rounded 
 arm; straight and supple, altogether lovely. At 
 times the piquant charm of a bewitching half-pro- 
 file was vouchsafed me; an alluring challenge shot 
 back at me from the corner of a clear eye, blue- 
 green, like the sea; her laughter bubbled like a spring. 
 Still we walked on, over the dead leaves and crum- 
 bling logs, through a labyrinth of tinted foliage. 
 Now the brawl of the little river, snarling among 
 its tiny eddies, dashing impotently against the great 
 grim rocks that were drenched with spray, sounded 
 close at hand. We emerged at the little clearing and 
 I threw myself upon the bank. Her strange call 
 sounded and the pigeons came to her, flying to be 
 fed. Even as I watched, they floated about and 
 over her till I could no longer see her, could only 
 hear her rippling laughter in the midst of the white 
 feathered cloud which grew and grew till it seemed 
 to have spread across the face of the sky and ob- 
 scured the sunlight. It grew cold and dark, but still 
 the cloud widened, ceaselessly billowing, floating 
 heavily between earth and sky. I scrambled to my 
 feet with a cry of fear and dilated eyes. 
 Strange gray shapes wreathed about me, dim and
 
 GRAY WREATHING MISTS 193 
 
 ghostly; the wash of the surf sounded monoto- 
 nously near me, but I could not see it; the air was 
 damp and chill. A moment served to collect my 
 scattered senses and I laughed, a trifle grimly. 
 
 " If one will nap here in November, one must take 
 the consequences," I muttered. While I had slept 
 there had come a heavy fog, common on the lakes, 
 so dense that it was like an impenetrable gray wall. 
 The chill had finally awakened me. 
 
 Cursing my inopportune napping, I slapped my 
 stiffened legs, and, swinging my numbed arms to 
 restore circulation, I stumbled across the island to 
 the opposite shore to reach my boat, meaning to 
 go aboard and get into a greatcoat which I had 
 there and wait for the fog to lift. 
 
 I knew my route and it was not a difficult task to 
 find the place where I had moored the boat, as it was 
 just inside a small point of projecting land. Groping 
 in the mist, I found the point, made my way out 
 upon it and leaped for the boat. 
 
 I came down in about ten feet of cold water, reach- 
 ing the surface dazed and gasping. Regaining the 
 land, I fell to shivering and cursing myself anew, for 
 it was plain that there was no boat there. It had 
 not been properly secured and had drifted away. 
 
 Some moments I expended in shaking and reflecting 
 dismally upon my dilemma. But now, through good 
 fortune, the vagrant breezes were returning To my 
 great satisfaction I saw the fog dispersing, sullen and 
 distorted. 
 
 Presently, through the wreathing vapor, I made 
 out, at convenient distance from the shore, a vague, 
 drifting shape. My boat had evidently not gone far. 
 Without more ado I plunged in. 
 
 The icy water chilled me to the marrow and I swam
 
 i 9 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 vigorously. Presently I reached the craft, and, 
 laying hold of the side, made to draw myself up. The 
 boat tipped violently. In that instant a shadowy 
 shape loomed over me, brawny hands seizing me 
 by the collar. A moment more and I was hauled, 
 like a meal sack, over the side and dumped, half 
 strangled, into the bottom of a strange boat. A 
 lantern was thrust into my face, my eyes blinking 
 in the glare. A voice sounded, round with surprise. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed if it isn't Lieutenant Strana- 
 han!" it said.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 In Frontenac 
 
 I recognized him, though his face showed indis- 
 tinct in the gray, rolling fog, in which the lantern's 
 glimmer glowed palely. He was the man who had 
 served as my second in the difference with the cow- 
 ardly British ruffian, Chichester. 
 
 "This is something of a surprise, Lieutenant Carew," 
 I remarked, summoning my wits to meet this emer- 
 gency. "It is curious that you and I should be en- 
 gaged simultaneously in similar missions." 
 
 This was a chance hazard, but I had come to the 
 instantaneous conclusion that Carew and the man 
 with him had been in quest of secret information on 
 our side. To betray any hesitation would assuredly 
 not do. I was in a bad box and must produce the 
 impression that I was in the business of the man 
 I was supposed to be. 
 
 "Don't you recognize Lieutenant Beresford, Strana- 
 han?" asked Carew, "though of course it is so dark 
 that you naturally would not, separated as you are. 
 We're all together in this business, for our necks 
 run similar risks." 
 
 "True," I muttered, though I felt at the moment 
 that my own ran a far greater one than their's just 
 now, had they but known it. 
 
 Here was an added difficulty. I found myself greet- 
 ing a friend of Carew' s, a young fellow I had met in
 
 196 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Frontenac. With two such acquaintances it would 
 pay to be doubly diplomatic. 
 
 "How curious you should fall in with us, quite 
 literally, too, in just this way, Stranahan," remarked 
 Beresford, with lively curiosity. "Did you swim after 
 us from the Harbor? And I thought you were at 
 Oswego." 
 
 "Just came from there," I answered lightly, "and 
 as for the swim, well, no. The water is somewhat too 
 cold. The truth is I am here through my own care- 
 lessness," and I went on to explain that I had stop- 
 ped at the island, just as the fog closed down, to 
 wait for its lifting and had improperly secured the 
 boat. "The craft belongs to a young Yankee officer. 
 I secured it this afternoon," I told them with perfect 
 truth. "This cursed fog settled when I was within a 
 couple of miles of the island yonder. I did not care 
 to be out in it, so made for the land. I must either 
 have anchored her insecurely or the rope parted. As 
 it is, she is drifting somewhere out yonder, while she 
 ought to be in readiness to start for Frontenac as 
 soon as the fog lifts. I thought it was she when 
 I was drawn into yours." 
 
 "Don't let it worry you, Stranahan," said Carew, 
 with reassurance unconsciously ironical. "You can 
 go to Frontenac with us, since we are returning 
 there." 
 
 So this was the trick Fate had played me ! I was 
 glad the mists obscured my face, which must have 
 looked dubious enough. But I gave vent to an ex- 
 clamation of satisfaction. 
 
 The boat was moving slowly forward through the 
 ghostly vapor. "If I thought this would not lift be- 
 fore long," observed Carew, who was at the tiller, "I 
 would put in for the island myself. But I think it
 
 IN FRONTENAC 197 
 
 will soon be gone, for the wind is rising." Sure 
 enough, the water of the lake was rippling ; the gray 
 masses stirred uneasily around us. It grew lighter; 
 presently a gust of air filled the sail. 
 
 "It is strange we have not run across each other," 
 I hazarded, "though to be sure, I have been every- 
 where from Oswego to Ogdensburgh in the past two 
 months, reporting at odd times to Montreal. I final- 
 ly made this last trip to the Harbor, coming from 
 Oswego in the guise of a militia officer. I have been 
 here a couple of days. You must have started for , 
 home this afternoon soon after I did." 
 
 "An hour or two later, I should judge," answered 
 Carew. "It was pretty misty when we started, but 
 we feared that suspicion was attaching itself to us 
 and considered home as better than the possibility of 
 stretched necks. We arrived from Watertown just 
 a little while ago. We had been hastily looking over 
 the ground there. It's a flying trip for the immediate 
 benefit of the authorities at Frontenac. These fellows 
 are better prepared than formerly. As for returning, 
 we saw old Miles Osgood below the Harbor. He, 
 as you know, is always ready with a boat and 
 timely aid for those in our line, provided he receives a 
 proper financial consideration." 
 
 I had not positively known it, but registered a 
 mental mark against Miles, whom I had previously 
 suspected of being a snivelling old hypocrite and all 
 things to all men. We would deal with him later. 
 
 "They are better prepared, as you say," I said, 
 "but I think we can make short work of them." 
 
 "I think we stand a fair chance of doing so," he 
 answered, "when we attempt it over the ice this 
 winter." 
 
 Here was something worth remembering. Perhaps,
 
 on the whole, a trip to Frontenac just now might 
 benefit our cause, and anyway, I had no choice. 
 The wind was now blowing quite hard and from a 
 favoring quarter, the boat skimming swiftly ahead. 
 Stony Island was far behind us and we were ap- 
 proaching Canadian waters with accelerated speed. 
 The fog had nearly vanished. It was deep dusk 
 and already a few pale stars glimmered in a sky 
 blown nearly clear of clouds. My nap had evidently 
 lasted some time. I resolved to make the best of the 
 situation. 
 
 A sudden reflection filled me with swift satisfaction. 
 Through a strange circumstance I was afloat for 
 Frontenac. Well and good. Renee was in Frontenac. 
 I would see her; my pulse stirred at the thought. 
 Perhaps her father was recovered and they awaited 
 opportunity to reach the shores where lay their 
 sympathies. If so, I might be able to assist them. 
 Were they now able to come, I felt that I possessed 
 resource sufficient to find a way to bring them. My 
 previous visit, together with the general acceptance 
 in Frontenac's military circles of myself as Lieutenant 
 Stranahan, had given me confidence. What I had 
 done I could do again, especially as my appearance 
 in the boat admitted of so reasonable an explanation. 
 Carew, I know, never dreamed of doubting me, and I 
 was confident also of Beresford's lack of suspicion. 
 
 I was at no small advantage in revisiting Fron- 
 tenac in that my real headquarters, as Stranahan, 
 were at Montreal. Stranahan's mission had been of 
 a delicate nature. He had come to grief at the very 
 first, though his friends had not learned of it, and, I 
 hoped, never would while I was on that side of the 
 water. During the lengthy period that I simulated 
 him I crossed boldly to Frontenac, Gananoque, Pres-
 
 IN FRONTENAC 199 
 
 cott and other towns conferring with sundry officers 
 and sending messages from these points to Montreal, 
 messages that were sufficiently near to the truth to 
 avoid unpleasant complications that would threaten 
 my personal safety and lead to the discovery of the 
 hoax, but messages, nevertheless, that never materi- 
 ally harmed our cause. While I was on the other 
 side I naturally gleaned information at first hand 
 that was of the most valuable nature to us, though 
 I had some exciting experiences in doing it, and, 
 more than once, feared that the grim game was up. 
 
 Sometimes, by arrangement with Montreal, the 
 simulated Stranahan would despatch his matter 
 from our own ports. The details of this cunningly 
 arranged plan I had learned on capturing Strana- 
 han and communicated them to General Brown. It 
 was then that my continued double identity was 
 decided upon. General Brown was more cordial in 
 his expressions of appreciation of my willingness to 
 keep up the illusion than I thought I deserved, for it 
 was only my duty. But he paid me the compliment 
 to maintain that he could summon but few men of 
 like nerve to aid him, and I will say that he hesi- 
 tated considerably before giving his consent to the 
 project, for it was originally my own proposal. I 
 doubt if a gentleman ever played the spy under more 
 peculiar circumstances than those which fell to me. 
 
 Naturally a clever penman, I had mastered Strana- 
 han's chirography, having plenty of specimens in my 
 possession from which to copy. It was a very fair 
 forgery, which fact is attested by the additional one 
 that it was never detected. The messengers of whom 
 I have spoken would enter our ports with an exag- 
 gerated caution which was superfluous, had they 
 but known it, for their coming was invariably known
 
 200 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and they were allowed to reach me without moles- 
 tation. However, the illusion of danger was always 
 maintained, and I occasionally arranged a little 
 diversion in the way of a hairbreadth escape from 
 apprehension that merely quickened the blood of the 
 messenger, while it did me good rather than harm, 
 for he carried back tales of the dangers that infested 
 my pathway and the skill with which I avoided them. 
 A joke of the matter was that it was known in Can- 
 ada that I had joined the Yankee army and had 
 secured the rank of captain under a supposedly as- 
 sumed name. I had explained at the very first that 
 I would be better able to care for England's inter- 
 ests by taking this course, and represented that I 
 had joined the militia as a lieutenant, after the at- 
 tack on Sackets Harbor, it being understood that 
 I was from Albany, and had soon been made a cap- 
 tain. I represented, too, that I had contrived to be 
 sent hither and yon on missions that gave me a 
 free rein to advance the interests of the British cause. 
 The impression which they entertained of my standing 
 did me untold good. I might change from place to 
 place; I might appear against them in battle, if 
 necessary, and they would think it done for policy's 
 sake. It was a bold game, but thanks to the 
 strange circumstances, it was for a long time compar- 
 atively easy. 
 
 I met the messengers during that war at all of our 
 ports from Oswego to Ogdensburgh, at different 
 times, and at many of their own. Once I had the 
 hardihood to meet, by appointment and under orders 
 from Montreal, a council of officers at Prescott, at 
 which I flatter myself I was the means of staving off, 
 through a convenient magnifying of our resources, 
 present and anticipated, a threatened attack upon
 
 IN FRONTENAC 201 
 
 us until we could the better prepare for it. As I look 
 back upon those experiences I wonder that Nemesis 
 did not overtake me long before she did. 
 
 So, to revert, it was with a fairly easy spirit that 
 I considered the prospect of this involuntary return 
 to Frontenac. We skimmed along at high speed. 
 The sky had entirely cleared and a crescent moon 
 gleamed among the studded stars. 
 
 The air had a wintry chill and I shivered in my 
 wet clothing. Carew proffered me a greatcoat. Beres- 
 ford offered a flask. I took both and was comforted. 
 
 Carew was an excellent sailor and evidently knew 
 the lake. As we flew along he and Beresford, both 
 of whom wore the uniforms of Yankee militiamen, 
 recounted their experiences on our side and I sup- 
 plemented them with some imaginary ones. I gave 
 them some valuable misinformation about matters 
 of which I well knew they had not learned enough 
 themselves to dispute me, and they, in their turn, 
 let fall some comment about matters at Frontenac 
 which I mentally recorded for future reference. 
 
 I was helped materially by the fact that they did 
 not know Stranahan personally. I did not particu- 
 larly wish to encounter an acquaintance of his. How- 
 ever, there was small danger of this if I succeeded 
 in keeping away from Montreal, for it will be recalled 
 that the unfortunate officer had arrived from England 
 only a few days before receiving the commission 
 which resulted in his undoing. 
 
 We made good time, and the fifty miles from the 
 Harbor to Frontenac were negotiated by one of the 
 morning. Gliding into the harbor, we secured the 
 boat and walked from the dock up the quiet street 
 to the King's Inn, where both my companions put 
 up. The weasel faced host responded in person to 

 
 202 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 our summons. He eyed me with disfavor for a 
 moment. Suddenly remembering, I paid him the 
 reckoning for my former visit, when I had left un- 
 ceremoniously without taking time for that formality. 
 
 "It is Yankee coin," I said, with a wink at him 
 and my two companions, " but that is what we have 
 been using lately." He nodded comprehensively and 
 became urbane. Ambling amiably ahead, he assigned 
 me a room. Before retiring I had a word with Carew. 
 
 "When leaving Montreal, I was of course obliged 
 to leave the incriminating red behind," I observed 
 with a laugh. "Can you have me fitted out in the 
 good old regimentals in the morning?" 
 
 " Surely," he replied. " We will attend to it." 
 
 I had reflected that by getting again into the 
 British uniform less attention would be attracted to 
 me and the chances of maintaining the hoax would 
 be improved. So, when we had breakfasted together, 
 Carew took me to the custodians of the stores and 
 I was clothed, having my own damp uniform dried 
 before being wrapped up for future reference, as I 
 observed, with a deeper significance than Carew knew. 
 
 I spent the morning in carelessly strolling about, 
 absorbing information. The military force had been 
 strengthened and more accessions to Yeo's fleet were 
 in building. I met many of my former acquaintances, 
 but did not come across Chichester, which gave me 
 satisfaction. I understood from a disgusted officer, 
 however, that he was lying drunk at his quarters, 
 the effect of an orgy the night previous. There 
 seemed to be a general satisfaction over the drub- 
 bing I had given him and I found my popularity 
 increased by it. 
 
 Dinner done, I was idling about the docks, after 
 conversing with a knot of officers who had just
 
 IN FRONTENAC 203 
 
 strolled away. Suddenly glancing around, I saw a 
 man approaching. Without ostentation I slipped 
 around a lumber pile. 
 
 He had not noticed me, .but walked slowly down 
 to the dock, where he stood gazing out upon the 
 green flood. My fingers itched to gripe his wicked 
 neck, bull-like, sprinkled with coarse, red hairs. His 
 mottled, brutal face, covered with a wiry red beard, 
 was the embodiment of sodden brutality. His burly 
 body was clothed in a nondescript dirty uniform. 
 His big, coarse hands were clasped behind his back. 
 A while he remained, gazing out upon the lake, then 
 reflectively spat into the sullied water. A moment 
 later he turned, retracing his steps to the town, 
 limping slightly. 
 
 I clenched my fists as I saw him go. "At the 
 proper time and place, Red Rolfe, or whoever you 
 are!" I muttered. "Satan will forget to guard you 
 some day, and then ' 
 
 Toward evening I strolled away from the town in 
 the direction of the little house on the outskirts where 
 I expected to find Renee and her father. As I walked 
 up the straggling street, nearing the spot which held 
 all of life for me, my breath came fast and the blood 
 buzzed in my head. I was to see her again ! And 
 yet, at the moment, a sickening doubt intruded. I 
 had heard nothing. What, after all, if I should find 
 them through some mischance gone? My heart grew 
 leaden and my steps likewise. The sun, low in the 
 west, took on a tinge of red ; the air was crisp with 
 an added coolness. 
 
 I approached the house, my heart thumping noisily, 
 a tentative question in my eyes. A cat sat in state 
 upon the gatepost, a black cat with strange eyes 
 that blinked uncannily. Her tail cleft the air like a
 
 204 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 belated benediction. As I approached the creature, 
 she bent her yellow eyes full upon me, now unchanging, 
 unwinking as the stony gaze of the sphinx. A mo- 
 ment thus she gazed, then her jaws gaped idiotically 
 and she yawned placidly into space. The tension 
 was broken. I laughed. 
 
 "Bon soir, monsieur," sounded a sweet voice in 
 greeting. " I perceive that your sense of the ridicu- 
 lous is not blunted by the tooth of time." 
 
 I started. There she stood, a vision all of earth 
 and therefore the lovelier ; the red gleam of the dying 
 day in her gold-brown hair; the rich carmine of 
 young, bounding blood in her round cheeks; all the 
 sweetness of her in the eyes that blended the wonder- 
 ful tints of the sky and sea beneath a royal sun. 
 
 "From where did you come?" I asked her, giddy 
 with a glad relief, seizing the little hands that were 
 extended in greeting. 
 
 "From the porch, while you were watching the 
 cat," she responded demurely. 
 
 "I will kill the cat," I observed, and cast about 
 for a missile. The animal yawned once more in 
 supreme content and I desisted. 
 
 " That is right," commented Renee, nodding sagely, 
 "that you relent. It is a nice cat. Would you be- 
 lieve it? it is a friend to Toti. I taught it so, 
 m'sieur. But why are you here, Lieutenant er 
 what did you say your name was? Are you spying 
 again ?" 
 
 "My name," I told her severely, "is still largely 
 Stranahan. I am spying a little, but quite accident- 
 ally. Moreover, I have come for you and your father 
 if you are ready." And I told her about it. 
 
 She gazed earnestly into my eyes, a little moisture 
 in her own. "We will return with you if it can be
 
 IN FRONTENAC 205 
 
 brought about," she said simply. "My father is 
 quite strong again and his desire is with the land of 
 his adoption. Our benefactor has been away from 
 Frontenac for some time, but his retainers, with 
 whom we have made our home, have done every- 
 thing possible for us. We can never repay them for 
 their kindness, and, m'sieur, how much less can we 
 repay you, you who take this risk for our sakes? 
 It hurts me when I think of how my father and I 
 are forced to impose ourselves, with our fallen for- 
 tunes, upon others," and her lips quivered. 
 
 "Mam'selle," I answered with mock sternness, a 
 lump rising in my throat, " let there be an end of 
 this. As for the risk, allow me to remind you that 
 I could not help myself. As for the imposition, as 
 you term it, let your memory whisper to you. More- 
 over, let me assure you that you will be kept busy 
 enough at Sackets Harbor. There is plenty of work 
 for women's hands there in the advancement of the 
 cause. I'll warrant you'll wish you were back in 
 Frontenac. But in the meantime, you may rest as- 
 sured of a warm reception at the hands of my father 
 and sister, who already love you for the poor life 
 you saved." 
 
 "Why, m'sieur," she faltered in confusion, "surely 
 we cannot think of coming to your home. We had 
 thought we would find a little place somewhere " 
 
 "Mam'selle!" I interrupted, "no more of this! 
 Who saved my worthless life? Who brought the 
 color back to my bleached face with tender nursing ? 
 Besides, our house is a headquarters for our friends. 
 John is there. We have grown inseparable." 
 
 "That is good," she said simply, "such amitie. 
 He is huge and magnificent. Let us walk around to 
 the orchard. My father is there."
 
 20 6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 We found M. De Montefort seated under an apple 
 tree, pulling comfortably at a long pipe and reading 
 a newspaper. With no restraining Storrs around us, 
 he was unaffectedly glad to see me. I told him of 
 past events, of my involuntary trip to Frontenac 
 and of the plan I had formed. He warmly acceded 
 to the proposition to return, but I encountered oppo- 
 sition when I spoke of their coming to our home. 
 
 "I cannot do that, M'sieur Warburton," he said, the 
 blood mantling his fine old face. " As it is, I shall 
 not rest until I have succeeded in paying these good 
 people here for their entertainment of us. Ma foi ! 
 Renee and I would rather take our chances again at 
 the little cabin!" 
 
 "Monsieur," I replied, "last autumn, when I lay 
 torn in the woods, you ministered unto me. Your 
 daughter gallantly saved the life of a stranger, and 
 then you took him in, nearly breaking your back to 
 do it. You both nursed him back to health, nor 
 could have cared more tenderly for him had he been 
 a brother and a son. Now, I beg of you, let me and 
 mine show, in small degree, our appreciation. Be- 
 sides, I can readily promise you that you shall be 
 busy there. I gather, monsieur, that you are ac- 
 quainted with military matters?" 
 
 " I was once, in France," he returned, with a wist- 
 ful smile. 
 
 "Then," I rejoined triumphantly, "you need not 
 worry about dependence, as you choose to term it. 
 I can secure you all you will want to do, and, as for 
 this young lady, I have promised her the oppor- 
 tunity to work her fair fingers to talons, if she elects 
 to be so foolish." 
 
 They both laughed and I saw that I had struck the 
 right note. Relieved to find that I had met the
 
 IN FRONTENAC 207 
 
 difficult task of dealing with these two sensitive 
 natures, I grew exuberant, succeeding in imparting 
 some of my enthusiasm to them. 
 
 We decided that in order to avoid all suspicion, the 
 Storrs should be told that their guests would start 
 in a day or two for Montreal, accompanied by my- 
 self, to join friends who were there. It came as we 
 arranged. We told the old people at supper, they 
 being profuse in expressions of real regret. They re- 
 membered my previous visit and had no suspicion 
 that I was another than I seemed. 
 
 Renee confided to me after supper that she disliked 
 to deceive the old people, but that necessity knew no 
 law, to which I agreed. Shortly after supper I left 
 for the town and spent the night at the King's Inn. 
 
 The next day was uneventful, but the succeeding 
 morning ushered in one of intense excitement in Fron- 
 tenac. Toward noon the Royal George, Yeo's most 
 formidable ship, came rushing, under full sail, into 
 the harbor, to anchor under the protection of the 
 land batteries and the guns of the fort. As he swung 
 around, his guns, pointed out over the water, spoke 
 hoarsely. From far up the lake there came an an- 
 swering roar. 
 
 The dock was soon thronged and the truth speedily 
 learned. The morning after my unexpected depart- 
 ure from the Harbor, it appeared Commodore 
 Chauncey had sailed out for the first time with his 
 pennant on the brig Oneida, and having in company 
 five armed schooners with nearly five hundred men 
 and many marines. Chauncey intended to intercept 
 Yeo's vessels on their coming from Fort George, where 
 they had taken reinforcements, and from which their 
 return was daily expected. But Chauncey chanced to 
 fall in with the Royal George near the False Ducks
 
 208 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and chased him into the Bay of Quinte, where he 
 was lost in the night. The next morning he followed 
 him to Frontenac's harbor, as I have said. 
 
 Chauncey's ships were soon in sight and I beheld 
 them approach with exultation. I looked for a suc- 
 cessful storming of the defences and rather forgot 
 my own danger at the prospect. But though a 
 tremendous cannonade began, our ships did not 
 draw close enough to work any effectual damage, 
 though the Royal George had received several shots 
 between wind and water. Afterward Chauncey re- 
 ported that "he found the defences stronger than 
 he expected." I, who was there, am at a loss to know 
 how he found them so, as he seemed not close enough 
 to adequately tell. 
 
 With the coming of evening, our fleet stood off 
 and anchored until the morning. Here was my op- 
 portunity. Making arrangements for a skiff, which 
 my uniform procured for me unquestioned, I hurried 
 to M. De Montefort and Renee, advising them of 
 the situation. Getting together their few belongings, 
 including Renee' s robin, we took leave of the fugi- 
 tives' benefactors, telling them that a ship was to 
 slip out that night for Montreal. Gaining the boat 
 we had in readiness, we pulled for Chauncey's flag- 
 ship, far outside the harbor. By miraculous good 
 fortune we got away unobserved. I had located the 
 Oneida early in the evening and pulled swiftly toward 
 it in the gloom. Presently we neared it. A low 
 hail attracted the attention of the vigilant watch 
 upon the deck and the three of us were presently 
 assisted over the side. 
 
 "A greeting, friends!" boomed a deep voice beside 
 us. We turned. 
 
 It was John.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A Wintry Interlude 
 
 Commodore Chauncey soon raised his brief blockade 
 of Frontenac and the fleet returned to the Harbor 
 with a happy quartet aboard the Oneida. Some 
 heavy gales followed, and soon the ice closed in, 
 stopping navigation for the season. At the Harbor 
 and at Frontenac preparations went merrily forward 
 for the succeeding campaign. For our part, instead 
 of carrying the war into the enemy's country, the 
 army of the north had been hard put to it to protect 
 its own borders. The land campaign of 1812 had 
 been scarcely a success. We had the blunders of Hull 
 at Detroit and Dearborn's farcical " Canadian in- 
 vasion" to rectify. The enemy also had some galling 
 memories of errors to be expunged in action, and 
 work was afoot in Frontenac, particularly in brig 
 building. Commodore Chauncey was not idle in this 
 regard. The Madison was launched in November, 
 being built in forty-five days, and the brigs Jefferson 
 and Jones were completed in the following spring, at 
 which time, too, the keel of the General Pike was 
 laid. Crews from illustrious men o' war, afloat on 
 the Atlantic, were sent to the Harbor to man the 
 brigs and there was every indication that Congress 
 expected Ontario and the St. Lawrence to become 
 the theatre of notable naval doings, which might 
 ultimately result in a wholesale changing of maps.
 
 2io THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The expectation, however, was not distined to be 
 realized. 
 
 The winter, rigorous in northern severity, closed 
 down upon us who hibernated in the isolated hamlet, 
 flanked by the bare, desolate forest, facing the frozen 
 lake. But we, through the white-stoled season, were 
 content, for it was a congenial company in my 
 father's house. Renee and M. De Montefort had re- 
 cieved a warm welcome for my sake, and it was but 
 a breath of time ere my father and sister valued 
 them for their own. The two girls became insepara- 
 ble and labored together for the good of the war- 
 riors in winter quarters. I had told Renee that she 
 would not lack for occupation and my presage proved 
 true, for there was much to be done by the loyal 
 women of the village. I had secured an excellent 
 post for M. De Montefort in the quartermaster's de- 
 partment, which afforded him great satisfaction, for 
 he had a wholesome horror of anything approaching 
 dependence. The securing of the berth, which was 
 one of some responsibility, had gratified me, for I 
 knew we should never have kept him otherwise. I 
 desired his company, and, more than his, his 
 daughter's. 
 
 The Frenchman and my helpless old father became 
 the best of comrades. The gallant old man, doomed 
 to watch in enforced inaction a contest in which his 
 indomitable soul would have willed his body in the 
 thickest of it, found in the emigre a kindred spirit. 
 Thus, with John and John's hound, not to forget 
 Renee's impudent robin, we made a rarely pleasant 
 circle. 
 
 Our days were busily spent, for there was work for 
 all who might perform it at the Harbor. We rose 
 with the gray dawn for the early breakfast which
 
 A WINTRY INTERLUDE 211 
 
 the maids had prepared, then departed for our tasks ; 
 John, M. De Montefort and I for the barracks and 
 multitudinous duties; the girls for the various mis- 
 sions that women's hands in those troublous days 
 could find to perform. Sometimes they were busy 
 with tasks that admitted of performance at home, 
 but oftener it was away. There was much sickness 
 in barracks that winter and the health of many a 
 gallant fellow was restored through the patient nurs- 
 ing of the noble women at the Harbor. 
 
 The hopes and plans that required infinite labor for 
 fulfillment made our days busy indeed in the ice-locked 
 snow-bound port. But in the long winter evenings, 
 when the tasks of the day were done, as I look back 
 upon them through the mists of the swift-flown years, 
 they were perfect; they were ideal. For they marked 
 that epoch that comes, touched with a strange, sad 
 tenderness, to the life of that fortunate man in whose 
 soul there dawns, in golden glory, the one deep, 
 true love for the one woman; the love that is pure 
 and godlike, that is mellow as ripened grain, that 
 fills eternity. Ah, this golden time, whose memories 
 throb like pulsing music in the after years; memories 
 so softly wistful to us who passed through earth's 
 Eden and found it, ere we knew, behind us ! 
 
 And so it was with me through the long, white- 
 stoled winter, the winter of bitter cold and leaden 
 skies, with the north wind wailing across the sullen, 
 ice-sealed waste of old Ontario and the white flakes 
 eddying in the teeth of the blast. The desolate little 
 hamlet, set forlornly between the grim, illimitable 
 forest and the great, frozen lake, locked in winter's 
 bonds, would have been dreary indeed, but she was 
 there and glorified it. She would have made for me 
 an unending summer of Siberia.
 
 212 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 My cheeks are furrowed and such hair as is merci- 
 fully left me is long since gone gray. But as I sit 
 dreamily at the window, the sweet shadow of other 
 eyes falls, like a curtain, over my old ones and I live 
 again those winter nights of my yesterday. I see 
 my father, helpless in his chair, close by the glowing 
 fireplace with its crackling logs in the great living 
 room; M. De Montefort in close converse with 
 him; the gigantic John, sprawled in his huge chair, 
 the inevitable pipe between his teeth, his hound at 
 his feet. I see my sister seated near Renee, myself 
 nearby, where I might look unrestrained upon the 
 lovely face of the girl I loved so deeply and so 
 silently. I hear the music of her voice, the music that 
 could banish the oppression that came of the wail 
 of winter winds that mourned and would not be com- 
 forted. Till the sum of my years is done, I pray that 
 this memory remain; the sight of her face in my old 
 eyes, the music of her voice in my ears. 
 
 I dared not yet speak to her of the love that made 
 me truer and more manly, for such is the necromancy 
 that purges men's natures of their superabundant 
 dross, to finally reveal the pure metal beneath. But 
 when the rest had gone these winter evenings and 
 were sinking into well-earned slumber; when the world 
 outside was a study in the starry black and ghostly 
 white of sky and snowbanks, and the peace of a per- 
 fect silence was undisturbed save but by an occasional 
 snore from Godfrey's hound, lying near me, I was 
 sometimes wont to sit alone before the fireplace in 
 the living room and stare in reverie at the glowing 
 logs. In the tongues of flame that leaped up the 
 great, gaping chimney I dreamed a promise in rosy 
 clouds. When peace was compassed, when the racked 
 land ceased to groan and the sword had become a
 
 A WINTRY INTERLUDE 213 
 
 ploughshare, then perhaps hope might claim its heri- 
 tage. And as the blissful dream brought a tender 
 hope for the future, there stirred memories of the 
 pleasant past; a past so recent, yet so long ago in 
 that since then the world had changed for me and 
 become merged in a sweet woman to be won. The 
 tide of recollection bore me, drifting in dreams, 
 back through that autumnal season; back to 
 the forest with its ripened foliage, its vista of tented 
 shade, through which the gold of the sunlight glinted 
 the smiling shadows. I heard again the snarl of 
 the little stream, biting futilely at the boulders of 
 its bed. The cries of birds came to me, the rustlings 
 of startled wood creatures. And through the restful 
 solitude of nature, over the crumbling, moss-grown 
 logs, through brushing masses of fern, subtly sweet, 
 following a tortuous path that wound through 
 Arcady, we walked together, Renee and I, for 
 always 
 
 Until a charred log burned through and fell, sending 
 a shower of sparks flying up the chimney, or the 
 hound, dreaming of some blood-stirring deed in his 
 crowded past, stirred uneasily with a sharp yelp, 
 bringing down the fabric of my dream in rude, 
 chaotic ruin about my ears. And I, recalled to reali- 
 ties, would brand myself a fond fool with savage 
 emphasis and betake myself disconsolately to bed. 
 Arcady, indeed ! Pleasant, to be sure, but others 
 peopled it, others as eager for and doubtless worthier 
 of favor than I. For there were certain other young 
 officers at the garrison who found our house a 
 magnet ; gallant, admirable fellows. I hated them all. 
 
 Still, not all, for some there were who paid court 
 at the shrine of Dorothy. These I secretly approved 
 and would fain have bequeathed to my sister an.
 
 2i 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 embarrassment of masculine riches for her choosing 
 by bestowing upon her gentle graces the entire gallant 
 crew. Still, had this been the case and the allegiance, 
 instead of being divided between two fair women, 
 had been all bestowed in the quarter I told myself 
 I wished it directed, and I been left in the undis- 
 turbed and sole possession of the society of the 
 woman I loved, I know I should have been fully as 
 piqued and resentful at such neglect as I was under 
 the circumstances actually existing, in which there 
 was nothing of neglect. For such is this ludicrous 
 contradiction of le grande passion, the lover rejoicing 
 in and yet chagrined because of homage paid by 
 others to the charms of his choice. 
 
 So it transpired that some of these winter even- 
 ings were the source of much discomfort to me, who 
 sat glum and glowered unobtrusively at times when 
 a pair of other eyes gazed deep into those that now 
 held the light of the world for me and another voice 
 than mine framed sallies and light nonsense that 
 brought the sparkle to her eyes and the bubbling of 
 soft laughter to her lips. There were several of these 
 intruders and they were always coming, to my intense 
 though concealed disgust. For Dorothy's delegation 
 I had merely an amiable and kindly interest, but the 
 other was different. It was hard to be amiably natur- 
 al when Renee had callers, and so I was sometimes 
 silent, raging at myself inwardly the while for being 
 a jealous fool where absolutely no excuse for jealousy 
 existed. For, I assured my idiot self savagely, never 
 by the slightest sign had she given me reason to 
 aspire to anything more than her frank friendship. 
 Therefore, why, but, bah ! I was a fool ! 
 
 The latter fact I felt shamedly that Dorothy divined 
 also at times, with that diabolical feminine intuition
 
 A WINTRY INTERLUDE 215 
 
 that seems especially rampant in sisters and is so 
 disconcerting to a jealous man. Sometimes when I 
 sat silent while the rest were chattering merrily, 
 Dorothy would look away from her cavalier for a 
 moment, her eyes flashing swiftly toward Renee's, 
 whoever he might happen to be on that particular 
 evening. Then those eyes, in which rioted little dan- 
 cing devils of soft malice, would, veiled in mock con- 
 cern, seek my own. 
 
 "What's the matter, Gillie?" she would inquire, 
 with what I could swear was an undue emphasis upon 
 the odious pseudonym, "you're not talking. That 
 is unusual. Aren't you well?" 
 
 "Perfectly," I would probably assure her, with a 
 covert, impotent glare. "I am simply tired." 
 
 Perhaps she would turn to John, sprawled in a 
 great chair near the fire, smoking steadily, rarely 
 speaking unless he had something to say, which was 
 unlike the rest of us. " Captain Godfrey," the minx 
 would admonish severely, " look after Gillie more 
 closely. Don't let him overdo. He was delicate when 
 a child." And with a last malicious smile the little 
 tormentor would leave me to my ruffled self, my 
 palms itching to box her ears. 
 
 There was one young subaltern of the regular infan- 
 try whom I hated many shades more than his fellows. 
 Lieutenant Henry Whiting, a dashing young fellow 
 with a curly red poll and ambitious moustache to 
 match, fairly rushed in where I had feared to tread. 
 In deadly earnest he was; determined to carry the 
 citadel by storm. It was his way ; action, ardor and 
 ambition were met in his ensanguined hair. Often 
 he came and then oftener, and always monopolized 
 her conversation. The words of his mouth flowed 
 as rivers to the sea and she listened and laughed
 
 216 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and was diverted, while I fumed and longed passion- 
 ately for some excuse to pummel him. He was of 
 engaging personality, of fine antecedents and pros- 
 pects; young, ardent and palpably enamored; an 
 excellent parti. Her manner, too; was there not 
 something in it toward him with which I had never 
 been favored? Yet again, when neither he nor the 
 others chanced to be there, and she set to entertain 
 me in her pretty, vivacious fashion, while perhaps 
 John and Dorothy played at cards in a corner of 
 the great living room and M. De Montefort and my 
 father talked of the momentous issues of the period 
 in another, then hope would throb again and I would 
 tell myself that perhaps after all she cared no more 
 for Whiting or any of the rest than for me, and 
 that at the least my chance was as good as his or 
 theirs. So the time passed while I alternated be- 
 tween wretchedness and content, betwixt elation and 
 discouragement, for after all there are briers and 
 brambles even in Arcady. 
 
 And sometimes, of a blustering night, the big brass 
 knocker would resound with two dignified detona- 
 tions, and, on the opening of the portal, in would 
 waddle the plump Noadiah, his broad face red as 
 the jackets of the enemy of two wars gallantly fought 
 by him, a hilarious, irreverent zephyr following in 
 malice and clutching at his coat tails. And the 
 veteran would sit and discourse of the stirring Revo- 
 lutionary days through which he served as a strip- 
 ling, of the dark time at Valley Forge, of the inspiring 
 denouement at Yorktown, for he had been with 
 Washington. And we listened appreciatively, for 
 Noadiah was an entertaining if somewhat ponderous 
 raconteur. 
 
 Ordinarily it was that these tales fell from the lips
 
 A WINTRY INTERLUDE 217 
 
 of Noadiah, when he chanced to call, but not always. 
 For sometimes the Widow Hankinson was there, she 
 whom Noadiah had emphatically declared to me, on 
 a certain broken Sabbath, to be a woman, and which 
 assertion I had not disputed. And at these times 
 the eloquence of Noadiah was concentrated in his 
 bulging eyes, but these spoke volumes, while those 
 of the buxom widow dropped modestly floorward 
 with unforgotten coyness. And the lips of Noadiah 
 were mute and dumb, save at intervals when there 
 issued from them, in gusty volume, the wordless 
 tribute of prodigious sighs. 
 
 And on other evenings, but never by awkward 
 chance when Noadiah was present, there would sound 
 on the knocker three sharp, nervous raps, like drum 
 taps, and in would be ushered the withered Cyrenus, 
 with odd nods, peering swiftly here and there like a 
 ferret. The wrinkled face was now bare of sparse, 
 gray whisker, for Cyrenus shaved religiously in these 
 days. There was a great change perceptible in 
 the little man since the day of his enlistment. 
 With that memorable step had returned, with odd 
 swiftness, a virile self respect, latent for years, but 
 revived under the sharp sting of awakened pride and 
 the responsibilities entailed by his resumption of an 
 old grim trade he loved and which he so well under- 
 stood. The little man was most valuable to us. 
 There was not a man at the Harbor so thorough 
 in the drilling of the raw militia, and he was a strict 
 disciplinarian. I had noted from the very first that 
 his dissoluteness of the former time had fled. That he 
 had his nips regularly in secret I did not doubt, but 
 he was never unduly under the influence of liquor 
 and never indulged in the presence of his men. More- 
 over, old acquired colloquialisms, the result of idle,
 
 218 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 dissolute years in a new, raw country, were dropping 
 from his speech like rough, outworn garments. His 
 enunciation at times was now nearly as pure as our 
 own. Whatever his past, we were certain that his 
 estate had been considerably higher than the one in 
 which the outbreak of the war had found him. 
 
 There was a mystery about him which was impene- 
 trable, a strange, tantalizing something that stimu- 
 lated a curiosity that remained unsatisfied. On one 
 occasion, indeed, the spirit had moved him to recount 
 a vivid narrative of stirring experiences that par- 
 tially removed the veil. We learned then that he had 
 been born in New England, of old Puritan stock, and 
 had, like Noadiah, fought through the Revolution. 
 At the close of that struggle he had crossed the 
 ocean to England, and, evidently from the pure love 
 of fighting for fighting's own sweet sake, he had 
 fought with Englishmen in some of the tight little 
 island's omnipresent wars. " I'd as soon fight under 
 any flag as my own, for the simple love of the game," 
 he had concluded, "but when any other flag heads 
 
 a column a-marching against my own " he paused 
 
 with an expressive gesture, "why, you see in whose 
 camp I am to-night." 
 
 "Yes, and doing yeoman's service !" exclaimed John 
 warmly, and shook the little man's hand. 
 
 I have told of the raps of Noadiah and Cyrenus 
 upon the knocker, raps that proclaimed individuality. 
 And there was another, equally unmistakable, and it 
 was like a knell. 
 
 The lamentations of Jeremiah were as psalms of 
 hope by comparison with the dirges of Abner Hoi- 
 comb. Some day he would die. The ghost of rheu- 
 matism would not be exorcised. He had a misery 
 in his tubes, he could hear 'em a-whistlin' or sump'n
 
 A WINTRY INTERLUDE 219 
 
 when he breathed. If the rheumatiz didn't fetch him, 
 they would. An' Betsey, he was worryin' about 
 Betsey an' the farm. He felt sartin that her hired 
 man was shiftless and of no account. The war was 
 wearin' on him, wearin' on all of us. Mout as well 
 gin in, the Britishers would have us in the end. 
 What was the use of anything? 
 
 All this in a voice like the whimper of the north 
 wind in the pines of a lonely graveyard, while some- 
 one shivered and thrust more wood in the fireplace. 
 Abner's solemn eyes stared like the yawning gateways 
 of twin tombs ; depression brooded in his discouraged 
 whiskers ; his masticating jaws moved eternally with 
 the slow, sombre iteration of footfalls in a funeral 
 cortege to the strains of a dead march ; his face 
 
 But why continue? Life is short even as the face 
 of Abner was long.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 The Brand of the Bravo 
 
 Spring, like dew, again fell upon the land. Dead 
 things were quickened, bursting into bloom. The 
 grass, redolent with sweet savor, grew in green fra- 
 grance, glad, luxuriant. Bare boughs blossomed, 
 giving forth their increase. The desolate forest, yes- 
 terday a shrouded dirge, became to-day a living 
 bower of beauty. The frogs grumbled placidly, croak- 
 ing in the marshes. Renee's robin left off moping, 
 swaggered like a bravo and fell to grubbing. 
 
 There was a stir at the Harbor, an electric quality 
 in the air which promised action after a long, en- 
 rusting rest. The little army, emerging like a bear 
 from its cave after a winter of hibernation, stretched 
 its claws and yawned hungrily. It was the begin- 
 ning of a campaign which the rank and file hoped 
 to make glorious; hoped to render Ontario and the 
 frontier immortal. There was a cheerful bustle; the 
 constant arrival of small reinforcements; ceaseless 
 drilling, the acquiring of new stores and equipments ; 
 the ring of hammers in the ship yards. There was 
 keen expectancy; the anticipation of great, round 
 deeds ; of swelling achievement. 
 
 April the twenty-second some two thousand troops, 
 under the immediate charge of General Zebulon M. 
 Pike, were embarked on the fleet of Commodore 
 Chauncey, John's company and mine being among
 
 THE BRAND OF THE BRAVO 221 
 
 them. For three days we remained moored in the 
 Harbor. Finally the ships weighed anchor, and, 
 headed by the Oneida, Chauncey's flagship, with their 
 great, white sails bellying in the strong breeze, moved 
 from their moorings. 
 
 From the deck of the Oneida I gazed back at the 
 town. We rounded the long, low point that penned 
 the harbor, sweeping about it into the tumbling 
 whitecaps of the bay, whipped into tips of crested 
 foam by the wind. The sky, like an inverted blue 
 bowl, was cloudless. The golden glow of an un- 
 shadowed sun limned the lake with glory. 
 
 The surf sounded in our rear, beating against 
 the great wall of limestone that for nearly a mile 
 stretched its gray, sheer length before the town, a 
 natural rampart, at the verge of which the cannon 
 frowned, their muzzles pointing across the miles that 
 led to Frontenac. The bluff was thronged, and with 
 the cheers there blended the crashing blare of bands. 
 I searched the crowd on the cliff with wistful eyes 
 that were rewarded. She stood there with Dorothy, 
 a slim hand of each waving a white wisp of a hand- 
 kerchief. I swung my hat in reply, and John, who 
 stood by me, doffed the nondescript felt affair he 
 wore and stared with me at the receding shore until 
 the inevitable pipe had gone out. Anathematizing it 
 softly, he relighted it. 
 
 "Whither are we bound, Gilbert?" he asked, puffing 
 pale blue clouds that whisked in the wind. He had 
 but just boarded the fleet before we sailed, having 
 returned only the night previous from the execution 
 of a commission at Ogdensburgh. 
 
 " My boy," I answered, reluctantly removing my 
 gaze from the lessening figures on the cliff, "great 
 secrecy hath been observed. Not more than a handful
 
 222 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 of men aboard the fleet know where it is taking them. 
 I am one of the handful. Sing psalms, John, for it's 
 York, naught else but Little York." 
 
 " Now is the winter of our discontent " psalmed 
 
 John, but I silenced him with a brandished handspike. 
 
 " I can hardly credit it," he commented soberly, 
 " that there is actually a probability of action. If I 
 dream, Gilbert, do not wake me." 
 
 "Not I," I answered, ''and heaven help the man 
 who should. You would be ill natured." 
 
 "True, I should," he replied, thumbing his pipe 
 bowl. "As it is, the project gives me a peaceful 
 anticipation. I long to exercise my muscles and my 
 lungs, for I shall probably yell a little." 
 
 " You will likely need to do both," I responded. " I 
 am a little afraid of our militia. Good fellows, all, 
 but unused to this business and rather raw. We 
 should tie them to us." 
 
 "When the time comes," returned John, "I think 
 we shall find that the knots of loyalty will hold." 
 We relapsed into silence, gazing out upon the sunlit 
 water, diademed with spray. The staunch new tim- 
 bers creaked; the wind droned through the rigging; 
 the great sails bellied in the breeze. We drove to the 
 west in the rush of a strong head wind. In the wake 
 of the Oneida there followed the Madison, Hamilton, 
 Conquest, Governor Tompkins and eight other brigs 
 and armed schooners, sliding with the surges, the 
 water breaking in miniature cascades from the ad- 
 vancing bows on either side. 
 
 The movement was in accordance with a plan 
 of operations against Canada, which had been form- 
 ulated in the cabinet at Washington that winter. 
 General Dearborn had been acquainted with 
 it in February. He was directed to assemble
 
 THE BRAND OF THE BRAVO 223 
 
 large forces at Sackets Harbor and Buffalo. The 
 force at the Harbor was designed to be landed at 
 Frontenac, and, after securing that town and the 
 shipping in the harbor, was to proceed to Little 
 York and seize the stores collected there and some 
 British frigates in course of building. General Brown 
 had orders to have a large force of militia in reserve. 
 Later in the spring the prudential policy of the gov- 
 ernment perhaps this time fortunately deferred tem- 
 porarily the attack on Frontenac and substituted in- 
 stead that upon Little York, at the head of the 
 lake. Could that post be taken, it would give us the 
 command of Ontario and our troops could advance 
 to attack Fort George by land and water, while the 
 troops at Buffalo could cross over and carry Forts 
 Erie and Chippewa and join the army at Fort George. 
 From there the combined forces might concentrate on 
 Frontenac, for such now was the varying program. 
 So to this end the troops, under General Pike, had 
 been embarked on Chauncey's fleet, as I have re- 
 corded, the whole being directed by Dearborn. 
 
 On we rushed, past the wooded headlands that girt 
 Henderson Harbor; by the wind-swept sand dunes 
 that marked, a few miles further west, the confines of 
 the great Mexico Bay. The wind rose, whining 
 through the cordage; the ships were lifted on the 
 breasts of great, rolling swells. The wind was with 
 us, driving us in a cloud of spray on toward 
 Little York. Wooded islands lay, dark and sullen, to 
 the north. We neared them, hearing the morose 
 growl of the surf upon their beaches. 
 
 The hours passed, the men upon the decks busy 
 with grim preparations. Could human effort com- 
 pass it, there would be a great, round deed whose 
 sequence should not spell a cipher. The wind rose
 
 224 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 mightily, its tug fairly lifting the boats from the 
 water. The canvas stretched taut, blown stiffly in- 
 ward, tight as a drumhead. Dusk fell and the night 
 came on, the wind dying gradually. Still we sailed 
 on, like dim ghosts in the dark. The dawn came 
 with a freshening wind and we rushed on, renewed, to 
 the west. 
 
 And so on, while the hours dragged like years. 
 Now all eyes were strained for the town, and at last, 
 the third day out, there rose a yell from the deck of 
 the Oneida that was echoed from the other boats of 
 the fleet. Little York was close at hand. In a few 
 moments we were sweeping by it. There was no de- 
 lay. Seamen sprang to their places to slacken sail 
 and prepare to lay to for the landing, which was to be 
 by small boats at an open field just beyond the town. 
 
 Scores of men sprang to the boats, dropping over 
 the sides of the ships like ants. Hundreds tumbled 
 into the batteaux, tossing like corks upon the swells. 
 In a breath of time the long line of boats from the 
 thirteen ships were pulling steadily toward the shore 
 through the rolling sea that hissed and boiled under 
 the lash of the wind, which carried them far below 
 their- intended stopping place, toward a stretch of 
 dense woodland. The ships, meanwhile, prepared to 
 cover our approach with a wholesale shelling of the 
 enemy's shores. 
 
 Major Forsyth, with his rifle corps, first approached 
 the beach. John and I, with our commands, were in 
 batteaux immediately behind him. Suddenly there 
 came a volley from the woods, now close at hand. 
 The water spattered in jets about us. An oath from 
 John caused me to turn my head. Only the stem of 
 his pipe remained between his teeth. The bowl was 
 gone. I laughed, a trifle nervously.
 
 THE BRAND OF THE BRAVO 225 
 
 Major Forsyth gave an order. The men ceased 
 rowing, our own following suit. A moment later and 
 the echoes rolled back from our return fire, poured 
 into the woods. We resumed rowing, rapidly ap- 
 proaching the shore. A moment later a boat passed 
 us, the oarsmen pulling like mad. General Pike sat 
 in the stern, his eyes burning, his face aglow with the 
 lust to land. 
 
 His was the first boat to reach the shore, the others 
 putting pell-mell after him. As the boat grounded 
 he leaped into the water, splashing to the wooded 
 bank, his men following. There was a hat swung in 
 air, the glimpse of an ensanguined poll. I noted 
 Lieutenant Whiting with a grudging tribute to his 
 quality. He was certainly eager enough. Forming 
 quickly, with the fire of the unseen enemy pouring 
 down upon us, we scaled the bank with Yankee yells, 
 Pike at the head. The enemy had been lurking in the 
 woods. He ran, we after him. 
 
 Forsyth landed some distance above. At this in- 
 stant his bugles sounded and we heard the crackle of 
 musketry. As we rushed on, loud yells of fear sounded 
 nearby and there rushed past as on the wind's wings 
 a scurrying cloud of savages, unreliable British allies. 
 Also some militia uniforms gleamed ahead. We hur- 
 ried on in pursuit. 
 
 John and I ran through the forest, our men, who 
 merited more trust than I had reposed in them, at 
 our heels. Close to me trotted Cyrenus, agile, tire- 
 less as a terrier. Near John, the portly Noadiah 
 floundered like a fleshy bull, eyes protruding, fat face 
 the color of the enemy, strangling gasps in his throat. 
 But he kept on, while Cyrenus grinned as he trotted. 
 Abner Holcomb was at my heels, his old musket over 
 his bony shoulder, striding unbelievable strides as
 
 226 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 though he had seven league boots, a funereal expres- 
 sion without animation upon his face. He looked the 
 same as when in church with Betsey in the brief in- 
 terval before sleep claimed him at each successive 
 service. 
 
 From the lake there came the thunder of Chauncey's 
 cannonade and we knew that the remainder of the 
 troops, under its cover, were landing in the woods 
 now deserted by the enemy, and would speedily follow 
 us. 
 
 When the last of the flying enemy had halted in the 
 friendly forest shade we stopped also. Waiting for the 
 rest of the troops to come up, we re-formed to pass 
 in sections through the woods. Some field-pieces and 
 a howitzer were hauled up, with infinite difficulty, to 
 protect the head of the column. The Fifteenth Regi- 
 ment of regulars joined us, taking the lead, which 
 imparted more encouragement to the militiamen. We 
 now pushed on in the direction of the fort. 
 
 The enemy gave us an arduous time in doing it, 
 though not by opposing arms. We encountered a 
 couple of streams over which they had, with solicitous 
 forethought, removed the bridges. At last we came 
 into a clearing, the fort lying just beyond it. The 
 men burst into cheers. 
 
 In this clearing, confronting us, gaped the muzzles 
 of a battery of twenty-four-pounders, unlimbered for 
 our reception. Captain Walworth, of the Sixteenth 
 regulars, to which Lieutenant Whiting belonged, was 
 ordered to storm this battery. The men rushed 
 across the intervening space with fixed bayonets, 
 John's troops and mine following, and the sight was 
 all that was needed. The gunners, who evidently 
 regarded cold steel with aversion, delivered one badly 
 #imed volley and fled, We were in peaceful possession
 
 THE BRAND OF THE BRAVO 227 
 
 of the swiftly silenced battery. Lieutenant Whiting 
 had been in the front. I could not help but admire 
 the fellow. 
 
 The militia halted there to hold the position while 
 the regulars swept on, and, with ridiculous ease, soon 
 occupied the works and silenced the remaining bat- 
 teries. The enemy had displayed a feather of virginal 
 whiteness. 
 
 John leaned against one of the impotent guns. 
 "H 1!" he commented savagely. 
 
 "On the contrary," I observed placidly, "it is 
 heavenly. They turn the other cheek." 
 
 "To think that Englishmen should run like 
 women!" he exclaimed. "It shames my blood!" 
 
 "Most who ran," I observed gently, "are raw 
 Canadian militiamen. And many, too, were cursed 
 redskins, British only by the grace of godless emis- 
 saries. What did you expect?" 
 
 "Fighting!" he growled. "I have had a foot 
 race!" The broken pipe stem, still clenched between 
 his teeth, tilted aggressively. I reached up, removing 
 it. 
 
 "Have another, John, a whole one," I suggested 
 soothingly, and handed him my own, together with 
 my tobacco pouch. Nicotine, like the witch she is, 
 presently soothed his spirit. 
 
 Cyrenus trotted about us, snuffing tentatively, 
 darting uneasy glances here and there, like a ferret. 
 Nearby stood Noadiah, a man apart, still blowing 
 like a foundered horse. Holcomb masticated to- 
 bacco in deep melancholy. 
 
 "Do we loot?" asked Cyrenus, addressing either or 
 both of us. 
 
 "Loot? Well, no!" replied John, staring at him. 
 "And don't you let me catch you at it!"
 
 "Well, I didn't know," returned Cyrenus, in an in- 
 jured way. " I need some new things." 
 
 "You go to the devil!" said John. And Cyrenus 
 went, for a moment afterward we saw him stealthily 
 uncorking a treasured flask. It was excusable; the 
 occasion demanded recognition of some kind. Far 
 from reproaching him, we sampled his store and 
 found it good. 
 
 "There is some things," commented Abner, the last 
 served, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, 
 "what rekerncile me to livin' away from Betsey." 
 And he cast a compassionate glance toward Noadiah, 
 who, the bottle being Cyrenus', had not imbibed. 
 
 General Pike stood nearby, talking with some 
 officers. Ere long he ceased in order to minister to 
 the needs of a wounded British sergeant who was 
 discovered near the group. From time to time he 
 glanced toward the town, whose surrender was mo- 
 mentarily expected. The troops were again preparing 
 to form, ready to march into it. Suddenly John 
 grasped my arm. "Look there!" he exclaimed, 
 pointing. 
 
 There stood, some little distance in front of us, a 
 square, substantial building, evidently an adjunct to 
 the fort. Toward it there was creeping upon his 
 belly, through a low thicket, the figure of a man, 
 worming along like a snake. He had evidently 
 emerged from the fringe of the adjoining forest. 
 
 He made his way swiftly to the rear of the 
 building, then partially rose. His garb was of a 
 nondescript type. But the face, mottled and wicked 
 to look upon; the red hair and bushy beard; the yel- 
 low eyes like a cat's; the burly figure! Red Rolfe in 
 the evil flesh, stealing on like a thief. For what 
 sinister purpose?
 
 THE BRAND OF THE BRAVO 229 
 
 He had not seen us. His savages, undoubtedly 
 those who had rushed by us through the forest, 
 where were they? 
 
 All the hate of the world surged through me. I 
 lifted my rifle to my shoulder. John struck it down. 
 
 "Not that, Gilbert, not that!" he muttered, his 
 voice strange in my ears. 
 
 I stared into his white face. " He is a devil, John," 
 I answered fiercely. "Let me send him home!" 
 
 He only shook his head, his face shadowed. The 
 man ahead, moving forward cautiously, had gained a 
 point some distance behind the building. He now 
 stood again erect, facing us. There was a burning, 
 hissing object in his hand. 
 
 John sprang forward with a cry, his rifle coming to 
 his shoulder. "Drop it!" he shouted, "or you die!" 
 
 The bravo turned, his face like a fiend's. "Be 
 
 d d to you!" he roared, in that strange voice 
 
 that rolled in rich melody out of his unclean throat. 
 The flaming brand flew through the air, straight into 
 the building. 
 
 There was a roar like the mingling of many thun- 
 ders; a blinding flash that seared the eyes, leaving 
 darkness and silence. After a while my eyes opened. 
 On all sides awful groans of agony were sounding. 
 
 I struggled to a sitting posture, bewildered eyes 
 searching the chaos about me. The pitiful outcries of 
 wounded men came to me; the ground was strewn 
 with blackened corpses. There was the odor of 
 burned flesh ; a horrible mingling of gruesome sights 
 and sounds. I was aware of arms supporting me. I 
 looked up. John's face was bending over me, sombre 
 as the tomb. 
 
 I struggled weakly to my feet. "John, what does 
 this mean?" I cried wildly, my head reeling.
 
 " The powder magazine was blown up," he answered 
 dully. " Many are killed." 
 
 I glanced to the left. A squad of soldiers were 
 carrying away an officer. The blood was dripping 
 from the litter. I marked his face with a cry. 
 
 "General Pike!" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, he is dying," rejoined John, still in that odd 
 tone. 
 
 "Ah, that devil !" I burst out, dry sobs tearing my 
 throat. "Curse him! Why did you not let me kill 
 him!" 
 
 John turned to me, his face convulsed. " Gilbert," 
 he exclaimed harshly, " I wish I had ! I wish I had ! 
 Could I but have had a second more, I would have 
 killed him myself! Better twenty such fratricides 
 than this!" And he buried his face in his hands. 
 
 I stared at him, horror in my eyes. "John!" I 
 gasped, "you do not mean, you cannot mean that 
 he is " 
 
 He stood upright, his eyes, full of sombre rage, 
 fixed on the blackened ruin of the powder magazine, 
 from which poured dense clouds of smoke, mingled 
 with the writhing of tongues of shooting flame. 
 
 " Gilbert," he said, " I pray God that he no longer 
 is, but was my brother!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 A Leaf from the Past 
 
 I had lain inert but for a moment in that infernal 
 chaos of death. I removed my gaze from John's 
 face, trying to realize the grisly meaning of what he 
 had told me. It was incomprehensible; it stunned 
 me. 
 
 At that moment there sounded in our ears the 
 rattling strains of " Yankee Doodle." Close by stood 
 the regimental band, playing as coolly as if on 
 dress parade. There were deep throated cheers; the 
 torn column closed up. John and I, with a mutual 
 awakening to duty, moved up with them, our men 
 following us. 
 
 In advance, with our rifles at shoulder, for despite 
 our rank we carried them as indispensable adjuncts 
 to our method of warfare, both of us being excellent 
 shots, we proceeded. The scene was indescribably 
 gruesome. We slipped in pools of blood, stepped 
 across the shattered fragments of rent humanity that 
 had been comrades. Groans from the wounded 
 sounded on all sides ; voices shrieked aloud for death 
 to end agony. In that roar of desolation nearly 
 three hundred of our own men and the enemy's forces 
 had been killed and wounded. We who had seen 
 could but hope that the fiend who created the havoc 
 lay dead in the ruin he had wrought. 
 
 At the moment of the explosion General Pike was
 
 232 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 sitting on a stump, whither some men had carried the 
 wounded English sergeant to whom he was minister- 
 ing. As the thunderous discharge sounded, blowing 
 five hundred barrels of powder and a great quantity 
 of stone, together with the fragments of the building 
 into the air, the general was bending over the pris- 
 oner, .examining his wounds. They drew the com- 
 mander out from under a pile of debris. Turning 
 to Captain Nicholson, who bent over him, he ex- 
 claimed, " I am mortally wounded." They procured 
 a litter and carried him from the field. 
 
 While the strains of the rollicking " Yankee Doodle" 
 filled the air, our column speedily re-formed and we 
 started grimly for the town. Had but one man been 
 left alive to reach it, he would have finally fallen 
 riddled in the breast, for not a man showed his 
 back to the enemy that day. But even as we swept 
 on, murderously silent, our eyes caught the glimpse 
 of a fluttering flag far ahead, where the advance 
 guard had preceded us. It sank gradually from 
 sight. A moment later and another banner rose in 
 its place, waving in the wind. We stopped, swinging 
 our caps in the air, shrieking mad cheers. 
 
 Far back, General Pike, who was being borne from 
 the field, heard the tumult and turned his head to- 
 ward an attending sergeant in mute inquiry. "The 
 union jack is down and the stars and stripes are 
 up!" cried the man, in an excess of joy. And the 
 dying hero, racked with agony, smiled. 
 
 He was borne tenderly to the Oneida. He could 
 not speak, but lay with glad eyes, gasping out his 
 life. They brought the captured union jack on board. 
 He motioned feebly for the trophy and they folded 
 it, placing it under his head. Then, while the un- 
 easy fingers picked at the coverlet, he died.
 
 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 233 
 
 So passed a hero, whose record shines with as white 
 a lustre as the glory of the snow-crowned peak in 
 Colorado, the wonder of a continent, which he dis- 
 covered and which was christened for him. Of sturdy 
 liberty-loving stock he was, son of an illustrious 
 patriot of the Revolution, who survived his boy but 
 was too old to serve in this second war against 
 the mistress of the seas. In a letter to his venerable 
 parent, written the day before this expedition, the 
 martyred patriot had said : 
 
 "Should I be the happy mortal destined to turn 
 the scale of war, will you not rejoice, O, my father? 
 May heaven be propitious and smile on the cause of 
 my country ! But if we are destined to fall, may 
 my fall be like Wolfe's, to sleep in the arms of vic- 
 tory." 
 
 With the removal of General Pike to the Oneida, 
 Colonel Pearce, on whom the command devolved, 
 took possession of the barracks, then advanced to 
 the town. On the way he was met by the officers of 
 the Canadian militia, who proposed a capitulation. 
 This was agreed to, shortsightedly, as it proved, 
 for we learned later that it was brought about to 
 allow General Sheaffe, with the British regulars, to 
 escape to their vessels and also to destroy the stores. 
 The plans of the enemy were eminently successful. 
 The regulars made good their retreat and several 
 vessels were burned, as were also large quantities 
 of military and naval stores that we had hoped to 
 acquire. 
 
 And still, be it forever told to the credit of our 
 men, despite the exasperation caused by the loss of 
 life in the explosion of the magazine and the flight of 
 the regulars and destruction of stores that we had 
 expected to confiscate, the citizens were treated with
 
 234 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 a consideration that caused them blank amazement. 
 Such had been the strict orders of General Pike, and 
 they were carried out after his death, though there 
 was indeed slight disposition to disobey them. 
 
 A few days after our occupancy of Little York the 
 troops were re-embarked to proceed immediately to 
 Niagara. It had been intended to do this sooner, 
 but a week's delay was caused by bad weather, ren- 
 dering sailing dangerous. Other vexatious circum- 
 stances served to further delay the embarkation. 
 During this time, some schooners, doing duty as 
 troop ships, brought us reinforcements from Sackets 
 Harbor and Buffalo. At length Dearborn, with five 
 thousand men, sailed for Fort George. He resolved 
 to make the landing upon the peninsula, on which 
 the fortress was situated, in six divisions, under 
 cover of the fire of the fleet. The first division, of 
 five hundred men, was commanded by Colonel Win- 
 field Scott, who volunteered for the service, followed 
 by Colonel Porter with a reserve. The gallant Perry 
 offered to superintend the landing of the boats, which 
 would have to be effected under a galling fire and 
 through a roaring surf. The world knows of the result 
 of that fearless sortie, one of the few bright spots 
 upon our page of the ledger of those two disappoint- 
 ing years. History has writ of the reckless, bril- 
 liant charge of the intrepid Scott, an invulnerable 
 Achilles ; of how Dearborn, watching the fierce assault 
 from the deck of theOneida, burst into tears as he saw 
 the giant form of the dashing leader, whom the gods 
 loved too well to destroy, tumble backward down the 
 ramparts that his men were storming. Dearborn cried 
 out that he was killed, but the hero, up in a flash, 
 led the way over the battlements unharmed, routing 
 the enemy, and, leaping upon a horse, headed his
 
 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 235 
 
 column in the pursuit after the redcoats, who fled 
 like chaff before him. If the country was cursed with 
 Hulls, she still had her Scotts, her Pikes and Browns. 
 
 These attacks upon the forts of Niagara, however, 
 were not participated in by John and I. With our 
 commands we had returned unexpectedly to the Har- 
 bor, opportunely, to be sure. After the arrival of 
 the schooners that had brought the reinforcements, 
 General Dearborn became torn with misgivings, for 
 he remembered Frontenac. Might not Provost and 
 Yeo take advantage of the splendid opportunity 
 afforded of falling upon the Harbor while the de- 
 fenders were nearly all away? The reinforcements 
 that had arrived from the post consisted mainly of 
 regulars. Only a handful had been left there and 
 the militia constituted the only reserve that could 
 be but indifferently depended upon, for they had 
 fought scarcely at all. There were stores at the 
 Harbor in plenty and new brigs in the process of 
 building; in fact, a pretty tidbit for the enemy, 
 should his teeth fancy it. Obviously he should 
 be forestalled. Obviously also, some troops should 
 be returned to the well nigh deserted post. The up- 
 shot was that several companies of the best trained 
 militia, with which category John's command and my 
 own were honored by inclusion, with a small rein- 
 forcing detachment of regulars, were loaded upon 
 some lightly armed schooners and sent back forth- 
 with to the Harbor. 
 
 So it happened that upon a day in the second 
 week in May I stood upon the deck of the Julia, 
 quietly smoking and gazing down at the blue-green 
 water which slipped rapidly by under us. We moved 
 with swiftness by the grace of a favoring wind. The 
 lowering skies and passion-torn waters of the past
 
 23 6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 few days were gone like evil dreams. The fresh breath 
 of the mild May morning bestowed its benison; the 
 few clouds that loafed lazily in the blue of the smiling 
 sky gleamed white as the sails below in the sunshine. 
 Not a craft was in sight other than our own. The 
 rippling green field, powdered with tiny foam patches, 
 stretched east and west ; undulating, uneasy, endless. 
 Afar in the lake islands loomed low and blue on the 
 clear horizon, a shade deeper than the sky. To the 
 south gleamed the golden, drifting sand dunes of 
 Mexico Bay, on the long beach of which we could 
 hear distantly the lapping of the waves, throbbing 
 in their eternal monotone. Beyond, now but a 
 breath away, loomed the stretch of forest that 
 followed the shore line to the western confines of 
 Henderson Harbor. 
 
 Lieutenant Whiting, who was in charge of the de- 
 tachment of regulars returning with us, approached 
 me. He held his hat in his hand, the sunlight riot- 
 ing in his curly red hair. He looked somewhat 
 troubled and his eyes were haggard. I strove to be 
 cordial. After all, his gallantry was undeniable. 
 
 " A terrible affair, Captain, that explosion at Little 
 York," said he. 
 
 "It was," I assented, somewhat brusquely, in 
 spite of myself. He looked at me curiously, compre- 
 hensively. 
 
 "There is no need, Captain, for further rivalry 
 between us," he remarked dryly, with a bitter smile. 
 
 "Sir, what do you mean? Explain yourself!" I 
 demanded, when I had regained my breath. 
 
 " When men are interested in the same woman," he 
 responded, with a certain dignity, "each may un- 
 erringly pick his rivals. One may know even if the 
 other be unassertive and dumb. It is an instinct."
 
 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 237 
 
 "True," I muttered, reflecting that I had picked 
 him as one upon the evening of his introduction to 
 her, though in him was no lack of assertion. " But 
 to what purpose is the homily?" 
 
 "Simply that I am no longer a rival," he an- 
 swered. "I am more candid than most. You may 
 consider me bizarre. But I thought you might be 
 interested to know that Mademoiselle De Montefort, 
 just before we sailed, gave me my conge. I could 
 have expected no more," he added, with a mirthless 
 smile. " She was merely my friend, and the episode 
 /to which I have referred, for which my impetuosity 
 was responsible, troubled her. And now, Warburton," 
 extending his hand, "I wish you better luck." 
 
 I shook his hand warmly. I liked him, this gallant 
 young fellow, whose keen eye, because turned in the 
 same quarter, had divined my secret. I wished him 
 well elsewhere, for we are but human. He walked 
 away. 
 
 The wind in the rigging was blithe, the sun smiled 
 more widely and there was exhilaration in the rush 
 of the boat, like a live thing, through the surges. 
 I smoked steadily and saw rosy visions in the waver- 
 ing blue clouds. I was sorry for Whiting, whom I 
 could now appreciate. I doubtless invested him, in 
 my sudden glow of gratitude, with even more virtues 
 than he possessed. 
 
 There was a step near me, a great form hung over 
 the rail at my side. John smoked silently, gazing 
 at the glory of the perfect day with abstracted eyes. 
 Since the terrible explosion of the magazine, when he 
 had in a measure revealed the identity of the fiend 
 who had wrought the havoc, he had not spoken 
 further of the matter. Needless to say, I had 
 respected his silence.
 
 238 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Suddenly he spoke, still gazing over at the long, 
 green swells. " I wonder if he is dead," he muttered. 
 
 There was no need to ask whom he meant. I knew. 
 
 "I do not see how he could have escaped," I ob- 
 served. " Men died who were thrice as far away." 
 
 "True," he replied bitterly, "but the devil pro- 
 tects his own. Gilbert," he suddenly exclaimed, 
 ' 'I am going to tell you of myself, more than any 
 living man in the country yonder," pointing to the 
 southward, "knows of John Godfrey. I need not 
 ask you to regard the confidence as sacred." I 
 bowed. 
 
 He bent his black eyes, that were so incongruous 
 in the face of an Englishman, upon me. 
 
 "John Godfrey is but a creature of circumstance," 
 he said. "A man may be born again. You under- 
 stand. Well, I found it convenient to be born again, 
 as I fully believed then, to be enabled to live out 
 my life to its allotted span." 
 
 This much I had gathered from the beginning. 
 The scene between Red Rolfe and my friend at their 
 encounter in the forest enlightened me. 
 
 "My father is an Englishman, and, in fact, is in 
 the king's service," continued John. "As for me, I 
 have drunk in liberty in the air of this country. 
 While my parent's resources are ample, he has pre- 
 ferred from the beginning an active military career. 
 My mother was a Frenchwoman. She died when I 
 was too young to remember." His eyes and swarthy 
 skin, together with certain characteristics, were 
 explained to me. He continued. 
 
 "My father, in his youth, was a fool. Like the 
 majority, of course, but his foolishness took a more 
 serious form than it does with most, for that fiend 
 whom we both hope dead yonder is or was my
 
 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 239 
 
 father's natural son. You have noted that voice of 
 his. It is an inheritance. His mother was a London 
 concert hall singer, famed equally for a wonderful con- 
 tralto, a rich animal beauty and general deviltry." 
 Disgust contorted his face. 
 
 I grasped his hand impulsively. "Your half- 
 brother!" I exclaimed. "I knew you could not have 
 had the same mother." 
 
 "Thanks," he rejoined, smiling grimly. "I am my- 
 self a believer in the preponderating maternal 
 influence upon offspring. My brother," with inde- 
 scribable sarcasm,"has all the characteristics which 
 distinguished his mother, save in physical attractions, 
 and not one of the traits that assist in the needed 
 redemption of his father. 
 
 "The miserable intrigue," he continued, "occurred 
 in France, where the family was temporarily living. 
 My father brought his mistress from London to 
 Paris, and spent most of his time there. The gentle- 
 man whom you know as Red Rolfe was the charming 
 outcome of that association. Through mischance, 
 the whole affair came to the knowledge of my mother, 
 though her husband had naturally tried to conceal 
 the shameful course he had been pursuing by various 
 subterfuges. She was in delicate health and the shock 
 killed her. When she was dead the mother of my 
 brother, deeply enamored of my father, aspired to 
 her place. My father was mad with grief, a privilege 
 of sinners, though so often unavailing. He turned 
 the creature harshly away. She loved him in her 
 bestial way, and that night she served God and man- 
 kind in general by poisoning herself. 
 
 "My father, like most fools, possessed a certain 
 belated conscientiousness, and, inasmuch as the living 
 infant was his folly, he conceived it to be his duty to
 
 24 o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 educate him. We were brought up together," with 
 a shrug. "We went to school together, afterward 
 entering college in company. I was rather wild; it was 
 in my blood I suppose. I made no special effort to 
 conceal it and fell in my father's good graces. He, 
 since the nauseating result of his own wrongdoing, 
 had become a Puritan personified. The wretch, who 
 should be dead, but probably is not, was ten times 
 worse than I, but he was crafty and concealed it. 
 It seems incredible now, but his ugly face used to be 
 as smug as a preacher's. 
 
 "When we had done with college we went home to 
 my father's manor. It was my intention to enter 
 the military service. My father was home on leave 
 from wounds received in foreign service. My 
 brother and I always hated each other. I despised 
 him and he knew it. I did not, however, know of 
 his true origin till long afterward. 
 
 "Things went from bad to worse. I had been reck- 
 less, to the disapproval of my father, and his attitude 
 toward me did not help matters. Moreover, friend 
 Rolfe wore the mask in those days, Gilbert, and he 
 most effectually cozened my father and fostered his 
 animosity toward me. I have never to this day been 
 able to clearly understand how my parent, who is a 
 man of superior intelligence, could have permitted 
 himself to have been so gulled. As for me, I scorned 
 to say anything in my own defence or to expose the 
 real character of my brother, who knew I would not, 
 and presumed upon the fact. My father had eyes, I 
 reasoned. If they could not see what to me was 
 so transparent, I was too disgusted to enlighten 
 them. 
 
 "One morning my father missed a large sum of 
 money. Some of the servants were suspected, when,
 
 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 241 
 
 while we were in the library with my father, my 
 brother suddenly turned on me and accused me of 
 the theft. I denied it with an oath. He led the way 
 to my room, Gilbert, and took the money from my 
 wardrobe, while my father looked on in dismay. 
 You can readily grasp the scheme. It seemed so 
 childishly transparent to me that I turned to my 
 father with a laugh, thinking that now the veil must 
 be rent from his eyes. I looked at him, and in the 
 glance I read unquestioning belief in my guilt in his 
 face. 
 
 "I think the devil then got into me. I could never 
 remember clearly what happened, but I fully believed 
 when my senses returned to me that Rolfe was dead. 
 I believed it for years afterward. 
 
 "I escaped from the house, tearing away from those 
 who tried to hold me. I made my way to Liverpool, 
 eluding pursuit, and was lucky enough to get aboard 
 a ship sailing for the States. I have been here since. 
 I have imbibed the spirit of your land, the spirit as 
 I believe of broadest liberty, in the free air of your 
 forests. That is why I bear arms with you to-day. 
 I accidentally learned of my brother's true origin years 
 ago in Canada. 
 
 "For years I thought myself a fratricide. I was 
 trapping far up in the wilds of Canada on one occa- 
 sion, some years ago, when I heard screams of agony 
 hard by. I hurried to the spot with my hound and 
 found my precious brother and some of his redskins 
 torturing the poor old miser you met, in the hope 
 of securing his funds. He was as you see him now, 
 Gilbert, the smug mask gone forever. His inevitable 
 blood had shown. My father had found him out and 
 cast him forth some time previously. Well, as you 
 know, I broke up that little meeting and helped the 
 
 ftiSAOENA HOSPITAL ASSOCIAT^
 
 242 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 old fool of a miser to a safer locality. I had heard 
 of Red Rolfe, now I knew who he was." 
 
 I nodded, warm with comfortable memories of the 
 miser's graphic tale; gloating mentally over a con- 
 jured vision of evil eyes shut tight as a new-born 
 kitten's, of a wicked face battered to a pulp with 
 righteous blows. 
 
 "My brother's real name is Geoffrey, while mine is 
 Gerald," John told me, looking at me oddly, "but I 
 am John Godfrey to you and others till the end. 
 I have done with the old name. As for my father, 
 unless he be at Montreal, I suppose he is even now 
 in Frontenac." 
 
 "Perhaps I have met him," I exclaimed. 
 
 "No," he replied quietly, "but you have heard his 
 name a thousand times this past winter. Renee is 
 never tired of talking about him." 
 
 I started. "You mean " I began. 
 
 He smiled. "That he is Renee's good angel, her 
 friend in need, Major Basil Aberdeen," he supplied.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 The Woe from Frontenac 
 
 "Woe !" shrilled the crone, a shrivelled claw extended, 
 a lurid madness in the bleared eyes. " What did I tell 
 ye, merry gentlemen, long months gone?" She 
 chuckled. " The woe from Frontenac ! Red woe, red 
 blood, all red red!" Her cracked crackle sounded 
 horribly inhuman. 
 
 "You have had a bad nightmare, Mother Corp," 
 said John. " Indeed, you have it yet. What is your 
 disturbing dream?" 
 
 We were on the bluff, John and I, enjoying the 
 fresh morning air. The old vagrant stood before 
 us, gray locks wildly straggling, withered features 
 working strangely, red cloak flapping in the breeze; 
 a realization, in the unlovely flesh, of one of Mac- 
 beth's witches. 
 
 " Dream !" she cried. " If I dream, merry gentlemen, 
 look yonder and dream too !" And she pointed down 
 the bay. We turned our eyes in that direction, the 
 crone mumbling crazily to herself, watching us with 
 malicious eyes. 
 
 The calm of the fair May morning was broken. 
 The boom of a single gun rumbled in the bay, fol- 
 lowed by echoing alarms. Everywhere men sprang 
 up electrified, gazing out upon the wide water. Far 
 away a little schooner was flying under full sail toward 
 the town. As we gazed, there came a puff of white
 
 244 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 smoke and the roar of a second detonation sounded 
 from the alarm gun upon her deck. 
 
 Others of the town's defenders, together with women 
 and children, all wildly excited, came rushing from 
 the huddle of houses to the plateau, watching the 
 approach of the little Lady of the Lake with painful 
 anxiety. With a single impulse, as the rushing 
 schooner rapidly neared the harbor, with signal gun 
 still bellowing at intervals, the throng, agitated like 
 a field of grain in the sweep of a mighty wind, hur- 
 ried with disconnected queries and strange fears to 
 the shipyards. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake glided into the harbor, and, 
 tacking, came swiftly to the docks. " Send expresses 
 and alarm the country!" shouted her commander 
 from the deck. "Yeo's fleet is coming!" 
 
 It was enough. For days the Lady had been cruis- 
 ing about with feminine inquisitiveness, her crew 
 scanning the horizon for the sail that all feared 
 would come from Frontenac. It had been three days 
 since the returning schooners had providentially 
 brought the reserve from Niagara to the Harbor. 
 We had arrived to find the poeple keyed up to high 
 excitement and dread. They welcomed our return 
 with relief, for, with the total force that could even 
 now be mustered, it was but a forlorn defense that 
 the hamlet could offer. And now, as had been justly 
 feared, Sir George Provost, maddened by the success- 
 ful sortie against Little York, had come to take 
 revenge. Menace, a few miles out, lay cradled on the 
 face of the deep. 
 
 In our shipyards, still upon the ways, rested for- 
 midable brigs that were unfinished. These, un- 
 doubtedly, were to be burned. Filled storehouses were 
 to be rifled. It was a pretty plan, and a defending
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 245 
 
 force far inferior to Provost's at Little York, both 
 in numbers and in military experience, intervened 
 between the end and its accomplishment. 
 
 Now to strained eyes, aching with tortured sus- 
 pense, gazing outward from the long, salient bluff, 
 appeared the ships, still quite small on the horizon, 
 white dots that studded the lake out by the 
 shadowed bulk of Stony Island. They were approach- 
 ing leisurely. 
 
 In the mean time, hurried haste marked preparations 
 in the village. Colonel Backus, who was in charge, 
 despatched mounted expresses to all the adjacent 
 settlements to summon the available militia. One he 
 sent galloping to the home of General Brown, eight 
 miles distant. The general, at the close of his six 
 months' term some time previously, had retired to 
 his farm, in deep disgust at the dilatory policy of 
 the government and the timorous inefficiency of cer- 
 tain military weaklings who commanded its armies. 
 With the approach of the peril, however, the great 
 heart and soul of him blazed with the ardor of that 
 chivalry which ultimately secured for him the tardy 
 recognition which resulted, ere his death, in giving 
 him the supreme command of the armies of the 
 nation. 
 
 No sooner did he hear of the danger than he sprang 
 upon his horse, riding like mad for the Harbor. 
 Soon the thundering hoofbeats of the powerful animal 
 he bestrode sounded in the village street. The poor 
 brute staggered as the general swung to the ground. 
 The quivering flanks dripped with sweat; patches of 
 foam fell, mingling with the gray dust of the road- 
 way. 
 
 With the arrival of the intrepid chief, confidence, 
 which had flickered, revived, again burning bravely.
 
 246 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 With the grasp that marks the born leader, the 
 general set about making his preparations and 
 giving directions as coolly as if inspecting an ordi- 
 nary drill. And all through the day detachments 
 of militia poured in, some afoot, grimy with dust, 
 others bouncing dismally on the broad backs of 
 staid farmhorses. There was the swing of con- 
 certed action under a master hand; the threatening 
 stir of a sullen wind before the breaking of the 
 storm. 
 
 In the interim, the British fleet had leisurely ap- 
 proached to within easy distance of the town and 
 deliberately lay-to. I have always believed that 
 Provost and Yeo, who accompanied this expedition, 
 again thought of themselves, as they had before, in 
 the light of cats playing with a helpless mouse, the 
 slaughter of which rodent was to be prolonged by 
 the cruel felines for their edification. The careless 
 manner in which they allowed us to make all prep- 
 arations would tend to confirm what was told after 
 the battle, which was that the enemy understood 
 that all the regulars and all but two companies of 
 the militia were with Dearborn and Chauncey. How- 
 ever this may have been, it was quite evident that 
 they considered the taking of the town a holiday 
 and did not know of the troops Dearborn had sent 
 back. They wasted precious time in which, unready 
 as we were, they might have given us short shift. 
 Instead of paying us speedy attention, they em- 
 ployed their entire fleet to chase a number of Amer- 
 ican barges that had come in sight from Oswego. 
 Twelve of these they caught, but small comfort it 
 gave them, as the crews got away and escaped to 
 the woods, the majority afterward joining us. Seven 
 of the barges, by clever dodging, outsailed the British
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 247 
 
 boats and got into port. Most opportunely, we found 
 them to contain a portion of a regiment of infantry, 
 under Colonel Aspinwall, on the way from Oswego 
 to our beleaguered hamlet. They had not discovered 
 the enemy till he was doubling Sixtown Point, then 
 it was a stern chase and a race. Their comrades, 
 who had been forced ashore to the woods, arrived 
 late that evening, increasing our defending force. 
 
 Following their dash for the barges, the enemy's 
 ships lay lazily in an increasing calm far out in the 
 lake. There were the brigs Royal George, Wolfe and 
 Earl of Moira, two gunboats and three schooners, 
 all heavily armed. There were also forty barges, 
 carrying twelve hundred men as a storming party. 
 The fleet was manned with the king's best gunners, 
 who were supposed to be shelling us while we were 
 being taken by the storming party. No hurry was 
 shown and it was apparent that the enemy would 
 considerately allow us to get ready for him before 
 he should graciously deign to fall upon and crush 
 us the next morning. Therefore, we lost no time. 
 
 The militia from Watertown and other settlements 
 arrived steadily during the day. As fast as they 
 came they were armed and sent to Horse Island, 
 where the enemy was expected to land. There were 
 six hundred of these militia, mostly raw, undisciplined 
 and sans experience. There were also about four 
 hundred regulars against the twelve hundred odd of 
 the king's men. For at this time it was regular 
 versus regular. One could not depend upon the un- 
 trained militia, though there were some glorious 
 exceptions during the war. 
 
 Horse Island, which was then heavily wooded, 
 lay an easy distance out into the lake from the 
 further end of the long bluff. It was connected with
 
 248 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the mainland by a sand bar that was at that time 
 nearly dry. The beach opposite afforded a natural 
 breastwork in the shape of a ridge of gravel five feet 
 high. Further south, along the shore, stretched a 
 strip of woods which had been obstructed as much 
 as possible with a rude abattis of felled trees. 
 
 General Brown, tireless and watchful, spent the 
 entire night in -perfecting the plan of defense. The 
 batteries along the cliff were hastily unlimb.ered, 
 plenty of ammunition being ready to hand, for, if the 
 opposing fleet desired to co-operate with the infantry, 
 the ships would require a favoring wind and would 
 have to pass directly within range of our guns. 
 About four hundred militia, with six pounders, under 
 Colonel Mills of the Albany Volunteers, were sta- 
 tioned near the shore, opposite Horse Island, with 
 orders to reserve their fire till the enemy should come 
 within pistol shot. The remainder of the militia, 
 under Colonel Gresham Tuttle, were on the edge of 
 the woods back of a clearing, and Colonel Backus, 
 with his dismounted dragoons, was stationed in the 
 woods that skirted the town, with orders to advance 
 toward Horse Island as soon as the enemy landed 
 there. Colonel Aspinwall, with his Oswego regulars, 
 was posted to the left of Backus, and the artillery- 
 men, under Lieutenant Ketcham, were stationed on 
 the low, outlying work of Fort Tompkins, whose 
 sole armament consisted of a thirty -two pounder on 
 a pivot. Other forts there were, but with no avail- 
 able force to occupy them. The militia on the shore 
 were instructed, if driven from their position, to fall 
 back and annoy the right flank of the enemy as he 
 advanced toward the town. Colonel Tuttle was 
 directed, in the same event, to attack their rear and 
 destroy their boats.
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 249 
 
 The enemy made no move during the night save 
 to land a party of savages on the Henderson shore, 
 as a messenger from that town arrived to inform us 
 the succeeding morning, breathless and hot with 
 haste. It was evidently intended to creep up and 
 take the militiamen in the rear. General Brown 
 warned the men to look out for such an ambush 
 and posted pickets to that end. John and I looked 
 at each other with uneasiness. We both thought of 
 a supposed corpse which might after all, through 
 the grace of its master, the devil, be still quickened. 
 
 "The providence of God has not deserted us," 
 said my father the next morning. For the morning 
 of May the twenty -ninth, 1813, was one without a 
 breath. Not the whisper of a breeze stirred the pulse 
 of the dead lake which lay, like a still mill pond, in 
 shadowed silence. It was weird, it was uncanny, 
 this intense calm, lending the sheen of a great mirror 
 to the sweep of waters that were wont to be always 
 heaving under the beating wings of warring winds. 
 There was a startling clarity in the atmosphere. 
 The king's ships, lying motionless, far off on the 
 still waters, stood out against the arching sky clear 
 cut as cameos. They would be unable to assist the 
 soldiery, lying helpless as they were, too far away 
 for gun fire. 
 
 "It is as if the Voice had spoken, 'Peace, be still f 
 and the calm descended for our deliverance," said 
 Renee, standing with Dorothy in the doorway, as I 
 bade them be of good cheer and hastened to quarters. 
 Those left in the little household remained heroically 
 calm, as once before, confidently awaiting the issue. 
 
 Had the fleet been able to lend assistance to the 
 regulars that day, our undoing must have been in- 
 evitable. But that great calm brooded and the winds
 
 250 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 slept on, only awakening when the puffs of a breeze 
 from the southward smote the spread sails and the 
 king's ships, laden with a beaten enemy, pointed 
 their prows reluctantly toward Frontenac, while 
 hoarse cheers arose from the bluff beyond, and, from 
 its brink, the growl of the shore batteries rolled 
 across the rippling bay that lay, touched with red 
 and gold, in the dying glory of the sunset. 
 
 With the gray dawn we beheld a cloud of boats, 
 crowded with troops, putting off from the ships that 
 lay supine on the glassy surface of the slumbering 
 lake. They made for Horse Island, from which 
 General Brown had recalled during the night the 
 detachments of militia originally posted there, think- 
 ing it better to make a concerted stand on the main- 
 land. The boats grounded and the redcoats, landing, 
 formed without molestation. Soon the red line 
 began the march, in an intense, strained silence, 
 across the bar to the mainland. 
 
 So still was the air, even the usual stirrings of 
 nature being hushed, that the sharp commands of 
 the distant officers were distinctly audible. As the 
 column started from the island even these ceased. 
 So they came on, in an appalling silence, while the 
 defenders on the shore held their fire. When they 
 were almost upon us the word was given and a vol- 
 ley rang out with startling effect in the stillness. 
 Gaps appeared in the red line, but they closed 
 up and the troops rushed on, now at a double quick. 
 A moment later the thirty-two pounder roared out, 
 hurling death into the ranks that it seemed as if 
 nothing could stop. 
 
 Never before or since, in the recollection of those 
 of us who lived that day, has the atmosphere of this 
 region possessed the weird qualities which it held that
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 251 
 
 morning. The air, so strangely still before the ap- 
 proach of this leaden storm, was an immense sound- 
 ing board. The singular calm extended for miles, 
 so that upon the crests of heaven-kissing hills as in 
 the dipping valleys, not a leaf stirred, all nature 
 seeming to listen for the thunder of the cannonade. 
 To this day the old men tell the wondering young- 
 sters who surround them how the rattle of the mus- 
 ketry was heard upon the Rutland hills, twenty 
 miles away, and how the booming of the batteries 
 growled in faint reverberations, echoing among the 
 wooded Adirondack foothills of Lewis county, distant 
 nigh fifty miles. 
 
 The enemy, unfaltering in the face of the leaden 
 storm, advanced, as if on dress parade, up to the 
 ridge of sand. A moment more, and they halted, 
 pouring in a volley. A breath of time and another 
 came. Our raw militia, unused to carnage, wavered. 
 There was a terrifying hum in the bullets that cut 
 the foliage about them and found occasional lodge- 
 ment in the breast of a comrade. There was an 
 added terror in the red column which now plunged 
 forward toward them behind a grim hedge of bristling 
 bayonets. It was too awful. The militiamen, un- 
 nerved, yelling as if in the grip of some horrific night- 
 mare, turned and fled incontinently toward the town. 
 
 John and I, who had been posted with our com- 
 mands with the others, found the most of them 
 fleeing in the wake of the rest. Everywhere officers 
 were pleading, cursing and threatening the men who 
 ran in a mad rabble. I can remember shouting 
 till I was hoarse, hurling myself against the rush- 
 ing throng in a wild effort to stop it and being 
 borne back by it like a bit of wreckage in an angry 
 sea. And near at hand was John, laying about him
 
 252 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 with flail-like arms, his dark, bearded face drawn 
 with rage, black eyes blazing. Like a Colossus the 
 giant stood, the human tide breaking against him 
 as if he had been an unyielding rock. He seized the 
 collar of a flying wretch in one mighty hand, hurling 
 him shrieking back toward the advancing redcoats, 
 while the other fist, shaking in air, suddenly shot out, 
 stopping the progress of another fugitive with a 
 thumping blow that stretched him quivering on the 
 sod. He was Thor materialized, a gigantic, impelling 
 force ; the acme of savage, unloosed power, of might 
 unleashed. 
 
 But this could not continue. Nothing earthly could 
 stop that panic-stricken rout. John and I, with a 
 huddle of others who had stood with us, were pres- 
 ently alone, the redcoats nearly upon us. A volley 
 came from the thick woods to our left. The figure of 
 an officer in our uniform was discernible. 
 
 "Captain McNitt !" shouted John. "Make for him, 
 men ! Thank God we're not all curs ! " And we 
 sprinted for the woods, just in time. The two ser- 
 geants, Cyrenus and Noadiah, to whom this day's work 
 was to bring future advancement, ran with us, after 
 them Abner Holcomb, whose stoical calm in the face 
 of danger was destined also to win recognition. 
 Abner was proceeding in philosophic indifference to 
 all danger. Cyrenus shook his lean fist at the flying 
 militiamen, now far ahead, and swore like a lost 
 soul. Upon the fat face of Noadiah, which flopped 
 painfully as he lumbered on, there reposed agitatedly 
 a righteous scorn at the flight of the frightened. He 
 was running from policy, not fear. He was of the 
 vintage of the Revolution. As for Abner, the in- 
 evitable, whatever transpired, was inevitable. That 
 was all.
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 253 
 
 We gained the woods without mishap, joining Mc- 
 Nitt's command, which had been placed on the ex- 
 treme left of the flanking party of the militia. He 
 and his gallant men had forborne to run with the 
 others, but continued instead to fire. The men were 
 encouraged in standing their ground by the presence 
 of General Brown, who, in the midst of the disaster, 
 was imperturbable. He calmly directed us to retire 
 to the town as the enemy advanced through the 
 woods, annoying them with our fire as much as possi- 
 ble. This we did, and a constant exchange of shots 
 was maintained without, however, much damage to 
 either side, owing to the undergrowth. 
 
 Colonel Backus had obeyed instructions, soon en- 
 countering the enemy he had marched forward to 
 meet and hindering the progress of the redcoats to a 
 considerable extent. Backus' regiment, composed of 
 men as experienced as the king's own, retired slowly 
 before their foes through the half-cleared woods 
 toward the town, pouring in galling volleys. 
 
 By this time General Brown, summoning John and 
 I with the few of our companies that remained to 
 us, had left Captain McNitt's company for the pur- 
 pose of hurrying ahead to try to rally some of the 
 scattered militia. Upon gaining the clearing next the 
 village we were struck with consternation to see 
 flame and smoke enwrapping the storehouses that 
 contained the spoils of Little York. With an excla- 
 mation, General Brown hurried to the spot, we after 
 him. We feared that a detachment of the enemy had 
 gained the rear. Arrived there, we found that the 
 destruction was due to a blunder of our own side. 
 The panic of the militia had spread like a pestilence 
 to those in charge at the town and Lieutenant Chaun- 
 cey had ordered the storehouses to be fired, which
 
 254 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 was as it should have been if the scampering fools 
 had not lied. 
 
 Ah, those militiamen ! Though I sit to-day with 
 the frost in my hair and the wrinkles in my cheeks, 
 the curse in my heart is as hearty and young for 
 their cowardice as it was that morning, when I 
 clenched my two fists and swore as best I knew how 
 as I beheld a half million in stores go up in writhing 
 flames. I saw men laboring to save the brig Pike, 
 which had been fired upon the stocks, when we had 
 shouted that the militiamen were liars and cowards, 
 that the day might yet be won. I saw the prize 
 schooner, Duke of Gloucester, smoking to her doom, 
 and, as I watched, I saw also the gallant lieutenants, 
 Tallman and Whiting, board her and extinguish the 
 blaze that was eating its way to her fearsome cargo 
 of gunpowder. And this while the militia ran, ran 
 like dogs with lolling tongues, bellowing like mad 
 bulls through the village and into the woods beyond, 
 not to stop till they should be safe at their homes, 
 with their women folk to comfort them. One indeed 
 and the tale will be tradition's heritage for genera- 
 tionsromped o'er hill and dale for twenty miles, to 
 finally fall utterly exhausted, panting like a spent 
 hound, on the crest of Rutland's highest hill. And 
 though with shame for my countrymen I own it, if 
 tradition should one day tell of a new Wandering 
 Jew, one who ran rather than walked his weary, 
 endless round, I should verily believe him to be one 
 of those militiamen. 
 
 It has been said that if you kill off all the of- 
 ficers of an American regiment of regulars, a 
 drummer boy shall lead them and they will follow 
 him to victory or death. It is also said that 
 if you rob a British column of its head it is a flock
 
 THE WOE FROM FRONTENAC 255 
 
 without a shepherd and the sheep disperse. These 
 facts were strikingly attested on this memorable 
 morning. 
 
 General Brown, relieved in a measure to find the 
 enemy still all on one side, hurried to try and rally 
 some of the militia, who had repented of their haste 
 and were returning at leisure, shamefaced and anxious 
 to make amends. John and I, together with Cyrenus 
 and Noadiah, with Abner at their heels, secured a 
 handful and hurried to do what we could to help 
 Backus, who had fallen back to the clearing, the 
 enemy still advancing. A moment after our arrival 
 the brave colonel fell, mortally wounded. The regi- 
 ment betrayed no agitation, but slowly retiring, 
 inch by inch, entered some log barracks in the clear- 
 ing from which they discharged a volley with terrible 
 effect. All this while the ships, far out, were discharg- 
 ing their guns at intervals and the batteries on the 
 bluff were returning the fire. But the distance was 
 too great and no harm resulted to either from this 
 cannonade. 
 
 Through the wounds and mishaps of the sortie, 
 the immediate command of the enemy's column had 
 devolved upon Captain Gray, of the quartermaster 
 general's department, whose gallantry inspired his 
 men with confidence. Walking backward and swinging 
 his sword, he shouted, "Come on, boys, the day is 
 ours! Remember Little York!" when he suddenly 
 fell inert, immediately expiring. I heard an odd 
 chuckle at my elbow and turned. It was Cyrenus. 
 Smoke was curling from the muzzle of his rifle. 
 
 Simultaneously there came from the woods on the 
 right a rattling volley of musketry, striking dismay 
 to the disheartened enemy, who thought it came 
 from reinforcements of regulars. As it proved, Gen-
 
 256 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 eral Brown had succeeded in rallying about a hundred 
 of the militia, who, hidden in the dense woods, 
 pumped in a flank fire at close range. At any rate, 
 the enemy whirled, as had our poor militia, in igno- 
 minious retreat. We left the blockhouses and Brown's 
 rallied forces burst from the woods, all following in 
 keen pursuit. The British sought to pick up their 
 wounded but we pressed close, forcing them to a 
 speed most indecorous. They made for their boats, 
 now in hot haste. The retreat had become a rout. 
 
 John and I plunged ahead in our eagerness, out- 
 stripping the others. Suddenly there came from the 
 left a great crackling of underbrush and there burst 
 into view a cloud of tawny, rushing forms. We were 
 surrounded. I remember a sinewy hand clutching my 
 throat, of the thud of my rifle butt as I brought it 
 clubbed down upon a skull crowned with a mane of 
 greasy black hair. I caught a glimpse of a hideous, 
 swarthy face, convulsed with pain as the form fell to 
 the earth. Then, full upon my head, fell a sickening 
 blow from behind. The world went black as I went 
 down, with a sight of John fighting like a bulldog 
 in the midst of a pack of snarling terriers ahead. 
 
 Darkness gathered like a storm, pierced with light- 
 ning flashes of pain. A watery murmur sounded, 
 deepening at times into a hungry, truculent roar. 
 Then, after a long time, my eyes opened.
 
 SUDDENLY THERE BURST INTO VIEW A CLOUD OF 
 TAWNY, RUSHING FOKMS
 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 The Strength of Ten 
 
 My eyes opened, but only a black void, which they 
 could not pierce, pressed in upon me. Light ap- 
 peared, however, in the shape of the hot flashes of 
 pain that rent my cranium as I roused wholly from 
 my stupor. I blinked blurred eyes and strove to clap 
 my hands to my hurt head as I groaned. I became 
 conscious that they were fastened securely, tied at 
 the wrists. My ankles had been similarly bound. 
 
 Where was I? I seemed to move steadily forward 
 in the gloom. I felt above me, bewildered, rolling 
 upon my side and extending my bound hands. They 
 encountered rough planking and a pile of what 
 seemed to be cordage. I noted a vague rippling, 
 lapping sound outside of my prison. The events of 
 the day shaped themselves in my jarred brain and the 
 dawn of understanding broke unpleasantly upon me. 
 I was clearly a prisoner in the hold of one of the 
 king's ships and was bound once more for Frontenac, 
 but this time at a disheartening disadvantage. Truly 
 in this game of battledore I was just now a badly 
 battered shuttlecock ! 
 
 The situation was most serious. I had heretofore 
 been able to play my role of Stranahan with un- 
 detected impunity on the other side, but now I would 
 enter Frontenac under conditions that would be cer- 
 tain to expose the cheat. Had I fallen into the hands
 
 of any other man, it might have been quite possible 
 for me to explain matters on the ground that the 
 role I was supposed to be playing at the Harbor de- 
 manded my presence in the field against my brothers 
 in arms. But though I had not seen him, I knew 
 instinctively the identity of the commander of the 
 cloud of savages that had captured me. My cap- 
 tor knew me and I would be revealed in Frontenac 
 in my true colors. The lie I had lived there, I grimly 
 told myself, would be nailed with the scaffolding 
 they would erect for my outgoing, for it would be 
 short shift with a proved spy. I swallowed with 
 a foretaste of choking and stared into the gloom. 
 
 In the instant in which John and I had been sur- 
 rounded I had glimpsed the ill-favored faces of a 
 score or more of savages. As I sank insensible 
 under the stunning blow I had received, with the 
 giant before me towering over the jackals that sur- 
 rounded him, dealing heavy blows with the butt of 
 his clubbed rifle, the recollection had flashed upon 
 me of the band of savages landed by the fleet at 
 Henderson the day before. 
 
 As I lay in the darkness I knew that our discom- 
 fiture must have come from this source. The red- 
 skins had undoubtedly made their way through the- 
 forest to the village, to attack it in the rear. Prob- 
 ably those we had met constituted an advance 
 guard and there was a larger band further back. 
 They had come just in time to witness the repulse 
 of the king's regulars. Rushing through the woods 
 to join their white brethren in their retreat, they 
 had come upon John and myself, rushing ahead of 
 the troops who were far behind us, intent upon a 
 reckless pursuit of the flying enemy. The rest was 
 plain. I was once more afloat for Frontenac, and
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 259 
 
 John where was John? Did he accompany me, or 
 would they bury him, to-morrow or the next day, 
 with the rest of the dead at the Harbor? 
 
 " No," I muttered, gazing reflectively up into the 
 funereal gloom as I sprawled. " No, I'm cursed if 
 they will! The vermin couldn't kill him!" 
 
 Somehow the thought gave me comfort despite 
 the jeopardy of my own neck. There was something 
 thrilling in the thought of that great bulk in action, 
 in the memory of those terrific arms that fell like 
 flails upon the unjust, the force of which sent men 
 reeling like ninepins, bleeding and broken; before 
 whose unloosed power the might of most seemed puny 
 as the feeble kickings of a mewling babe. The picture 
 of the giant aroused was one that a man might 
 well take with him to the steps of the scaffold, to 
 give him grace to die with a fillip for the hangman 
 and a gibe for the mocking multitude. It was a 
 picture of Homeric mould, one that brought from 
 dead ages the red flash of the battle in the arena; 
 of the straining hands of the gladiator twisting the 
 neck of the struggling bull ; of the frenzied howls of 
 the mad throng that packed the amphitheatre, wild 
 with the homage that the world has paid to cruel, 
 resistless power since the sightless Samson pulled 
 down the pillars of the temple and before. 
 
 So it was that though I rushed with the mind into 
 the very shadow of the scaffold, bound hand and foot 
 in the hold of the unknown brig that was my prison, 
 my eyes could sparkle and my nostrils flare with 
 the remembered sight of my dynamic friend, as I had 
 often seen him, arising in memory. He was not dead, 
 not he ! At the worst he bore me company in some 
 other ship. And perhaps 
 
 A sound, near at hand, disturbed my reflections,
 
 260 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Footsteps approached, evidently descending to the 
 hold. A moment more and the glare of a lantern 
 flashed in my eyes, nearly blinding me. 
 
 "Well, well," rumbled a deep, musical voice, one I 
 knew too well. "What ails your eyes, my puppy 
 friend? Gad! you are young yet. They blink like 
 an owl's or a new-born kitten's." 
 
 With sundry grunts I drew myself painfully into 
 a sitting posture, my back against a cask. My 
 eyes, now unwinking, gazed into the mottled, ugly 
 face above me. The most of it, through goodly grace, 
 was mercifully hidden with a bristling red beard. His 
 lips, drawn like a dog's at the corners with a sar- 
 donic grin, exposed his yellowed fangs. In the weird 
 light of the lantern, his short, broad body looked 
 oddly squat. The coarse neck, swollen with muscle, 
 showed redder than his beard as he seated himself 
 on an overturned cask near me. 
 
 "So it's you, is it?" I commented. "I thought 
 you were in h 1." 
 
 "And the wish fathered the thought, I suppose?" 
 he rejoined, leering at me. 
 
 "'Hope, long deferred, maketh the heart sick,' ' : 
 I quoted dryly. "But the devil needs you above for 
 a while, it is quite evident. Had I the use of my 
 two hands, I would try to shorten your term of 
 service." 
 
 "You!" he sneered. "Have a care, boy, lest I con- 
 clude to break you in two right here and now ! " 
 
 "Unloose my hands and try it!" I broke out, my 
 voice hoarse with passion, for the hateful personality 
 of the brute maddened me. " You murdering coward !" 
 
 He viewed me with a mild, ludicrous curiosity 
 that was maddening. 
 
 "Baby want his pap?" he asked me soothingly.
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 261 
 
 "He must be quiet or his daddy will spank him." 
 I was speechless with fury. 
 
 He regarded me with half closed yellow eyes, like 
 a solicitous cat. "'Fore God, infant," he resumed, 
 in a whining tone of injury, "you wrong your pappy. 
 He may be a murderer, but he's no coward. Don't 
 you suppose I ran a greater risk than any of your 
 cursed crew at Little York? I was closer to the 
 magazine than any of you." 
 
 It was undeniable. "I hoped they would find your 
 scattered fragments throughout Canada, to end with 
 your trouser buttons in Frontenac ! " I exclaimed 
 savagely. "I don't see how you escaped." 
 
 "Through h 1's mercy," he replied, with perfect if 
 impious truth. "As for my trouser buttons, they 
 will be in Frontenac tomorrow, attached to my 
 trousers, and I shall occupy both legs of those useful 
 garments. You will be there also, my young ape, 
 and if I mistake not, you will remain there or else- 
 where, safely housed, till we have completed the 
 little job of annexing your dog's country." 
 
 Imprisoned, eh ? A ray of hope cheered me. He, 
 at least, did not know that to his crew I was one king's 
 own Stranahan. But the hope died, for my emerg- 
 ing from the ship a prisoner would lead to instant 
 recognition, with the story he had to tell, and inves- 
 tigations would be made which would wind up my 
 career with distressing abruptness. 
 
 "Would you mind telling me where I am and what 
 o'clock it is?" I queried, with mock courtesy. 
 
 "You are kicking your heels in the hold of the 
 good ship christened for the Royal George, God save 
 him," answered this gallant subject. "I should judge 
 it lacks two hours of midnight." 
 
 "So," I commented, easing my numbed wrists as
 
 262 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 well as I was able. "You must have delayed your 
 departure, or are we already nearly to Frontenac?" 
 
 "Hardly," he answered. "The other ships are some 
 distance in advance. The Royal George, which has 
 the honor of conveying Sir James Yeo and My Lord 
 Provost, hung around till dusk in the hope that 
 your fools yonder would obey the word we sent and 
 surrender in the king's name. But we had to sail 
 without that courtesy." 
 
 I laughed and he showed his wolfish teeth in a 
 sardonic grin. "Small call for us to surrender," 
 said I, "unless we pinned our flag on the flying coat 
 tails of your king's regulars, and truth to tell, we 
 could not catch them. You are excellent sprinters. 
 But why were you at so much trouble to capture 
 me?" 
 
 "You!" he exclaimed, with disconcerting scorn. 
 "You flatter yourself! Who the devil do you suppose 
 wanted you ? You were merely an accidental quarry. 
 It was that big hound that was with you I wanted, 
 curse him !" His evil face expressed a sadly thwarted 
 ambition. 
 
 "Why, didn't you get him?" I asked, grinning 
 amiably. 
 
 "Get him!" he snarled, rage distorting his ugly 
 face, "all h 1 couldn't get him ! Two of my best men 
 brained, about six more laid out half killed and he 
 disappearing in the woods without a scratch ! Blast 
 him! Can I never kill him?" And he burst into an 
 evil storm of oaths. 
 
 "You beast!" I cried, bitter anger engulfing me 
 like a flood. "You soulless wretch, who would mur- 
 der your own brother ! " 
 
 He started. "Wbat's that?" he exclaimed. "My 
 brother!"
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 263 
 
 I glared at him, blazing anger in my eyes, bound 
 and helpless, but reckless of consequences. 
 
 "O, I know you!" I burst out. "Geoffrey Aber- 
 deen, alias Red Rolfe, murderer, thief, bravo, adven- 
 turer and would-be despoiler of women ! You ruined 
 your brother, driving him from home a branded 
 criminal, made so by your lying tongue, you black- 
 guard! You entered a poor cabin, unprotected in 
 the wilderness, with a gang of your red cutthroats 
 and tore from their shelter a defenceless girl and her 
 sick old father ! You marked the graves of two of 
 your own dirty brood as theirs, and by the dese- 
 cration recording a death for her that was God's 
 mercy compared with the living one to which you 
 would have consigned her ! And she she would have 
 died by her own hand had she not been saved by 
 your own father. You murdered, in cold blood, my 
 comrades and your own at Little York, out of the 
 hell-born hate of all the world that is in you! You 
 seek to kill your own brother, whom I have seen 
 more than once stay his hand when the good God 
 would have smiled had he torn your devil's soul 
 from your besotted body ! I know you and your 
 band, pack of murderers, ravishers and cutthroats ! 
 God in heaven!" I cried. "Does He indeed rule, that 
 He will permit such a snake to live ! " 
 
 He was bending over me with livid lips, snarling 
 like a dog. "I shall finish you now!" he muttered, 
 mouthing the words with cruel relish. His great 
 hands closed upon my throat. I strangled and the 
 dim glow in the hold went black. 
 
 There was a soft sound near me and the next 
 instant the hands were torn from my neck. I heard 
 the thud of a heavy body against the opposite side 
 pf the hold, A great form near me, crouched like a
 
 264 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 cat, launched after it. There was a moment's strug- 
 gling in the darkness and two bodies, in a death 
 grapple, rolled toward me. I saw the taller man come 
 uppermost, looming in the shadow, kneeling on the 
 bravo' s chest. One sinewy hand was knotted around 
 the under man's throat, holding him helpless. 
 
 John, for it was he, held the bravo with perfect 
 ease, powerful though the brute was. " I shall have 
 to tie him," he ruminated, as coolly as if he had 
 been about to bind a bundle of merchandise in quar- 
 ters, "and it will be first necessary to quiet him." 
 
 " Cut these cords," I suggested, struggling frantic- 
 ally, "and I will help you." 
 
 " It is not necessary," he returned. " Besides, I must 
 not leave him. He is too noisy." 
 
 Suddenly lifting the head of the bravo with the 
 one powerful hand, he brought it down with a ter- 
 rific crash upon the planking of the hold. The huge 
 frame quivered and lay still. He left it, and, coming 
 over to me, cut my bonds. We used them to tie his 
 brother, who bade fair to remain quiet for some time. 
 John took the precaution to stuff an improvised gag, 
 formed of sail cloth, in his mouth, fastening it securely. 
 " When they come down for their prisoner," he com- 
 mented, "I think they will agree that the trend of 
 evolution is not necessarily upward." Indeed, the 
 fellow made an uninviting figure enough. 
 
 " You see, Gilbert," explained John, " I would not 
 have left you, but I was under the impression that 
 you got away also. I was quite busy myself and had 
 no time for observations. Afterward I saw them tak- 
 ing you with them and planned accordingly. I 
 thought at first that they would sail at once, which 
 would have necessitated my starting to-morrow for 
 Frontenac, for I would have got you out or found
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 265 
 
 my finish trying it. I observed, however, that they 
 lay by. They had men busy picking up the wounded 
 in the afternoon under guard and sending them to 
 the ships in boats. We did not disturb them. I took 
 pains to notice that you were put aboard the 
 Royal George. I prowled around through the woods, 
 at my wits' end for some means of getting aboard 
 this ship. It grew dusk and most of the boats had 
 left Horse Island, beyond the bar, on their last trip 
 over. There was but one detachment of men left by 
 this time, a half dozen or so employed in carefully 
 looking for any of the wounded who might have 
 been passed by. I caught sight of a young naval 
 officer among them, a man I had happened to meet 
 casually on an occasion at Montreal. I knew he was 
 on the Royal George and made up my mind that 
 this last boatload belonged to that ship. 
 
 "I had nearly determined to try and get out to 
 Horse Island undetected in the dusk and then let 
 the last boat take me over hanging to the stern, 
 when the question was solved for me. Evidently 
 satisfied that there were no more wounded lying 
 about, the young officer called to his men to leave 
 the woods, where they had been hunting for possibly 
 disabled comrades, and proceeded across the bar to 
 Horse Island and the boat. 
 
 "A moment later there was a crackling of the brush 
 near me and the next instant there faced me, though 
 you may be incredulous, Gilbert, a man fully as tall 
 and big as I. What was still more fortunate, he was 
 dark in complexion and had a heavy beard of the 
 same hue as my own. He did not notice me and 
 was going by, but I stepped in his way. 
 
 "'A moment, friend,' said I. 'Are you with the 
 Royal George?'
 
 266 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 " 'Yes,' he answered, scowling, 'if it's any of your 
 business.' 
 
 " 'It is,' I told him. ' Take off your coat, my friend, 
 and be quick about it, for whether you go back 
 to it or I go in your place has got to be settled 
 right away.' 
 
 " Well, whoever he was, he was game, but he didn't 
 have the muscle that should have gone with his 
 bigness. I had him thrown in short order and took 
 care to throw him hard. The back of his head hit a 
 convenient trunk and he didn't get up. I pulled off 
 his coat, which he had been vain enough to keep on, 
 and exchanged hats with him, his being a wider 
 slouch than mine. I hadn't my uniform trousers on, 
 nor he either, and as both were of dark material I 
 had no difficulty in simulating him. I hurried after 
 the rest of the party, overtaking them just before 
 they got to the island. They growled that they thought 
 I was never coming and called me Sim. I growled 
 briefly in reply and seemed ill tempered, so after a 
 little they let me alone. I pulled Sim's oar over to 
 the Royal George. It was quite dark when we boarded 
 her, and, through sheer good luck, by keeping to my- 
 self I managed to remain undetected. I was relieved 
 upon the ship's getting under way shortly after we 
 boarded her, for I had begun to worry about Sim, 
 who might have revived and found some way of get- 
 ting aboard before she started. I regretted not having 
 torn up my own coat and used the pieces to tie him 
 with, but I was pressed for time just then and forgot 
 it. However, all's ended well. I did not know where 
 you were at first, but finally saw my dear brother 
 yonder making for the hold and followed him down." 
 
 "So you heard it all!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "All," he replied. "And let me advise you," he
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 267 
 
 added soberly, " never again to tell a man the truth 
 about himself when your hands are tied. He won't 
 like it and neither will you. But I guess that gang 
 above are dropping asleep now, and we must be get- 
 ting out of this. I wanted to remain till it was 
 quiet. Leave your boots here, for we must make no 
 noise. Mine are on the deck. Took them off just 
 before I came down." 
 
 Red Rolfe had not stirred, but was breathing 
 heavily, showing some faint signs of returning ani- 
 mation. "Why don't you finish him?" I asked. 
 
 "Why should a white man kill him?" he retorted, 
 stirring the inert body contemptuously with his foot. 
 " Perhaps some day his Indians will do it." 
 
 We made our way silently up the ladder. It was 
 John's plan to steal a boat if luck favored, letting it 
 easily into the water and gaining it immediately, 
 then quietly cutting loose. It was a desperate chance 
 and could not be accomplished in any case unless 
 the deck was all but deserted. We gained the deck, 
 gliding like shadows and making our way toward 
 the stern. Clouds banked the sky, only a few stars 
 peeping through rifts in the ragged masses. It was 
 very dark. Fortune seemed to favor us. 
 
 Just at that unlucky moment I pitched headlong, a 
 couple of howls arising beneath me. Mistaking them 
 for shadows, I had fallen over two sleeping men. It 
 was clearly time for action. I picked myself up and 
 was over the rail an instant after John had cleared 
 it. I went down for what seemed a mile, emerging at 
 the surface blowing and gasping. The brig was al- 
 ready far ahead. I could hear excited voices on her 
 deck, but she did not pause to send out exploring 
 boats, it being evidently considered useless in the 
 night to try to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.
 
 268 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Owing to the darkness, I doubt if the men who were 
 awakened adequately realized the cause, and I found 
 in after days that my escape was not learned till 
 accident had revealed a startling discovery. Some 
 hours after the Royal George entered the port 
 at Frontenac that morning, sympathetic hands 
 undid the cords that bound a furious bravo, whose 
 blistering blasphemies speedily followed the removal 
 of the muffling gag. 
 
 However, to revert, I gasped and sputtered on the 
 surface of Ontario, fresh from a breathless explora- 
 tion of its depths. " Gilbert," spoke a voice near me. 
 A moment more and we were swimming side by side, 
 toward a bank of murk, far off, that might be land, 
 revealed occasionally by faint moonbeams as the 
 clouds shifted. We stopped to tread water and re- 
 move a part of our encumbering clothing. 
 
 We swam, it seemed, for hours. 'I was exhausted, 
 but the giant beside me seemed tireless. "It's no 
 use," I finally gasped.. " Go on, John, I'm done," and 
 sank. 
 
 I came to myself to find him bearing me, a dead 
 weight, swimming on his side, one arm supporting 
 me, the other cleaving the water, strong and steady 
 as a piston rod. I relieved him and struggled on. 
 
 So it went, on through long hours till the gray 
 dawn. I swam when I could. At other times I lay 
 nearly senseless on the arm of the man whom it 
 seemed nothing could overwhelm, who appeared ex- 
 haustless. 
 
 With the faint dawn of the new day there stretched, 
 close at hand, a friendly island. We gained it, then 
 lay for a time inert. Presently a sail showed, nearing 
 us. We waited in keen suspense. They had seen us 
 and were sailing toward us. Enemies or friends?
 
 THE STRENGTH OF TEN 269 
 
 John's eyes were like a hawk's. When she was still 
 too far away for me to see the color of the fluttering 
 flag at the peak, he whooped in exultation, fetching 
 me a resounding whop on the back that sent me 
 staggering. 
 
 "All right, Gilbert!" he shouted. "She's one of 
 Chauncey's little fellows, an armed schooner. We're 
 due for the Harbor I"
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Futility 
 
 I was absent for a time that autumn on an in> 
 portant secret mission to Albany, for my militia 
 command had recently been merged with John's, he 
 commanding the two, whose combined numbers were 
 after all at that time not equal to the required quota 
 of one. I was now regularly connected with the Secret 
 Service Bureau. My successful ingratiation into the 
 confidence of the United States Government I had 
 communicated to my supposed British comrades, the 
 fact causing naturally great felicitation among them. 
 I was now in the unique position of being the ac- 
 credited secret agent of two warring governments and 
 my cards had to be played with extreme care to 
 avoid a faux pas across the border, where the bold 
 game was as yet unsuspected. I still sailed in smooth 
 waters, but at any moment they might become tem- 
 pest-lashed. I congratulated myself that as yet no 
 occasion had arisen for summoning me to Montreal. 
 That must have meant the instant relinquishment of 
 the hoax so beneficial to us, for I naturally could not 
 risk a personal meeting with Sir George Provost or 
 his immediate circle who had despatched Stranahan 
 upon his ill-starred mission. I had remained fortu- 
 nate thus far in not encountering any one who had 
 met Stranahan in the brief interval after his arrival 
 from England and before his crossing to our side.
 
 FUTILITY 271 
 
 The few other spies from the opposite border whom 
 I met from time to time were usually agents dele- 
 gated to receive my reports as Stranahan, which I 
 composed with discretion. I misled the enemy where 
 I could, but where others of their emissaries, of whose 
 operations I kept myself informed, were in a position 
 to know of the actual state of affairs, I reported 
 truly, well knowing that, owing to my peculiar posi- 
 tion, I could easily gain more than I gave away. 
 However, the confidence of the British had so grown 
 in my discretion that I was left with a free hand, 
 which diminished the risk. One or two suspicious 
 characters at the Harbor who might have made 
 trouble for me had been cared for and were where 
 they would be powerless for annoyance till the war 
 was done. 
 
 Just now at Albany I was sending, as Stranahan, 
 information northward across the water by a certain 
 " underground" route, that was clear as day to our 
 side, of contemplated increases in the defensive meas- 
 ures along the border, which, commissioned by our 
 own military powers, I was now in a fair way to 
 actually bring about by the strongest representations 
 of need. While there I received a letter from John 
 relating to the naval situation on the lake that fall, 
 which communication, yellowed with age, I still pre- 
 serve. The futility of Ontario's naval record was a 
 subject on which John felt deeply. 
 
 " Well, Gilbert," he wrote, " we have had a running 
 fight or two with Yeo since you left. Running in all 
 that the term implies. Our ships, laden with seamen 
 and land troops, with marines and gunners fresh from 
 ocean service; Yeo's equipment likewise; a meeting; a 
 few mutual shots at a depressing long range; maybe 
 a few splinters; perhaps a fatality or two, really, I
 
 272 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 cannot remember. Then the parting; the running 
 retirement of the rival commodores in opposite direc- 
 tions; each to his own place; each to indite to his 
 government a lengthy report concerning the things 
 left undone that, God knows, and the people as well, 
 ought to be done. Do you remember a certain recent 
 message; a message pithy, laconic and withal im- 
 mortal as the name subscribed to it ; a message that 
 will ring down the ages till time shall crumble in its 
 inevitable dust? Pardon this poetic fervor, Gilbert, 
 but I refer to that briefly glorious 'We have met 
 the enemy and they are ours.' Lord ! boy, could we 
 but have been there! 
 
 " I have referred to the splinters. Sometimes there 
 are not even those. Only last week we sailed proudly 
 out of the Harbor, laden deep with men who were 
 spoiling for a fight. Presently we captured a fright- 
 ened Canadian merchantman. There was no blood- 
 shed. We revelled in the supremacy of the lake. 
 Finally a strange sail appeared in the offing. More 
 materialized, the union jack at their peaks. Chaun- 
 cey took tally. God's mercy ! Yeo's fleet held one 
 more brig and two more schooners than his own ! 
 And back we came piking under all sail to the Har- 
 bor, like a brood of downy chicks to the wing of a 
 maternal hen, and the ring of hammers is again heard 
 in the shipyards. Meanwhile, Yeo, succeeding to the 
 ' supremacy,' swaggers up and down the lake and will 
 so swagger till Chauncey's reappearance with addi- 
 tional boats. Then, for it is already a mutually 
 thrice told tale, he will in his order turn stern and 
 fly for Frontenac and more ships. It is the same 
 yesterday, to-day and forever. It is opera bouffe !" 
 
 And yet, mused I, upon the reading of that letter, 
 as I replaced it in my pocket, after all one must be
 
 FUTILITY 273 
 
 charitable. Being away from the scene of inopera- 
 tion, away where the lust for action was not being 
 constantly frostbitten by the chill of over-caution, one 
 was enabled, by grace of the altered perspective, to 
 take a more judicial, dispassionate view of men and 
 things. Yeo and Chauncey, were they not achieving 
 according to their lights? And if their lights were 
 but tallow dips, what then? It was the common 
 illuminant of the time, and in the universe of God 
 there are few suns in the waste of lesser star-dust, dead 
 moons and nebulae. Also, in a crowded world of 
 men, reflected I, in the many fields of effort, the 
 Chaunceys and the Yeos stand, after all, rather above 
 the average. And the Perrys, in any line, can but 
 be few. Napoleon, I meditated, even now fighting his 
 last Titanic unparalleled fight against the monstrous, 
 crushing European coalition which was seeking his 
 undoing, could count his equals, in all the preceding 
 ages of the world, upon the fingers of a hand. 
 
 Having transacted my business at Albany, I re- 
 turned to the Harbor through the autumnal glories 
 of the forest, arriving there late in September, in 
 readiness to accompany General Wilkinson's army in 
 its projected Canadian invasion that fall. The ad- 
 visability of my accompanying my own forces had 
 been gravely decided upon by my Canadian chiefs, as 
 I had represented to them by letter to Montreal that 
 I could probably be of some use by going along. I 
 received a reply endorsing the idea and enclosing 
 another regular remittance of Stranahan's pay. I 
 will mention here, though it is merely incidental, that 
 the sum total of these remittances remained intact, 
 and when the adventurous hoax was ended, it was 
 returned untouched to Montreal. While filling the 
 unsuspected gap in the enemy's secret service, I was
 
 274 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 far from being capable of availing myself of the 
 perquisites thereto. 
 
 Upon reaching home I left my horse at the stable 
 and proceeded to quarters. John was there, coat off, 
 shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, directing the un- 
 loading of some wagon loads of supplies. He paused 
 a moment to give me welcome with a grip that made 
 me wince, then quickly resumed his oversight of the 
 yokels, who needed it. 
 
 Two of them, big beefy fellows, had just desisted in 
 a clumsy effort to hoist an unwieldy cask of rum 
 in the back of a wagon. They now stood before 
 it with helpless head scratchings, perplexedly staring. 
 With a wink at me, John stepped to the wagon, tilted 
 the heavy cask over on its side, rolled it to the edge 
 of the wagon box, and bending his mighty shoulders, 
 got under it with an upward lift, and, carrying it the 
 short intervening distance to the storehouse, sent it 
 rolling with a mighty heave down the long floor to 
 join its fellows. He laughed as he marked the yokels' 
 goggling eyes. 
 
 "Get the knack," he admonished them briefly. 
 " Main strength is not the secret. It's the applica- 
 tion." 
 
 A voice, a remembered voice, dirged at my elbow. 
 "Them's more sperrits," it said drearily, "than I 
 ever see any one man stand up under at any one 
 time afore." 
 
 "How are you, Abner?" asked I cordially, though 
 I felt a draught. "How is Betsey?" 
 
 "She sends word," responded Abner, with a dis- 
 tinctly aggrieved air, "that this last crop war big- 
 ger'n ever." 
 
 "That was too bad," I murmured sympathetically. 
 And Abner podded funereally, nor turned a gray hair.
 
 FUTILITY 275 
 
 "And Noadiah and Cyrenus, are they both well?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "He an' him don't speak yet," wailed Abner. "I 
 hev tried some to rekerncile them, for it's onpleasant 
 havin' them as has been sorter neighbors o' your'n 
 not noticin' of t'other. But they won't rekerncile 
 worth a cuss," and he ambled aimlessly away, his 
 wrinkled face enwrapped in deepened gloom. I shiv- 
 ered and started for the house. On the way I passed 
 the cottage of the Widow Hankinson. Casually 
 glancing through the window I noted two chairs 
 standing within hailing distance of one another. 
 Upon one of these rested demurely the widow; upon 
 the other palpitated Noadiah, steeped in the blissful 
 witchery of her smile. Ah, Cupid, young, busy imp, 
 by whose sweet sorcery winter, renewed, is again 
 dandled in the lap of spring ! 
 
 Two fair damsels met me at the door. One I 
 kissed, nor durst similarly salute the other, as I was 
 minded, which fact I judged to be divined by the one 
 I kissed, from the bubbling laughter in her eyes. 
 And with a venomous glance, which in no way sub- 
 dued her as it should, I, in some natural confusion, 
 fawned foolishly upon the radiant Gypso, even as he 
 fawned foolishly on me. And Renee's robin, from his 
 perch on her shoulder, chirped scornfully at me, and 
 his beady eyes, in which malice rioted, bored into my 
 soul. I greeted my invalid father, sitting helpless in 
 his chair. And presently John and M. De Montefort 
 came in and we all sat down to supper.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 The Three Musketeers 
 
 The oars swung in rhythmic, silent unison, with 
 muffled sweeps, the heavy boat urged on under the 
 steady impetus of powerful backs and brawny arms. 
 The water lapped ceaselessly, murmuring weirdly 
 in the darkness, against the boat's sides; the faint 
 moan of a fitful, light wind sounded in the woods 
 girting the distant shore, a deeper shadow line to the 
 southward. Overhead there rolled in mighty, broken 
 masses to the southeast, great smothering clouds, 
 spitting at intervals a fine, cold rain, like spray. 
 Occasionally there shone from over the huge shoul- 
 der of a monstrous cloud the weak rays of a watery 
 moon, to be in an instant blotted out as the face of 
 the waters gloomed again. And always the gentle, 
 lifting swell, lulling and interminable ; the sweep of the 
 solemn cloud-cohorts of the sky ; the stretch of the 
 shrouded, sombre waters ; the distant beat of the surf 
 upon the sandy shore. 
 
 About us, splotches of added shadows in the gloom, 
 moved silently forward the other transports. It 
 was an hour past midnight. We kept on, tireless, 
 grimly determined, for an object must be compassed 
 with the dawn, an object involving the issue of that 
 year, the last of this momentous war. 
 
 Sitting in the stern, I turned to the man next me. 
 Officers though we were, we had taken our turn at
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 277 
 
 the oars with the rest, but had lately been re- 
 lieved. 
 
 " It is to our everlasting good fortune," said I, 
 in a subdued tone, " if Yeo's ships have remained in 
 the vicinity of the Galloups, dispensing with scout 
 work. If not 
 
 "If not," grimly responded Lieutenant Woolsey, 
 "these stores stand an excellent chance of equipping 
 Sir James' new boats at Frontenac, and we an equally 
 good prospect of swelling the imprisoned population 
 there. Even now there may be one of their schooners 
 snooping about in this vicinity, though I hope we 
 have anticipated them. I wish it was dawn. This 
 darkness wears on a fellow's nerves." 
 
 "If they do come before we arrive," I observed, 
 " and get within close range, which they must do to 
 take us, these fellows of Appling's rifle corps will 
 bore them some. I'm glad they're along. But per- 
 haps our friends will elect to stand off and blow us 
 out of the water at long range." 
 
 " No," replied Woolsey, " they won't do that. They 
 want the stores, and to get them they'll be willing 
 to take us with them." And we relapsed into silence 
 while the men pulled on. Presently we relieved a 
 couple of them, who were tiring. 
 
 The episode of which I am treating is obscure 
 enough in the histories, yet upon it depended the 
 issue of the year to us of either side of Ontario's 
 warring borders. That closing winter of the war 
 had been devoted to ship building at the Harbor, 
 and a large patch of forest was converted into boats. 
 A number of schooners had been built, and on May 
 first, the Superior, a frigate pierced for sixty-six guns, 
 was launched. The Mohawk and the Jones, addi- 
 tional brigs, were still upon the stocks.
 
 The armament 'of the additional ships was due to 
 arrive through Wood Creek and the Oswego River 
 from Oswego, the rude roads being impassable with 
 mud. The active spies knew of the expected arrival 
 of the supplies. Indeed, I had been obliged to re- 
 port it myself, to avoid possible suspicion. To pos- 
 sess these munitions became at once a matter of the 
 greatest importance to the enemy, who planned a 
 cunning descent upon Oswego. Had it been success- 
 ful, fortune must have favored the British in this 
 closing year of the struggle. 
 
 Oswego had not been occupied by regular troops 
 since the Revolution. Its fort was dilapidated and 
 defended but by five old guns, three of which had lost 
 their trunnions. However, troops were rushed there in 
 anticipation of the enemy's visit, as, through the 
 advantage under which I was working, I had learned 
 of the intended attack in a brief trip across the 
 river, and, unobtrusively returning, had hastened 
 to Sackets Harbor with the information. The enemy 
 came to Oswego with a cloud of brigs, schooners 
 and gunboats and some three thousand marines and 
 foot soldiers, including two companies of the famous 
 Glengarry Corps, on the morning of the fifth of May. 
 An engagement in artillery resulted to our advantage 
 and a landing party was repulsed. At daybreak the 
 next morning the fleet again approached. After a 
 three hours' fire they landed a considerable force, 
 which captured public stores, burned the old Revolu- 
 tionary barracks and returned to the fleet the next 
 morning. General Drummond commanded their land 
 forces and Commodore Yeo the fleet. Here would 
 have been an excellent opportunity for Commodore 
 Chauncey to have been there and won a belated 
 reputation, but he was busy at the Harbor, com-
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 279 
 
 pleting some more ships and making reports to the 
 government of what he was going to do. 
 
 The naval stores desired by the enemy were at 
 Oswego Falls, now Fulton, but Colonel Mitchell, who 
 had with him five companies of light and heavy ar- 
 tillery, defended the port as long as possible, and, 
 when compelled to retire from Oswego, took meas- 
 ures to make pursuit difficult. Falling back slowly 
 toward the Falls, he destroyed bridges and felled 
 timber to obstruct the roads. The enemy did not 
 follow, but boarded the fleet, which returned to its 
 station near the Galloup Islands to intercept the 
 passage of the prized stores, which they judged must 
 pass near. 
 
 On May the twenty-eighth, under command of 
 Lieutenant Woolsey and myself, with boatmen and 
 attended by Appling's riflemen, the stores left Oswego 
 Falls in eighteen boats, we in charge hoping to gain 
 Stony Creek with them. They could then be brought 
 up the creek to a point three miles from Henderson 
 Harbor, which was a dozen miles from Sackets. It 
 was for this object we were rowing through the 
 dark, rainy night. 
 
 It was a difficult matter in those days to handle 
 freightage in times of peace, to say nothing of 
 periods of war. Getting the armament for the three 
 frigates to this point had entailed no little labor. 
 In good weather the supplies for Sackets Harbor 
 were brought mostly by way of the Kahuahgo Val- 
 ley or Redfield Woods route. The roads were im- 
 passable with mud, however, so the armament had 
 been brought from New York on boats rigged with 
 a single mast, which was jointed near the center- 
 board, to be raised or lowered at convenience. A 
 foot walk on each side served for men to push with
 
 28o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 poles when going up the streams. In this way, via the 
 Hudson and its tributaries, they reached Wood Creek, 
 entered Oneida Lake and continued down the Oswego 
 river to Lake Ontario. I had charge of this detail, 
 having been despatched to New York shortly after 
 my return to Sackets Harbor, following the break- 
 ing up of Wilkinson's camp at French Mills. I had 
 conducted the stores to Oswego Falls some time 
 previously. Later I had learned of the enemy's 
 designs, had frustrated them thus far and now 
 Woolsey and I were trying to land the stores at 
 their destination, an object which we heartily wished 
 at this moment had been accomplished. 
 
 The dawn came, the clouds dispersing in baffled, 
 disorganized masses before the onslaught of a royal 
 sun. There was still no sign of the enemy's fleet, 
 and our spirits rose, the men bending with renewed 
 vigor to their work. A Sabbatarian calm lay on the 
 waters, which was wholly fitting, since it was Sunday. 
 Ere long, however, a brisk, favoring breeze sprang 
 up and leg-o'-mutton sails were quickly spread upon 
 the squat, sturdy masts to assist our progress. 
 
 Eyes were constantly turned toward the middle of 
 the lake with common anxiety. Those who look for 
 trouble usually find it. About ten o'clock, even as 
 the faint tones of a distant church bell echoed from 
 the wooded southern shore, Woolsey grasped my 
 arm. "Look!" said he, pointing. 
 
 Far away, small on the watery horizon, was a small 
 schooner, coming toward us. On she came till she 
 reached a distance from whence we judged her crew 
 could easily with glasses determine our identity and 
 mission. Then she put about with all speed and 
 diminished in the opposite direction. 
 
 "A scout!" remarked Woolsey grimly. "No Stony
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 281 
 
 Creek for us now. We're lucky if we reach anywhere 
 than Frontenac." 
 
 " We will ground the boats and smash or sink the 
 stores first!" I exclaimed savagely. "But there's 
 Big Sandy! We'll reach it; we must!" I shouted 
 for the men to pull for the creek, and they did, like 
 the good devils they were. And always, toiling like 
 mad, we looked through blinding sweat out to- 
 ward the open, scanning the horizon, from whence at 
 any moment winged menace might come flying to- 
 ward us on the deep. We had not long to wait. 
 Ere long a splash of white sail revealed the fore- 
 runner of the king's ships and soon others showed 
 plain against the blue background of the arching 
 sky. But long ere the danger that rode the deep 
 that day had come close enough for our discomfort, 
 the mouth of the wide Big Sandy had been gained 
 by all save one poorly manned transport, which fell 
 behind and was duly captured, and up the protecting 
 artery we pulled, still gallant and insensible to 
 fatigue as so many crews of racers in their shells 
 in a driving finish; up to safety and what proved 
 an ultimate victory. 
 
 We disembarked and I sent an Indian runner to the 
 Harbor to notify Chauncey and the others in com- 
 mand of the danger, and, with Lieutenant Woolsey, 
 also dispatched couriers to secure teams to remove 
 the stores overland to the Harbor. 
 
 You can find no mention in most histories of the 
 engagement which followed, but it was of great im- 
 portance. That consignment was most valuable. 
 It contained the provision for the most formidable 
 frigates we had yet built, and, had the British se- 
 cured it, they would have used the guns immediately 
 for some craft they had ready for launching at Fron-
 
 282 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 tenac, but which were still without armament. While 
 it was not written that Chauncey was to do any- 
 thing worthy of record with his increased fleet, yet 
 had the enemy secured this prize the situation would 
 have been much worse. Thus far both sides, of 
 naval strength nearly equal, had feared to strike the 
 first decisive blow. Had Yeo captured these stores 
 it is highly probable that, emboldened by his greatly 
 superior strength thus afforded, he might have worked 
 much destruction to the towns along the border. 
 As it resulted, however, the two commodores con- 
 tinued their play at action till the war ended, with 
 no harm to either. 
 
 The arrival of the runner at Sackets produced a 
 sensation. Some regulars and several companies of 
 militia were despatched to the scene. Among the 
 latter was John's command, with which my old one 
 was now merged. The readjustment had brought 
 Cyrenus and Noadiah, the ancient rivals, into a con- 
 stant association, which was, however, unmarked by 
 the amities of daily intercourse. And with them was 
 Abner, now a corporal, whose natural sorrow was 
 deepened by the estrangement of his superiors. 
 
 Meanwhile a motley crew assembled on the banks 
 of Sandy Creek to defend the stores. Some had guns, 
 some muskets without the requisite locks, some with 
 locks but no flints, some with no weapons but pitch- 
 forks. The throng was made up of backwoodsmen, 
 hunters, trappers, farmers and boys, ready to wal- 
 lop British regulars, though against heavy odds. 
 However, reinforcements began speedily to arrive 
 and there was a reception preparing for the king's 
 men up the creek as should surprise them right 
 mightily. 
 
 The lake shore in this vicinity has always been the
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 283 
 
 scene of innumerable wrecks. At that time there 
 stood a house just south of the creek's mouth, which 
 served as a beacon light and a place of refuge for 
 shipwrecked sailors. An old fisherman kept the place, 
 and the house was used a great deal as a hotel for 
 anglers. The British stopped there and secured the 
 information that the stores up the creek were 
 guarded only by an insignificant force. The custodian 
 spoke truly as far as he knew, but ever since the second 
 attack on the Harbor the settlers along the whole 
 frontier were on the alert and were even now 
 collecting with marvellous haste to defend the prized 
 supplies. 
 
 The British fleet lay off the shore through Sunday, 
 not moving up to attack till dawn of the following 
 day, which was resplendent, the air filled with the 
 fresh odors of the spring. On up the creek moved 
 the king's boats, piloted by a patriot who had been 
 pressed, through fear of death, into service. The 
 bands crashed martial music; the yellow sunlight 
 flashed upon the red coats with their gilt buttons, 
 glinting the white belts and the polished stocks of 
 the muskets. It was a brave sight. Far ahead the 
 wooded shores, on either side of the stream, showed 
 no sign of the opposition. In the distance, billow- 
 ing above the tree tops, floated the American flag; 
 that was all, but it covered a multitude of leaden 
 virtues. 
 
 After a time the boats, approaching shallower 
 water, stopped, discharging volleys of artillery aimed 
 so high that they cut the upper branches of the adja- 
 cent trees. The regulars landed leisurely to secure 
 the stores, still far up the creek. Their glittering 
 garb made a grand target in the dim woods. 
 
 It was the old story. Englishmen may never hope
 
 284 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 to cope with the Yankees in forest warfare. The 
 British are born in the open. Generations of Indian 
 fighting have taught the new world settlers the 
 excellence, to a reasonable extent, of the redskins' 
 methods. 
 
 No sooner were they in the forest than the British 
 were bewildered by a hail of death that poured from 
 rifle barrels unseen. They replied at random, only 
 beholding in response dim, gray shapes flitting like 
 shadows from tree to tree, too swift for shots. The 
 fire came again, this time on the flank, now in front, 
 next from behind. It was perplexing. It was more ; 
 it was mortality. Men lay writhing in agony, their 
 brave coats wet with a deeper red, and still their 
 comrades fell, mowed down by an enemy the more 
 terrible because unseen. And in this unique battling, 
 so incomprehensible and so destructive to the gallant 
 enemy, the plowboy and the tavern keeper were equal- 
 ly at home with Appling's unerring riflemen, for 
 marksmanship with us was a religion and a matter 
 of course in those days. None of us but spent 
 his spare hours ranging the forest for its game, and 
 the brave red coat made a better mark among those 
 trees than the soberer one of a buck or bear. So it 
 was that death and agony leapt from the muzzles, 
 while those who dealt them went nearly unscathed, 
 because of flitting like incorporate shades from point 
 to point of the screening foliage. 
 
 And tireless among the victors that day were the 
 three old musketeers, John's musketeers and mine. 
 And, by a strange trick of fate, two of them nearly 
 achieved a flitting, from which impending end they 
 were rescued by the third. 
 
 The three had been skulking about like Indians 
 and doing great service, for not one of them but
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 285 
 
 was a crack shot. Cyrenus was fighting 1 for the 
 pure love of the game ; Noadiah in the line of a virtu- 
 ous duty to be done; Abner, with waggling jaws 
 and funereal countenance, with an air of solemn resig- 
 nation; just as he went to church with Betsey, because 
 she did. But Abner was full as good a shot as any, 
 though why and how he had compassed his skill 
 was always a puzzle to me. For he was ambition- 
 less in most things, and marksmanship is an art 
 that requires much application and the excercise of 
 patience to acquire. But his dolorous, impersonal 
 eye overlooked nothing in the shape of a splotch of 
 red. By and by, that eye, deceivingly surveillant, 
 saved two patriots for future service. 
 
 The enemy had a detachment of red allies with 
 them that day, which, though small, did more service 
 than the king's regulars because used to that style 
 of fighting. I caught fleeting glimpses of their tawny 
 hides from time to time, they reminding me intimate- 
 ly of a precious brood I knew, though I was quite 
 sure that if they were indeed members of that band, 
 their evil leader was not with them, since I had 
 information that he was in Frontenac on other 
 business. At any rate, stepping swiftly from behind 
 a tree after a shot, I came simultaneously upon an 
 open space and a thrilling tableau. 
 
 Cyrenus and Noadiah, engrossed in the grim busi- 
 ness of the day and evidently unaware of one an- 
 other's presence, though within a few paces of each 
 other, bent forward with rifles ready, searching 
 through the trees for a favorable shot. And behind 
 them, creeping up silently as deadly serpents, were 
 two of the enemy's tawny allies, part of a number 
 who had gained our rear and were stalking us at 
 our own game. Their hands held knives, quite as
 
 286 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 effective in the back and more so, in fact, than in 
 front with veterans like these. The sudden sight 
 paralyzed me for a brief instant and then 
 
 Before I could cry out or leap to the rescue of the 
 two veterans, and even as the knives were raised in 
 readiness for the two Indians' forward tigerish spring, 
 a shot rang out from a nearby clump of bushes and 
 one Indian tumbled, with a death yell, fairly over the 
 kneeling Cyrenus, crushing the little man to earth 
 beneath his impact. Almost simultaneously with the 
 shot a gaunt form bounded like a deer out of the 
 brush, with smoking rifle clubbed over his shoulder. 
 The rescuer landed just behind the second Indian, 
 he who was to have finished Noadiah. The rifle butt 
 came crashing down upon the redskin's greasy skull 
 and he was finished rather than Noadiah, who whirled 
 ponderously to confront Abner, still with a visage 
 of the tombs and whose jaws paused not nor wavered 
 in their eternal allegiance to the relished weed. The 
 flustered Cyrenus, emerging with sundry cursings 
 from beneath the other departed Indian, scrambled 
 to his feet. The three regarded each other in eloquent 
 silence. 
 
 "Betsey'd say it war the Lord," wailed Abner. 
 " She'd lay it to Him, all of it. But I'd lay a good 
 sher of it to the bar'l of this here rifle and another 
 good sher to the butt. There's credit enough to go 
 all around, sech as it is. But there hain't much 
 satisfaction in savin' a couple o' yer comrades as 
 don't speak to other." 
 
 Cyrenus and Noadiah noticed the close proximity 
 of one another for the first time and moved apart. 
 Noadiah drew himself up ponderously. Cyrenus 
 regarded him with a sour smile. 
 
 "If you two would speak to each other an' be rekern-
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS 287 
 
 ciled," remarked Abner, in passionless parlance, "it 
 would, to a sartin extent, make it up to me fer 
 goin' to this trouble for yeh. It's mighty onpleas- 
 ant " 
 
 " For what you hev done, Abner," acknowledged 
 Noadiah, with pompous humility, "may the Lord 
 make me trooly thankful. I'm not speakin' fer him," 
 with a contemptuous indication of the grinning 
 Cyrenus. " There's some things 
 
 " There's some things worse than stayin' a widow," 
 interrupted Cyrenus pointedly. " Becomin' a wife 
 again, for instance. Maybe this outcome ain't alto- 
 gether an unmixed blessing of the Lord's for some 
 parties. The way it's come out in some quarters, 
 maybe there'll be a future wife in place of a present 
 widow. And in such case I'm sorry for her. The 
 Lord might better have fixed it so she could stick 
 to her widowhood." 
 
 The face of Noadiah grew turkey red and he glared 
 ferociously. But firing sounded further on, toward 
 the creek, and the enemies seized their rifles and 
 hurried away in diverging directions. 
 
 "Won't rekerncile!" groaned Abner, as we hurried 
 after them. "Ain't it damnable?" 
 
 And I agreed that it was.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 The Rope Job 
 
 Now the whoops of savages other than their own 
 came to the ears of the British, for the American 
 forces were aided by a few redskins favorable to our 
 side on that memorable day, and, though they ar- 
 rived late, they assisted in contributing to the gener- 
 al discomfiture of the enemy. Almost simultaneously 
 with their appearance came the cheers from addition- 
 al reinforcements of militia from Sackets Harbor 
 and Ellisburgh, crashing through the woods. It 
 was too much. The British, until now fighting with 
 the courage of despair, wavered, broke and ran. We 
 pursued, overtaking many of them. Some threw 
 down their muskets, begging frantically for quarter. 
 John, of whom I had seen little during the engage- 
 ment, in which, following the tactics of forest war- 
 fare, each man pursued the independent tenor of his 
 woodland way, now joined me as I hurried on with 
 others in pursuit of our flying foes. Suddenly he 
 uttered an imprecation and rushed toward the right. 
 I followed. 
 
 In a clearing, near the creek bank, three of our 
 own Indian allies, in whom the savage blood was 
 asserting itself, were pleasantly engaged in scalping 
 a pair of shrieking British prisoners. John dashed 
 into the midst of that sanguinary trio like a dev- 
 astating cyclone. I followed in his wake, but there
 
 THE ROPE JOB 289 
 
 was no need for my assistance. By the time I 
 reached there two of the red allies were rolling in 
 agony on the ground and the third was invisible. 
 A stirring in some adjacent bushes revealed the spot 
 where John had thrown him. 
 
 "Devils!" growled the giant, with smouldering 
 eyes. "It is a burning shame that any government 
 should countenance the employing of such serpents 
 in civilized warfare!" 
 
 We summoned aid for the two suffering Englishmen 
 and passed on. The affair at arms was now over, 
 and though destined to be practically unrecorded, 
 it was one of the most signal victories for American 
 arms during the war, and was, moreover, an engage- 
 ment in which the British failed absolutely to gain 
 their object, except in the capture of the single trans- 
 port before the battle, which I have mentioned. Those 
 who escaped could not make haste enough to rejoin 
 their comrades on shipboard and get out of the 
 creek. Had our force been larger and had Chauncey 
 been there we could doubtless have captured the 
 British fleet. As it was, we had taken many prisoners, 
 bringing them to Sackets Harbor. No further at- 
 tempt was made by the enemy to secure the stores, 
 the fleet leaving shortly to blockade Sackets Harbor. 
 
 This brings me to a unique incident in connection 
 with this affair, one that tradition is handing down 
 as the "rope job." Among the stores in the trans- 
 ports were two cables for the new frigate Superior 
 which were twenty inches in diameter and weighed 
 four tons apiece. One of these cables was loaded on 
 several carts, attached one to the other, and drawn 
 by relays of oxen to the Harbor. All the oxen, 
 horses and wagons in the thinly settled region were 
 pressed into service for the conveying of the guns
 
 2 9 o THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and stores to the Harbor. By the hardest of work, 
 everything was on the road by the Thursday after- 
 noon following the battle except one of these giant 
 cables. There was but one wagon left. How to 
 get the great rope to the village was a problem. 
 A number of men stood about, eyeing it with help- 
 less head scratchings and earnest curses. John stood 
 with them, surveying the cable thoughtfully. At 
 last he threw up a hand, bringing the great palm 
 down upon the shoulder of a man standing near him 
 with such force as nearly to knock him over, though 
 he was substantial enough. 
 
 "I have it, men!" exclaimed the "big un," as 
 they appreciatively called him. "It's up to us to 
 make useful beasts of burden of ourselves." And 
 he rapidly explained his plan. It was quickly put 
 in operation. 
 
 There was but one wagon left. Three pairs of oxen 
 were attached to it. Part of the cable was loaded 
 upon this wagon and a crowd of men, having made 
 mats of plaited grass for their shoulders, walked be- 
 hind the cart in Indian file, staggering under the 
 weight of the great rope that stretched, like a long, 
 Gargantuan serpent, back into the dim greenness of 
 the woods. Finally the men laid down their burden, 
 sleeping that night in Ellis village. 
 
 The next day the bearers of the strange burden 
 made about eight miles, being fed and lodged most 
 comfortably by the residents of the small settlements 
 where we stopped. There were constantly a hundred 
 men at the task, working in relays. New volunteers 
 were constantly arriving and old ones dropping out, 
 for most could not stand the strain for long. 
 
 But one man there was who stood out a giant 
 in the task, and it was John. He had insisted on
 
 THE ROPE JOB 291 
 
 joining in the work from the beginning, and he was 
 the only man who could keep at it, unrelieved, for the 
 entire day. It was not bravado. It was simply the 
 man's wonderful might and endurance, which never 
 tired. I saw the strong men of the northland, and 
 there were giants in those days, try to emulate him, 
 and, ere the day was half spent, be forced to stop 
 exhausted, with white faces and shaking knees, to 
 give place to others. As for him, he strode on like a 
 Titan, his back straight, the great coil seeming to 
 rest like a packing cord on his brawny shoulder. 
 From time to time he shifted the weight to the other 
 shoulder, easily as if casting z. pebble. And when 
 the night came he seemed the freshest of us all. 
 
 On Saturday the cable was taken through from 
 Smithville to the Harbor, a distance of ten miles. As 
 we approached the end of our journey, some of the 
 men fell out, exhausted, but there were volunteers in 
 plenty to take the vacant places. As we approached 
 the village there was the crash of bands, the shrill 
 note of the fife, the roll of drums, the boom of salut- 
 ing artillery. The soldiery and the citizens came 
 thronging to meet us. The oxen were stopped and 
 unyoked, the cable was hauled from the cart by 
 swarms of clutching, straining hands. Hundreds 
 ducked under the great rope to rise erect with a sec- 
 tion of it upon a shoulder. Now there were as many 
 men under it as could congregate in a single file 
 lockstep, and we hobbledy-pegged it into the village, 
 all the din of the general exultation in our deafened 
 ears. We passed through the main street of the vil- 
 lage, up a narrow lane that was hedged on either 
 side by cheering multitudes, for the garrison was 
 emptied of its soldiers and the countryside for miles 
 around was there. With the hoarse shouts of the
 
 2 9 2 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 men there sounded the treble of the women; every- 
 where there fluttered white shreds of handkerchiefs. 
 Something drew my gaze. Turning my head, I saw 
 her, with shining eyes, standing with Dorothy, both 
 waving handkerchiefs in welcome. 
 
 We gained the shipyards, and, amid a tumult of 
 shouting, threw the great rope down before the 
 sailors. Flags waved, the cheering grew madder, the 
 bearers were lifted upon the shoulders of shouting 
 friends. It was a memorable day. 
 
 The Superior, which had been waiting for this cable, 
 was now soon equipped. With its appearance, Yeo, 
 who had been blockading the port without daring to 
 enter it, true to the dictates of caution which actu- 
 ated him in as full measure as his opponent, made 
 haste to sail away.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 A Wanderer's Return 
 
 Together John and I strolled idly along the road 
 that led, following the shore of the bay, away from 
 the village to a point a mile above, where were 
 located the humble huts of some fisher folk. July, 
 approaching its end and loth to leave, had revelled 
 that day in the warmth of an impassioned sun. But 
 the wide water yawned in the west to receive the 
 riotous, red orb, now reluctantly sinking toward the 
 shimmering flood, flaunting the while his banners 
 of crimson and gold in fond adieu to the departing 
 day. Adjacent thickets awoke in a world of shrill 
 peepings and mystic murmurings; above burred the 
 whir of wings, for the birds were hastening home. 
 Down in the marshes, in deep profundo, outrolled the 
 vespers of the frogs; far off in the dim woods that 
 stretched nearby there woke the weird curfew of a 
 whippoorwill. And close at hand the hesitant twilight 
 hovered, reluctant to approach, while the glow of the 
 dying sunlight rested, regally departing, upon resplen- 
 dent waters and the transfigured land. 
 
 About us, a pup still in heart despite his years and 
 grim life's score, roamed the formidable Gypso, snuf- 
 fing busily and exploring odd thickets; burrowing 
 occasionally in the hole of a woodchuck, or maybe 
 something more virile, to reappear in a moment with 
 black face well begrimed, requiring vigorous appli-
 
 294 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 cation of his forepaws. He was fastidious for a dog. 
 Occasionally he leaped upon us, muttering low growls 
 of canine satisfaction, then was off upon some fresh 
 exploration. John watched him thoughtfully as we 
 sauntered on, enjoying the gathering coolness after 
 a toilsome day. 
 
 "He's growing old, Gilbert," said John, sadness in 
 his tone. "You don't notice it much, for the pup 
 spirit stirs in him as you see. But his eye is dim- 
 ming a little and the hairs about his mouth are grow- 
 ing gray. Time is gradual in its processes, but it is 
 also inevitable. By and by he will be but a slippered 
 canine pantaloon, lying toothless and old and blind 
 before the fireplace, shivering and whining in wistful 
 dreams of the deeds of a gallant past. And it is a 
 gallant past, Gilbert, a brave story from the day I 
 bought him, a pudgy puppy, from a settler away 
 in the forest near Champlain. Why, even then he 
 would struggle, if imposed upon, to fight a pup twice 
 his size, just as he would unhesitatingly tackle a 
 wood cat to-day, should I give him the word. And 
 it would be rough on the cat. What tales he might 
 tell if he could!" the giant's black eyes kindling, 
 "but cannot, since his Maker denied him that gift of 
 speech which He bestowed upon we inferior animals ! 
 Inferior? Yes, in all that goes to make that noblest 
 of virtues, supreme fidelity ! Since the day when he 
 first looked into my face and loved me, as I bore him 
 on my arm into the forest, my will has been his, my 
 way his. It has often led into the paths of death, 
 but he has never faltered. Yes, he has often led the 
 way into them and pulled me out of them afterward. 
 He has stood guard, sleepless and weary, by a dying 
 fire in the forest, menacing the beasts away while I 
 slept exhausted. His body bears the scars of wounds
 
 A WANDERER'S RETURN 295 
 
 from brutes and men incurred in my interest; side by 
 side we have borne the brunt of years. And from the 
 beginning," and John's voice was very tender, "he 
 has never failed me, never doubted me. He has wor- 
 shipped me, for to him I am God ! Can you and I, boy, 
 claim such an allegiance to our Maker? Rather, can 
 we look upon that poor, dumb brute without feeling 
 a deep shame? I have known many men, and, speak- 
 ing generally, the knowledge has largely increased 
 my respect for dogs. And Gypso there has grown 
 very near to me. It saddens me to think, for such 
 are the relative spans of merciless nature, that but 
 a few years more and he will, in the natural order of 
 things, turn his sightless eyes upon me at the sound 
 of my voice in the darkness and moan with the pain 
 in his stiffened limbs as he licks my pitying hand. 
 And when he goes yonder my heart will ache for 
 him even, as I well know, should fate take me first, 
 the big, honest heart of him will ache for me in the 
 loneliness of his old age. Old age ! I doubt not that, 
 if he could know and apprehend it, he would wish, 
 even as I, to fall in strength and the fullness of his 
 power, rather than to totter in weakness to the brink 
 of the grave, to finally tumble in, a toothless, senile 
 wreck ! And to think that this, the final irony, is 
 for what so many pray ! " 
 
 He was standing silent, hat in hand, gazing out 
 upon the unquiet bay, for a whimsical breeze had 
 strengthened with the sunset, blowing from the south, 
 the sky being clear of clouds. Moved by his strange 
 outburst, a rare thing with him, I surveyed his 
 great figure with its powerful shoulders, every line 
 eloquent with virile grace and surpassing might. I 
 marked his strong, earnest face, the heavy beard 
 and the luxuriant hair, black as jet, crowning the
 
 296 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 splendid head. Surely time's ravages and the shadow 
 of death seemed far removed from him ! Yet I 
 thought with an ache at my heart of the coming 
 time; of the crumblimg breath of a generation gone; 
 of the havoc of swift-flown years. Ah, poor, ephemeral 
 clay that disintegrates in dust; the mounds in 
 the churchyard decked with flowers by withered hands 
 while youth whistles carelessly upon the highway ! 
 
 The last glow of the descended sun had died in the 
 faint, slowly gathering dusk. Near to us, close to 
 the shore of the bay at this point cleared of en- 
 croaching timber was a squat, mean hovel, wearing 
 an unmistakable air of neglect. Its barred doors and 
 windows bespoke an absent tenant. In an adjacent, 
 shallow cove were a couple of ruinous old sailboats, 
 half submerged in the water. A small dory idled on 
 the beach near the hut. 
 
 John indicated the place with a dry laugh. "If 
 Miles Osgood doesn't return soon to look after his 
 property, there will be occasion for an inquest," he 
 remarked. "We might confiscate it, but it is hardly 
 worth the trouble. We might have taken the boats 
 yonder, but didn't think of it, and it looks now as if 
 the winter's ice had done for them." 
 
 "As we will do for Miles if he should return," said 
 I. "I am sorry he is not in chancery. He is entirely 
 untrustworthy. What Carew and Beresford told me 
 during that involuntary sail of mine to Frontenac 
 with them merely confirmed some suspicions I had. 
 You remember the search we made for him as soon as 
 I returned, but he had disappeared for parts unknown. 
 Perhaps it is as well. We want no double dealers 
 on this side of the water, and a man who furnishes 
 boats to his friends, the enemy, certainly belongs to 
 that category. I regret that we could not find him,
 
 A WANDERER'S RETURN 297 
 
 for I would like to assure myself that he is not engaged 
 in similar pursuits somewhere along the border. As- 
 surance would be more satisfying if he were locked 
 up. He is a dangerous man to have anywhere in the 
 open. And if he were about, to find that I wear 
 two names, it might be awkward." 
 
 "True," replied John. '.'Still, do you think he left 
 because he feared his dealings had been discovered?" 
 
 "I hardly think so," I rejoined. "There was no 
 definite suspicion against him, outside a very small 
 circle, as you know, till Carew's talk with me con- 
 firmed what impressions we had and more. But 
 when I returned, ready to act, I found him already 
 gone. He could not have known. And no one has 
 seen him anywhere in this region since." 
 
 "He may have gone voyaging, on a sudden whim," 
 returned John carelessly. "I understand he used to 
 be a sailor. What does it matter where he is? We're 
 well rid of him anyway." 
 
 "We are if we are," I commented. "I would feel bet- 
 ter if I knew surely that he were dead." 
 
 There sounded a loud report from a thicket across 
 the road. A jet of smoke curled above it. I had torn 
 off my hat, agape, and was staring stupidly at it. I 
 can remember reflecting confusedly that it was ruined, 
 though new, for a bullet had passed through the 
 crown. 
 
 There was a great crashing through the opposite 
 underbrush. John was half across the road, making 
 for the thicket with flying impetus. I hurried after 
 him, plunging in. Low growls sounded nearby, and 
 now there arose a yell of terror. I forged aheadj to 
 burst in upon a startling tableau. 
 
 Prostrate upon the ground sprawled no other a 
 personage than Miles Osgood, with livid face and
 
 298 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 eyes protruding with horror. Over him, with bristling 
 hair and terrible jaws not a half inch from his throat 
 stood the big, black hound, awaiting only the word 
 to throttle the grovelling villain. John stood by the 
 two, grinning appreciatively. 
 
 "Thought you'd pick off one of us, at least, did 
 you, Miles?" he asked pleasantly. "Didn't see the 
 dog, did you? But he saw you. How do you like 
 him?" 
 
 "Take him away, for Gawd's sake!" quavered the 
 wretch, shaking like a wind-stirred leaf. And, indeed, 
 the sight of the huge brute's glaring eyes and cruel, 
 exposed fangs was passably unnerving. 
 
 "Come here, Gypso," ordered John briefly. And 
 then he unceremoniously collared the cowering Osgood 
 and jerked him gasping to his feet. The menace of 
 the hound having been removed, the fellow faced us 
 with some restoration of equanimity and a species 
 of sullen bravado. Of medium height, squarely built 
 and with powerful shoulders, he possessed a low 
 browed, venomous face, with a stubble of reddish 
 beard. He was evidently about fifty. 
 
 "And now," remarked John quietly, "give an ac- 
 count of yourself. Where have you been, why did 
 you leave there and why do you return here? And 
 finally, why did you shoot at Captain Warburton 
 just now?" 
 
 "I had a good chance to go down state on a payin' 
 job," replied the fellow sulkily, "and I went. I jest 
 got back. I hearn you two talkin' and waited for you 
 to go on. And when I hearn him a-wishin' I was 
 dead," with increased bravado. "I thought as how it 
 mout be all right for to try my hand at makin' him 
 so himself." 
 
 "Ah, you did, did you ?" commented John, his eyes
 
 A WANDERER'S RETURN 299 
 
 unnaturally bright in the creeping dusk. "Seems 
 funny you found it necessary to remain in hiding till 
 we passed on. Moreover, you have no right, consider- 
 ing your general cut, to object to anyone wishing 
 you dead. And, while we're about this, perhaps 
 you'll tell us something about those little deals of 
 yours before you left here, of renting boats to British 
 spies." 
 
 "I don't know nothin' about : ' began Osgood 
 
 unblushingly, but he got no further. John had step- 
 ped forward, placing a mighty hand firmly about Miles' 
 windpipe, with an earnest and increasing pressure. 
 The fellow's tongue protruded, his eyes bulged; his 
 face crimsoned, then empurpled ; his hands tore fruit- 
 lessly at the iron fingers at his throat. A moment 
 so, and then the giant flung him, a writhing, gasp- 
 ing heap, upon the ground. John was white to the 
 lips with anger. 
 
 "You cursed assassin!" he snarled. "You lie in 
 every word, you Judas ! We know nothing of you 
 since you left here, but I'll wager you've been in some 
 devil's business, and we'll find out what it is ! And 
 while we're finding out you'll be kept safe for future 
 reference. Come on, Gilbert!" And he hauled the 
 dazed, half throttled ruffian to his feet and dragged 
 him to the roadway, Gypso acting as rear guard. I 
 stopped to pick up Osgood' s gun, which he had drop- 
 ped when overtaken by the dog, and followed. 
 
 That night Osgood was locked up at the Harbor, 
 and, the next morning, was sent a prisoner to Water- 
 town.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 When Women Dare 
 
 My mare, uneasy at my side, rolled a reproachful 
 eye at me and pawed impatiently. "Hold, girl," I 
 admonished severely. "She is but horseflesh," I added 
 apologetically, "and fears a battery, even though it 
 be but that of your eyes, mam'selle, to say nothing 
 of the round and childish ones of my sister." 
 
 "Merci, m'sieur," curtsied Renee, raking me at short 
 range with a blue-green broadside, "though I may 
 not speak for your sister. Indeed, I gather that she 
 can well speak for herself. Look directly to be 
 quashed, m'sieur. You have dared." 
 
 Dorothy, standing near by with John, who cheer- 
 fully awaited my undoing, surveyed me with eyes in 
 which the round and childish effect was intensified. 
 Always a danger signal, it foretold annihilation. I 
 braced. 
 
 "There is a calf at the barn," she said sweetly, 
 "such a cunning calf. It is a week old. But let us 
 remain here. Gillie is fully as diverting." 
 
 Sans sympathy from John, I followed his example 
 and mounted. We rode away from the house with the 
 damsel's mocking laughter in our ears, especially my 
 own. The twilight was falling, for, absorbed in a 
 task at the barracks, John had deferred starting 
 upon a mission of a few days at some of the river 
 ports till nightfall. It was the evening following the
 
 WHEN WOMEN DARE 301 
 
 capture of Miles Osgood. The weather remained per- 
 fect and there was a clear field of sky awaiting the 
 candle-light of the stars and the round globe of the 
 moon. I had arranged to ride with John as far as 
 Watertown, where he was to put up that night prepa- 
 ratory to proceeding the next day. My mare needed 
 exercise and I purposed to pass the evening there 
 with John and return later by moonlight. 
 
 We rode on toward the village, lazily enjoying the 
 coolness that came with the deepening dusk. The 
 good brutes under us, freed from the stable that, 
 through stress of circumstance, had been a prison 
 of late, pressed on in an exhilarating gallop. Present- 
 ly we tried to ease them, but they rebelled and we 
 let them go. Whimsical as women, they shied at 
 shadows on the familiar road, snorted suspiciously 
 at the cynical hootings of ennuied owls. We sped on 
 under the flowering stars, along the dim, weird way 
 that stretched its ghostly length interminably ahead, 
 between solemn woodland walls that gave forth the 
 incense of balsam and of pine. It was not long ere 
 the lights of the village, as we breasted a hill, twink- 
 led ahead. We were soon there. Proceeding up Col- 
 umbia Street we left our horses at a convenient stable 
 and went to the arsenal. There we spent the even- 
 ing with some congenial friends. Under the benign 
 influence of good cheer and generous potations of 
 old ale, we became raconteurs. After a while one of 
 John's rare reminiscent moods asserted itself, and 
 till it ceased, we listened silently, hanging upon every 
 word. For he had lived life to the full in this wild 
 wilderness of his adoption, and his words transported 
 us whither he willed. For all too brief a time the 
 mood endured, and when he had done and became 
 but a listener to others, I bethought myself that it
 
 302 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 was time to be starting homeward. So, with a part- 
 ing word to John and the group, I quitted them, and, 
 regaining my mare, set forth at a leisurely pace for 
 the Harbor. 
 
 The moon had risen, showering its ripe, matured 
 beauty upon the quiet world. It lacked yet two hours 
 of midnight. I rode out of the settlement upon the 
 lonely, wood-fringed highway that led Harborward. 
 There were weird silences, broken now and then by 
 the strange cry of some prowling animal of night 
 or the dismal hoot of one of Minerva's minions. My 
 mare, less restive now, proceeded at a more reason- 
 able pace. I rode dreamily on, my thoughts afar. 
 The rein idled on the mare's neck. She picked her 
 paces, sans any heed of mine. Ere I realized it the 
 village showed in the moonlight a bare half mile 
 ahead. The mare, who had been ambling gently, 
 lapsed into a leisurely walk as we mounted a small 
 hill. At the crest I noted a figure, unmistakable in 
 the moon's glow, approaching without haste and with 
 a listless shamble. A melancholy face, equipped with 
 grinding jaws, looked up into my own as we mutu- 
 ally paused. 
 
 "Evenin', cap'n," wailed a dirge of a voice. 
 
 "Same, Abner," responded I. "What's up?" 
 
 He shifted his quid. "Nothin' much," he averred, 
 "only I 'lowed as how you mout be gittin' back from 
 Wat'town village 'bout now and mout like to know as 
 how ther's a mawb surroundin' of your house." 
 
 "My house!" I exclaimed. "But why? Speak man, 
 can't you?" 
 
 "I am speakin'," he drawled in a funeral procession 
 of creeping words. "I hearn as how they're after a 
 suspishis character they think the girls has hid there. 
 The girls, they was a standin' of 'em off when I left,
 
 WHEN WOMEN DARE 303 
 
 for your father ain't right smart, you know. The 
 girls 'lowed I mout meet you, which I hev." 
 
 I dug my heels into the sides of my startled mare 
 and was off at full speed down the highway. Turning 
 upon the main street, I urged her the faster and was 
 soon at the house, facing the battle ground and the 
 bay beyond. Before my home swarmed an agitated 
 assemblage of marines, sailors and militiamen. Low 
 murmurs sounded as I dashed up. I threw myself 
 from the mare at the stable door and made my 
 way unnoticed toward the group in the yard. Some 
 one yelled a hoarse defiance at the moment and a 
 crowd pressed forward. 
 
 "Cowards!" cried a voice, sweet as bells, yet ring- 
 ing with defiance. "Ciel ! We are women ! As you 
 are men, stand back ! " 
 
 A stirring picture, truly, as I hastened toward the 
 gathering, which ebbed irresolutely before my lady's 
 stinging words. She stood with Dorothy upon the 
 broad veranda, each the incarnation, bathed in moon- 
 beams, of superb defiance; the poise of each alive 
 with that regnant, fearless spirit, inherent in some 
 rare women, that braves the brunt of most formid- 
 able menace and cows the sons of men. 
 
 In a moment I was among them, shouldering them 
 out of my way as I hurried across the yard to the 
 veranda. Gaining it, I turned, facing them furiously 
 beside the two girls. 
 
 "Now then, you hounds!" I demanded angrily, 
 "what is your business here? What is the meaning 
 of this?" 
 
 "It means, Gilbert," put in the irrepressible Dorothy, 
 "that they haven't the countersign and they can't 
 get in." 
 
 There were murmurs from the men. "We want that
 
 304 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 stranger, cap'n," called out someone. "We almost 
 had him nabbed an hour ago, and he got away. 
 There's them as seen them ladies hidin' him in this 
 house. We came for to search for him, as is our duty, 
 and the girls stopped us." 
 
 I laughed. "It looks so," I commented. "Is there 
 a single officer among you? Have you received 
 orders from anyone to take this course?" 
 
 There was silence. "Then get back to your quar- 
 ters," I commanded sternly, "and let us have an 
 end of this wretched business. It is not the mission 
 of men to try to cow women !" 
 
 Some moved irresolutely away, but others stood 
 sulkily by. "We want that stranger!" muttered one 
 fellow sullenly. 
 
 "You may have him !" announced a voice from the 
 doorway, and upon the veranda stepped a tall, old 
 man in the dress of a trapper. Renee gasped as 
 Dorothy uttered a low exclamation. "I regret having 
 occasioned you so much trouble," said the stranger 
 courteously, addressing them, "and must firmly de- 
 cline to cause you more. Since these gentlemen," 
 indicating the now triumphant group, "knew that 
 your kindness had harbored me, there is nothing 
 gained by remaining save your further embarrass- 
 ment, and that I cannot permit." 
 
 The tones of his voice, the look of his face, though 
 seamed with the lines of age; both were eloquent of 
 another, a younger man. Like a flash I had di- 
 vined the situation. In the hope of meeting the 
 younger the elder had dared this thing, arriving this 
 very evening only to find John gone. Then, when sus- 
 picion had been aroused and investigation inaug- 
 urated, for the suspicious saw spies in ever}* bush 
 in those stirring days, chance had led him to
 
 WHEN WOMEN DARE 305 
 
 encounter Renee, as I learned later. She recognized 
 him readily in his slight disguise, and, greeting him 
 warmly, soon learned of his plight, for he had found 
 that he was being hounded. A word from Renee to 
 Dorothy sufficed, for my sister had often heard of 
 Renee's deliverer at Frontcnac. The damsels had 
 undertaken the custody of Major Basil Aberdeen, 
 of His Majesty's service, with what result has been 
 told. Now he offered himself to the gaolers. At the 
 least a prison yawned for him. The faces of the 
 girls were eloquent of hope deceased. 
 
 But now an inspiration flashed into my brain. 
 That dual role of mine! What possibilities did it 
 not contain! It had deceived the enemy; it must 
 now deceive my friends. But I must compass it 
 without allowing the disguised officer to suspect 
 my double identity. 
 
 I laughed. "Well, this is a pretty comedy, men," 
 I said in a bantering tone. "You all know me, 
 some of you know me well. My friend here is upon a mis- 
 sion of peace. He will leave in the morning and, 
 mind you, he will leave unmolested, else you will 
 hear from your superiors ! You will go to your 
 quarters and at once ! I will personally report re- 
 garding this matter tomorrow." I waved my hand 
 in careless dismissal and conducted our unexpected 
 guest, who looked somewhat bewildered over the sud- 
 den turn of affairs, into the house, leaving the crowd 
 to go muttering to quarters. The girls were over- 
 joyed, having shrewdly suspected my plan with my 
 announcement, though they were silent, for they were 
 well cognizant of the risk I ran. 
 
 Renee did not learn of the major's true errand to 
 the Harbor when she devised the plan of secreting 
 him in the house. She did not care to know it. It
 
 306 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 was enough that the man who had delivered her 
 across the border from a horrible, impending fate 
 stood now in need of succor for himself. She knew 
 nothing of the relationship between him and John at 
 the time, for I had of course observed John's con- 
 fidence. It was long afterward that she learned that 
 the episode occurred through the attempt of a broken 
 hearted father to meet a long absent son. 
 
 Early in the morning, having arrange'd matters 
 with Major Aberdeen, I sailed his boat, in which he 
 had come the previous day from Frontenac in com- 
 pany with a discreet boatman, to a point three 
 miles above the Harbor. There the officer and his 
 boatman, who had not been in evidence the preceding 
 night with its disconcerting events, met me and I 
 saw them safely started for Frontenac. He was 
 earnestly appreciative of my efforts, though I could 
 see that he wondered at the influence which I appar- 
 ently possessed with the powers that were. As for 
 me, when he had gotten safely away, I reported the 
 occurrence at headquarters simply as an addition 
 to the stirring experiences I had passed through in 
 the role of Stranahan in the line of communication 
 with the opposite side by messengers. So the im- 
 pression obtained that the major was an emissary 
 who had borne messages of mine to Frontenac to 
 forward to Montreal. The messenger was supposed 
 to have derived the impression that I was but a 
 lodger, under an assumed name, in my own home, 
 and, as I explained, those of my household had been 
 very careful not to disturb this impression. For my 
 part, I was assumed to have severely rebuked the 
 messenger for yielding to impulse and nearly exposing 
 my hidden hand and to have sent him away feeling 
 that I had succeeded in smoothing matters by
 
 WHEN WOMEN DARE 307 
 
 restoring the shaken impression that he was what he 
 seemed to be, a simple trapper, bound for the western 
 part of the state. 
 
 I told John of the matter upon his return, before 
 the rest had an opportunity to thrust his father's 
 
 name upon him unawares. " Had you been here " 
 
 I ventured. 
 
 " It is as well as it is," he answered, his dark face 
 sombre. "The past is dead. It is a ghoulish thing 
 to violate a grave."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 The Narrows 
 
 Mine Host Nehemiah Wharton, lord of Watertown's 
 chief tavern, and of Dame Wharton and the bevy of 
 little Whartons besides, was talking, or rather whir- 
 ring. His distressing bronchial affection was re- 
 ponsible. It made me nervous. He whirred of the 
 war, of consequent hard times. It grew intolerable. 
 I drained my mug and set it down, rising. 
 
 "I must be starting, Nehemiah," said I. "Nearly 
 star-time." He looked sincere regret. His little eyes 
 involuntarily swept over the interior of the tap room, 
 all but untenanted, where of yore a comfortable, 
 dram-loving horde held sway on each prosperous 
 night. Now most of them were at the front. To- 
 night, besides myself, the room held but a dispirited 
 trio, who sat silent, moodily inspecting their boots. 
 They were not buying, had not wherewith to buy. 
 I had supped generously, drammed sparingly. My 
 mare munched in Nehemiah's stable. I was a god- 
 send, to say nothing of the mare. 
 
 I emerged into the gathering night, nearly falling 
 over a couple of little Whartons wrangling in the 
 doorway. Nehemiah, following, separated them with 
 a pair of paternal cuffs. They disappeared with two 
 squalls that were as one. Wharton, who, in these 
 degenerate days, was now his own stableman, went 
 for my horse while I lighted a cigar and idly gazed 
 out over the broad plaza.
 
 THE NARROWS 309 
 
 The mare brought, I paid my reckoning, which 
 Nehemiah clutched convulsively, and mounted. There 
 was a shrill babel from the street and a rush toward 
 us of scurrying, small forms. My mare shied and reared, 
 narrowly escaping trampling a deluge of additional 
 young Whartons. Nehemiah swooped down upon 
 them, as I steadied the mare, and there arose discord- 
 ant wails of lamentation. 
 
 I turned my head. The substantial form of Dame 
 Wharton, attracted by the din, filled the lighted door- 
 way; shrilling admonitions. The wails increased in 
 volume. 
 
 " For all that Nehemiah has received," I murmured 
 to the mare, " may the Lord make him truly thank- 
 ful, if He can." 
 
 Turning from the plaza, I passed down the street. 
 The settlement was young, but I noted there were 
 already a few stones, gray in the gathering dusk, 
 sprinkled here and there in an adjacent churchyard. 
 I clattered across the bridge, gaining the north bank 
 of the Kahuahgo and proceeding at an easy trot 
 along the highway that led to Brown's Settlement, 
 christened for my favorite old commander. The 
 dusk deepened densely into night ; the stars, winking 
 awake, grew gradually wide-eyed and radiant. Fire- 
 flies, tiny acolytes of the August night, glowed fit- 
 fully here, now there. By and by a bend in the road 
 brought me close to the black, swirling Kahuahgo. 
 Grimly sullen, it rolled beneath the stars, the chan- 
 nel studded thickly with huge boulders, about which 
 hissed the foaming waters, for it was shallow here. 
 Presently the road led away from the bank and 
 I heard from a distance the faint murmur of the 
 river's flow. 
 
 Proceeding leisurely the four miles to Brown's Set-
 
 310 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 tlement, I put the mare in the tavern stable, and, 
 avoiding observation, walked unobtrusively through 
 the village and into the woods below it. I pro- 
 ceeded a half mile down the river bank, upon which 
 the young settlement was located, following a rude 
 path that had lately been but little used. Finally 
 I emerged into a clearing of generous size, fronting 
 directly upon the river's edge. I could hear the 
 stream's faint growl far below me, for, some dis- 
 tance above this spot, the Kahuahgo narrowed and 
 denied between unbroken twin walls of rock, full 
 fifty feet in height, for a matter of three miles, the 
 river broadening and spreading over lower land for 
 the remaining two miles that intervened before it 
 mingled its waters with the wide flood of Ontario. 
 This stretch of rocky walls was called the Narrows 
 by the settlers. 
 
 In the center of the clearing where I stood were the 
 unfinished walls of a log cabin, which a solitary set- 
 tler had begun to erect some years before, but had 
 died when the building had only begun to assume the 
 definite lines of an intended habitation. No one had 
 built near the place. Other newcomers, more gre 
 garious than the poor chap who had met his fate 
 here, had preferred to settle nearer each other in the 
 village above. The full moon had now risen, bath- 
 ing the clearing in white, spectral radiance. About 
 the unfinished walls of the cabin curled and twisted, 
 in serpentine ceilings, the luxuriant meshes of wild 
 vines; a rank growth of verdure protruded from be- 
 tween the chinks of the stark, dead logs. Beneath 
 my feet, in the mold of the cleared space, so labor- 
 iously redeemed by now resting hands, rioted un- 
 trammelled nature, again triumphant, in a renewed 
 jumble of lush grass, bush and bramble. I sighed.
 
 THE NARROWS 311 
 
 Such the sum of human effort. The quickened dust 
 that strives, till, helpless and done, it lies mouldering 
 in the quiet darkness, while the work it wrought in 
 its fleeting day crumble in their turn to keep it com- 
 pany in the shrouding night. And the heart of the 
 world throbs on and a century soon rolls, a single 
 crested wave in the ocean of illimitable eternity, over 
 the dust that slumbers and the poor little works it 
 wrought before it fell asleep. And what is left ? Toil 
 entombed, the shadow of a dream; the puny finite 
 swallowed in the infinite; dust of yesteryears that is 
 the sport of warring winds ; winds that wail for the 
 sum of dead ages, crowded and innumerable; that 
 sigh for the buried triumphs of a century past, even as 
 they mourn for the vanished glory that was Rome ! 
 
 A stealthy step, close at hand, broke my brief reverie. 
 I turned. A man, in rough garb, the brim of a bat- 
 tered hat drawn well down over his face, was moving 
 cautiously toward me. As I faced him he wheeled to 
 withdraw again into the forest. Undoubledly the 
 messenger I expected from Frontenac. 
 
 " Wait !" I called guardedly. " It is all right. Come 
 back here!" He halted, irresolute, as I approached 
 him. 
 
 "One cannot be too careful," I murmured low. 
 "especially Lieutenant Stranahan upon these shores. 
 It is strange that I have not come to grief long 
 before now." 
 
 He nodded silently. " This rendezvous seemed safer 
 than some we have picked previously," I commented. 
 "It was getting too hot about the larger settle- 
 ments. But," looking at him more closely, "you 
 are not the man I expected. A new one, eh?" 
 
 "No, he's in other business," answered my envoy 
 gruffly. "So I'm here."
 
 3 i2 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "Good!" I answered, though there was a familiar 
 ring in the voice that perplexed and disturbed me. 
 "And now," indicating an inner pocket, "conceal 
 these despatches which I will give you, regain the 
 north shore of the St. Lawrence and see that the 
 papers reach Montreal with expedition. They are 
 important." I fumbled for the despatches. 
 
 "All right, cap'n," responded the fellow, a covert 
 sneer in the tone. That word, and in that tone ! I 
 faced him, rigid. 
 
 "Ah, you know!" I breathed. "And you you are 
 not the messenger at all! Who are you?" With a 
 quick spring forward I snatched the enshrouding hat 
 from his head. An evil, malignant face confronted 
 me, the face of Miles Osgood ! 
 
 "So," I exclaimed, "you have escaped. When?" 
 
 "Only to-night, cap'n," he replied with bravado. 
 "I was thar long enough," with a wicked leer. 
 
 "You were following me?" I questioned. "For 
 what, to murder me? Stab in the back probably. 
 You were approaching without noise." 
 
 "Accident," he answered. "I was makin' my way 
 back to my own place. Was curious to see who was 
 standin' here." 
 
 " You lie ! " I retorted hotly. " You know my 
 secret ! You intended either to finish me here, or, if 
 you did not secure the chance, to betray me across 
 the water yonder ! You are a black-hearted, treach- 
 erous dog! But I've got you, and back to prison 
 you'll go and I will take you there!" My hand 
 sought a pistol. 
 
 Ere I could draw it, with the suddenness of a pan- 
 ther he sprang upon me. I reeled back under his 
 weight, while he sought desperately to trip and throw 
 me. Though somewhat old he was a powerful man
 
 THE NARROWS 313 
 
 and I saw that I had a formidable proposition on 
 my hands. Pulling myself together, I stepped out of 
 a cleverly attempted leglock, and jamming a fore- 
 arm against his throat, bore him savagely back- 
 ward over my other arm. He gasped once, then slip- 
 ped out like an eel and I found my hands full of him 
 again. He was no indifferent wrestler. Locked in 
 close embrace, we plunged about the clearing, tramp- 
 ling the grasses, tripping over twisted roots and 
 stumpage, working for an effective hold. A moment 
 more without advantage to either, a desperate wres- 
 tle on a narrow, rocky ledge ; a futile effort to main- 
 tain a precarious balance; a sudden common fall 
 sideways and outward, and, with a sickening, breath- 
 less whirl, we were plunging, still locked together, 
 toward the black water of the Kahuahgo, fifty feet 
 below. 
 
 The water is deep at this point for the full width 
 of the stream, and we had fallen well out, else I had 
 not been here to tell this tale nor ever possessed 
 descendants to hear it. When we tumbled from the 
 ledge we were inseparable, and in fraternal embrace 
 we reached the water heads foremost. With the cold 
 impact of the stream our mutual grasp instinctively 
 loosened and we parted company as the swift tide 
 enveloped us. I rose breathless to the surface. Strik- 
 ing out mechanically, while the swift, black current 
 bore me down stream, I cast about for my com- 
 panion. The end of a huge tree trunk, evidently 
 lately uprooted by the stream, which had been high 
 that season, came sweeping down, appearing close 
 to my shoulder. Simultaneously there was a soft, 
 sinister thud, followed by a deep groan. I noted the 
 occasion. The trunk had come in contact with a 
 dark object that appeared trying to forge up stream.
 
 314 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 In an instant I was lying on my stomach over the 
 great trunk, reaching into the water with both hands. 
 Their search was rewarded, for they were immediately 
 enmeshed in a thick, soaked mat of hair. I hung on 
 while I threw a leg awkwardly over the floating tree 
 and sprawled myself along it. Then, with infinite 
 labor, I managed to drag my recent enemy, whom I 
 judged to be half drowned, aboard the nondescript 
 craft. Blood trickled from the side of his head; his 
 face was ghastly in the moonlight. At the cost of 
 some effort I succeeded in disposing of him com- 
 fortably farther back among some branches and 
 left him there to revive. 
 
 Far back, as we drifted silently down the black river, 
 between the high, hemming walls, I marked the spot, 
 higher than the rest, from which we had taken the 
 frightful tumble. As I looked, the figure of a man, 
 of indistinguishable description at that distance, 
 appeared for a moment on the brink of the cliff. 
 Undoubtedly the messenger, reflected I. He looked 
 about for a moment, but could not see us, who had 
 now drifted into the shadow near the shore. It 
 would do no good now to attract his attention so I 
 did not try. Presently he disappeared. 
 
 We drifted silently down the stream, under the 
 white moon, the river murmuring mysteriously, lap- 
 ping the rocky cliffs that formed its shores. There 
 was the occasional splash of a fish at play. Weird 
 night sounds stirred from the wooded heights above, 
 interpersed with quiet intervals, brooding with a 
 solemn hush. Sometimes the great tree swung to- 
 ward the adjacent cliff, a branch or root catching 
 for a moment in some crevice, but the insistent cur- 
 rent always laid hold upon and swung it inexorably 
 down toward the broader water below. I called to
 
 THE NARROWS 315 
 
 the silent man near me, but he did not answer. Must 
 have had a hard knock I surmised, which was per- 
 haps as well for me. 
 
 A little longer and the great cliffs gave place to 
 low, green wooded shores, as the river widened below 
 the Narrows into a broader, more tranquil current. 
 We drifted on the log out of the shadows into the 
 wider, moonlit water. I purposed to make the shore 
 below and proceed to the little settlement at Fish 
 Island. I glanced down stream and immediately 
 raised my voice in a loud halloo. 
 
 Far out, seated in a punt, was a lone fisherman. 
 Of his occupation there was no doubt as he was 
 jerking a fish from the water as I spied him. In obe- 
 dience to my call he turned, weighed anchor and 
 started toward me. He drew alongside. A shrewd, 
 puckered face was turned toward me. 
 
 " Cyrenus, by all that's holy !" I exclaimed. "What 
 are you doing here?" 
 
 J-Ie grinned. " Things are slack at the Harbor," 
 said he. " Got three days leave to fish. I like fishin' 
 and you can get 'em here." 
 
 " Glad you're on hand," I acknowledged. " It's 
 convenient for me." I indicated my companion. 
 " Help me with him," I added. 
 
 We managed to get him, an insensate heap, into the 
 boat. "Osgood!" muttered Cyrenus. He looked 
 keenly into his face, then felt his wrist. Next he tore 
 away the soaked clothing and applied himself to a 
 thorough examination of the heart action. Then he 
 looked up at me with a peculiar expression. 
 
 "What are you goin' to do with him, Cap'n?" he 
 asked. "Bury him here or ashore?" 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" I demanded. 
 
 He chuckled. "You've gone to a lot of trouble
 
 3 i6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 for nothin'," he answered. " Why, man, he's dead as 
 a stone." 
 
 "But how did it happen?" I exclaimed. "It 
 couldn't have been the bump he's had/' 
 
 "No," replied the little man, examining the pros- 
 trate man's head. "That didn't any more than stun 
 him. It's something inside." 
 
 And, though the surgeons did not take the trouble 
 to examine the body ere we laid it away, hardly 
 considering it worth the trouble, one of them told 
 me that he knew that Miles had suffered for years 
 with heart disease. And truly, the events of his 
 last night on earth were calculated to invite the best 
 offices of such a malady.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 A Broken Dream 
 
 The peace of August, like a benediction, lay in the 
 shadowed valleys and on the sunlit, smiling hills. 
 Out in the vast forest, with foliage stirred by the per- 
 fumed breath of summer at its full, brooded the still 
 hush of Nature, Nirvanic in its calm, its great soul 
 undisturbed by the warring of the puny parasites 
 who swarmed above its throbbing heart. Ah, futility 
 incarnate! We who quarrel away our little day, 
 even as they before us, whose forgotten dust is 
 spurned by the feet of the to-day which in a breath 
 is yesterday, while the great Force that some name 
 Nature and some God, lives on, eternal, glowing in 
 its recurring green, year after year, as on the day 
 when man first slew his brother and the brow of the 
 murderer was branded with the mark of Cain ! 
 
 At the brink of the bluff we stood, Renee and I, 
 gazing out across the still waters of the bay. It was 
 the evening following my thrilling experience at the 
 Narrows. In the west, touching the rim of the hori- 
 zon, the red sun was dipping in glory to his rest 
 in the calm lake, seeming about to lave his glov/ing 
 body, hot with his completed labor, in its cool em- 
 brace. Lanes of vari-colored light stretched quiv- 
 ering across the glassy water; a retinue of rosy 
 clouds attended the spent monarch of the departing 
 day. Through the afternoon, tremulous with heat,
 
 3 i3 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the breezes had been asleep. The lake lay slumber- 
 ing, mirror-like and placid, touched with the drowsy 
 sheen of a millpond. But even as we looked, the sun 
 sank in the distant water, the air was tinged with 
 the first faint presage of the cool of the coming eve- 
 ning. There came the breath of a new-born breeze 
 and a thousand tiny ripples quivered where before 
 there had lain silence. The first dim shadows gath- 
 ered. I looked into the face of the girl beside me. 
 The brilliance lent by the passing sunlight had died 
 in her wonderful eyes, and reflected in their clear 
 depths, as I gazed, the shadows gathered with the 
 twilight. 
 
 I pointed with a laugh to the final fading after- 
 glow of the great crimson ball that had plunged 
 beneath the surface. The lake, swept clear of sails, 
 stretched tenantless. 
 
 "It is peace," I said ironically. "All but these, 
 they tell of more blood letting," indicating the 
 batteries that lined the bluff, their black mouths 
 gaping. 
 
 "Yes, M'sieur Gilbert, and the sun sank red," she 
 answered, gazing wide-eyed out at the deepening 
 murk of the twilight. " It is like that last sunset in 
 Paris. Young as I was, I had a horrible fancy, for 
 I remember thinking it was the reflection of the blood 
 that was spilled in the streets. O, my friend," she 
 burst out, "when is this to end?" 
 
 "God knows!" I rejoined savagely. "How can we 
 ever expect an ending when we are misled by futile 
 incompetents? I" but I bit my lip, for I was not 
 yet a private citizen. 
 
 She egged me on, however. "But Monsieur the 
 Commodore Chauncey, has he not again sailed for 
 Niagara?" she asked me, dimpling.
 
 A BROKEN DREAM 319 
 
 "True," I assented morosely. "And then, what 
 end is served?" 
 
 " But," she remonstrated, with mock gravity, 
 " Monsieur the Commodore, he is a very busy man, 
 yes. He is seldom idle. He flits hither and yon, 
 like the bee." 
 
 "Yet drones like one," I commented sarcastically. 
 " Moreover, he lacks the capacity for results pos- 
 sessed by that admirable insect. Mark you, mad- 
 emoiselle, there have been Perry and McDon- 
 ough. There has also been and still is Chauncey; 
 the latter as busy, I grant you, as they. My point ? 
 Simply that there is a difference between an infinite 
 capacity for work and a capacity for infinite achieve- 
 ment." 
 
 She laughed. "I fear you to be hard upon the 
 poor man," she returned lightly. "Does he not con- 
 tinue to build ships for our protection? Is not 
 the Chippewa coming together at Storrs' Harbor 
 and is not the New Orleans, which is a giant, m'sieur, 
 building here? What more can the poor man do?" 
 
 "Fight!" I responded, with laconic emphasis. "But 
 he won't, not if he sees them first. For that would 
 determine the issue, which contingency, worse luck, 
 he fears." 
 
 "Merci, m'sieur," she laughed, dropping me a mock- 
 ing curtsey, "I believe you." Then, suddenly grown 
 serious, she sadly shook her small, brown head. 
 
 "I guess he won't fight," she concluded mourn- 
 fully. Then, "Why won't he, m'sieur?" with a swift 
 return to raillery. "Is it because he has a heart 
 that is kind and cannot bear to kill?" 
 
 "Or to be killed," I responded dryly. "It is one 
 of the penalties of prominence, in time of war, that 
 commanders, whether true or mis-called ones, shall
 
 320 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 be if possible killed or captured. Chauncey is deter- 
 mined that neither contingency shall overtake him." 
 
 "Still," she continued teasingly, "you must needs 
 admire the manner in which he keeps out of the way 
 of both of them. It is superb." 
 
 "Only because his opponent is made of the same 
 indeterminate stuff!" I answered hotly. "If not, 
 he'd have been cooling his heels across the water 
 long before now, with many others of us ! " 
 
 She laughed in my face. "You are red, like a 
 turkey, M'sieur Gilbert," she cried. Whereupon I 
 became as two turkeys. 
 
 "It is perhaps almost treasonable," she continued 
 with soft reproach, suddenly sobering, "but I fear 
 me I can scarcely blame you. Your blood is of the 
 right tint, m'sieur." 
 
 I bowed. "So also is your own, mam'selle," I 
 retorted. "It is what tempers the wind to the shorn 
 lamb. For as I know your real opinion is a twin 
 of my own, you cannot with justice berate me for 
 expressing what we both feel." 
 
 "Perhaps," said she. "But let us speak of a more 
 pleasing subject," seating herself upon a grassy knoll. 
 I threw myself down beside her. 
 
 "Very well," I acquiesced, tearing at the grass 
 with ruthless hands, "but the conversation will be 
 one-sided." 
 
 "Why so?" she asked. 
 
 "Because, if the choice of a subject is left to me, 
 I shall choose yourself," I rejoined, "and, in my 
 enthusiasm, I should monopolize the conversation. 
 It would be a monologue, and you, appalled at my 
 adjectives, would likely leave me. Perhaps you had 
 better choose." 
 
 "I should be truly sorry to deprive thee of my
 
 A BROKEN DREAM 321 
 
 society," she said demurely, hands crossed and eyes 
 rolled heavenward. "Therefore, I will take thy sug- 
 gestion. Let us talk, I pray thee, of thee." 
 
 The quaint assumption of Quakerism, a pair of 
 which sect she had met at the Harbor, was irre- 
 sistible. "Mam'selle," I cried, laughing, "a truce! 
 I am undone. Shall it be your robin or John's dog?" 
 
 The smiling face sobered. Its pure loveliness, dim 
 in the deepening twilight, was touched with a wistful 
 shadow. 
 
 "O, as to that," she said softly, "M'sieur John is 
 himself infinitely more interesting." 
 
 I stared out into the soft gloom. A few stars, as 
 yet pale dots, winked overhead. Far off, over the 
 dark crest of the environing forest, showed the round 
 wraith of a full moon, which, when the night was 
 wholly come, would shine like silver. In the shrouded 
 lake below us there was the splash of a fish at play. 
 
 "He is a man," I muttered, more to myself than 
 to her. "A man, and how many of us, after all, can 
 be accounted such ? For when we are old we do not 
 put away childish things." 
 
 "Such a man," intoned her voice beside me, strong 
 and full, "as God must have created ere he rested 
 the seventh day. Might and mercy welded. It is 
 grand and poetic and it is terrible!" 
 
 I gazed at her in wonder. The eyes of her were 
 alight. There was that in her face that thrilled 
 even while it disheartened me; the primal passion 
 of admiration that woman has felt for power from 
 the beginning; the homage that her nature pays to 
 the magnificence of might; that which has come 
 down, a fixed and changeless thing, out of the dim 
 old past ; a thing half savage, half divine ! 
 
 "Ah," she continued, with shining eyes, "I never
 
 322 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 see him without the thought of the gladiators of 
 old Rome, of the leonine Richard, of Samson and 
 the lion ! He is such a giant, yet his touch is like 
 a woman's when he wills, his manners those of the 
 court, his voice deep and placid as a pond ! When I 
 see and speak with him each passing day, remember- 
 ing the things I know and the tales that are told of 
 the terrific power of him, it is like a page from some 
 impossible romance. Why, M'sieur Gilbert, to think 
 that he could take you, who are far more powerful 
 than most, and break you like a reed! Why, you 
 would be an infant in his hands!" 
 
 "True, I should," I assented glumly, though the 
 reflection was not comforting at the moment. I 
 stared in silence out into the night that gradually 
 grew luminous with the growing lustre of the great 
 white globe yonder. Renee, too, seemed preoccupied. 
 We remained wordless. At times I stole a glance at 
 her abstracted face, turned toward the moonlit water. 
 
 Our mutual attitude had been from the first that 
 of frank friendliness. Of what I hoped in secret I 
 trusted I had made no sign, for there had been noth- 
 ing in her manner that should have encouraged it. 
 Pride forbade my figuring, even in the eyes of my 
 divinity, as a suppliant for love where there was 
 none to give. Still, Hope, which usually dies, if 
 indeed it dies at all, only with the body, whispered 
 at times of a To-morrow, and I took heart of Hope. 
 To-night I had yearned for her with a wistful tender- 
 ness that filled my soul as a cup with wine, and at 
 first she had seemed very near to me. But now, as 
 I sat staring sombrely into the star-strewn night, 
 with her silent at my side, she seemed immeasurably 
 away. The thin, gray wall, relentless and invisible, 
 that rears itself with the dawn of doubt, stretched
 
 A BROKEN DREAM 323 
 
 between us, dolorous and dismal. There was a funere- 
 al throbbing of my heart; the lassitude of discourage- 
 ment stole in upon me. 
 
 After a time I rose. "Come, it is late," I said 
 gently, and we walked slowly to the house. Only 
 my father and M. De Montefort were there. John 
 and Dorothy, they told us, were out strolling. Ere 
 long the two came in, having been examining the 
 new barracks. 
 
 I tried reading but it could not hold me. John 
 lighted his pipe and I followed suit. Bah, it was 
 close inside ! Seizing my hat, I left the house. 
 
 I passed through the village, my brain in a turmoil. 
 Leaving the cluster of houses, I plunged into my 
 beloved woods. Cool, whispering breezes fanned my 
 hot forehead; the soil, stirred by my restless feet, 
 gave forth its rich odor; the stir of startled night 
 creatures sounded near me. About me there rose, in 
 ghostly guise, the great gnarled trunks, the pillars 
 of the green tabernacle that is God's. After a little 
 I paused, with a shamed laugh. No petty flurry of 
 mind could live in such a scene. 
 
 Retracing my steps, I emerged from the woods 
 and sauntered leisurely into the village. Approaching 
 the house I thought of taking a final smoke ere seek- 
 ing sleep. I vaulted the fence into the garden, grown 
 high with shrubbery and the flowers that Dorothy 
 loved. 
 
 Drawing my pipe from my pocket, I advanced to- 
 ward a rustic seat near the end of the enclosure. 
 As I approached it I heard voices. A few paces more 
 and I was immediately behind the seat. It held two 
 persons, a man and a woman. Probably John and 
 Dorothy, I thought. 
 
 I was about to hail them when a low breathed
 
 3 2 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 word from the girl caught my ear. "Yes," she had 
 murmured, smiling tenderly up at the eager face 
 above her own, a face that told its story as if it 
 had been letters of fire burned into my numbed 
 brain. For she who was with John, she was not 
 Dorothy, but Renee ! 
 
 He grasped her hands, a transfiguring joy in his 
 face, " Mine has been a lonely life," he said humbly. 
 "And you do not mistake?" 
 
 Again the lovely smile. "M'sieur John," she an- 
 swered him softly, "I do not mistake." He raised 
 her hand to his lips. 
 
 And as for me, creeping stealthily out of the gar- 
 den, in deadly fear lest they should see me, I gained 
 the street and made my blind way to the bluff, where 
 I threw myself down, drawn face in the pitying 
 grasses that were wet with cooling dew, writhing in 
 the black agony of my broken dream.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 Out Into the Night 
 
 The night was far spent when I arose and stumbled 
 toward the house. The sky had meanwhile grown 
 black with clouds, sullenly rolling, like breakers, 
 from the west. The moan of a rising wind sounded ; 
 infinitely sad, dreary as death. As I left the bluff 
 I heard the hoarse bay of the surf, breaking at the 
 stony base of the cliff. There was a breath of mois- 
 ture in the air; the spray shaken from the wings of 
 the coming storm. From time to time a livid flash 
 of lightning writhed like a serpent across the inky 
 scroll of the sky. Far off the thunder muttered, 
 rumbling like war drums before the bellow of the 
 cannonade. 
 
 My limbs, like lead, moved mechanically homeward. 
 All through the gathering blackness of the night, 
 as I lay prone on the bluff in the grasses, fighting 
 the sorrow that must ever make or mar, the grief that 
 kills youth's dream and brings into being, for better 
 or worse, the man, there had lain in my breast a 
 stone while my brain was burning; diabolically, 
 pitilessly alert. Through it, whirling in letters of 
 white-hot fire, there had flashed over and over, like 
 the sword that turned and twisted interminably 
 over the gates of forfeited Eden, the maddening 
 words, "Another's!" 
 
 And that other ! The man who had won her, the
 
 326 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 giant with the thews of steel and the heart of a 
 woman; the courage of a lion and the courtesy of 
 a courtier ! My friend, and, more than that, my 
 brother; between whom and my miserable self there 
 had been knit the bond that is, for the few, a Gor- 
 dian knot ! He, of all men ! 
 
 The bitter irony of it struck home and I quivered 
 to my very soul. As I lay there in the darkness I 
 had groaned that I hated him, yet had known in 
 my heart that I lied. For, even in my misery, I 
 felt dully the absurdity of quarreling with appointed 
 fate, of rebellion against the fixed plan that con- 
 trols the rolling of the worlds even as it guides the 
 little affairs of the poor, blind parasites who tenant 
 them. And with our positions reversed, would he 
 have hated me? I knew from my soul he would not, 
 and felt wholesome shame. 
 
 As I entered the house the storm broke and a 
 torrent of rain struck the roof with the crackle of 
 musketry. I went to my room, throwing off my 
 coat. I seemed stifling. Pushing up the window, 
 I leaned out into the storm-swept night, my whirling 
 thoughts as wild as the sobbing wind. 
 
 All the sweetness of her, all the grace and beauty 
 I had hoped to possess; the memories gripped and 
 tore me. The scenes of our associations, the lodge 
 in the forest, the lonely graves, the meeting in Front- 
 enac, the hallowed presence of her in this very house ; 
 all these pictures and more, vain imaginings of one 
 life for the twain of us, rioted in my brain like 
 devils; tormenting, insatiable. Into the mad whirl 
 came the memory of that moment in her father's 
 cabin, when the realization smote me that I loved 
 her; the silly dream that followed, the dream of a 
 high, calm resignation should it be ordered that
 
 OUT INTO THE NIGHT 327 
 
 she should be another's than my own; to be to me 
 the ghost of a sweet, dead memory, my dream lady ! 
 
 My dream lady, forsooth ! God in heaven ! but I 
 had grown since then ! Truly, after all, I had put 
 away childish things and become a man with a soul 
 for the iron to enter. I clenched my hands in hope- 
 less fury. I felt a dull, pitying scorn of the callow 
 fool that had been ; a sneering pity for the miserable 
 fool that was. Surely I must have been blind, else 
 why had I not seen ? Unrecking of realities, I had 
 builded a castle of dreams, with fair turrets of hope 
 fashioned by my own egotistical folly, encouraged 
 by no word or sign of hers, as I now saw so clearly. 
 And now the crash had come, the fabric was fallen 
 and I lay stunned among the ruins. 
 
 And it was the more bitter because I realized hope- 
 lessly that my dream lady could be but a wraith, 
 a maddening, haunting memory that could but em- 
 bitter the years, creeping slowly to the tomb, with 
 the brine of unrequited longing. My dream lady ! 
 It had been a pretty fancy, truly; the fancy that 
 had come to a sensitive, imaginative boy, in one 
 of those odd, brief moments of mental and spiritual 
 exaltation which come in a warm glow that lifts 
 the spirit, for the moment, to the heights, where 
 nothing seems impossible, and then in a flash is 
 gone, leaving the thrilling clay to cool again among 
 the fleshpots. For we are only human, God 
 help us ! 
 
 Such a glow I had felt, but it had faded, to be 
 succeeded by that other that is the common heritage 
 of men. For it was herself I craved, not a chimera; 
 herself, warm, living; the light of her eyes and the 
 glory of her face; her lips, her love and all the rare, 
 fair sweetness of her. A man, I loved a woman, and
 
 328 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 to behold her slipping from me, out into an alien 
 current, was madness. 
 
 I laughed at the bitter irony of it, a sound that 
 rang strangely in my own ears, recalling me to my 
 surroundings. It was as if I had partially awakened 
 from a hideous nightmare. I was conscious of lean- 
 ing far out of the window, of the storm beating in 
 my face, of soaked clothing that clung dankly to 
 me, of chilling rivulets of water trickling down my 
 neck and breast. I turned from the window and 
 threw myself upon the bed, but not to sleep. The 
 long hours crawled by, like sluggish serpents, while 
 I lay inert, spent with the turmoil that raged within 
 me; living over the past with its bitter sweetness, 
 recoiling from the present with its blackness of dark- 
 ness that appalled me, gazing into the barren future 
 as if with blinded eyes. Hours dragged like ages 
 till the gray dawn, cheerless with rain, rent the black 
 veil overhead, ushering in the dispirited day. 
 
 Inaction grew intolerable. I rose, and, heedless 
 of the rain, left the house quietly and made my 
 way, with nervous haste, to the bluff. Great smash- 
 ing surges rolled in, thundering against the long, 
 gray wall, flinging their spray far up on the face 
 of the cliff. The wind swept by, unwearied, over 
 the lake, over the soaked, bending grasses of the 
 clearing, finally moaning through the interlaced 
 branches of the forest beyond. Somehow the wildness 
 calmed me and brought a shade of peace. 
 
 At last mindful of appearances, I returned to the 
 house, entering without disturbing any one. A little 
 later and they were astir. Nerving for the ordeal, 
 I put myself to rights and descended to breakfast. 
 I explained my haggard appearance by a headache 
 and sleepless night, a plea which was literally true.
 
 OUT INTO THE NIGHT 329 
 
 Renee and Dorothy, very solicitous, were bent upon 
 procuring remedies. Renee, especially, displayed a 
 concern which was, to my mind, so maternal or 
 sisterly at the least, that it added to my misery. 
 Finally, excusing myself, I left the house abruptly 
 to plunge into work which could not but be a relief. 
 
 John remained behind. His duties were not pressing 
 just now, and, I told myself bitterly, he could well 
 afford to remain as long as he wished. A sudden 
 rush of self-disgust assailed me. What a cur I was, 
 to be sure; what a cur ! 
 
 Toward noon I was summoned to headquarters 
 by General Izard. I found him in his office, the room 
 where, long ago, I had been commissioned by General 
 Brown to go to Frontenac. 
 
 "Captain Warburton," said the general, "I know 
 of you as a brave and resourceful man." 
 
 I made silent acknowledgment. Somehow it did not 
 matter so much now. 
 
 "We are about to consider a most serious matter," 
 he continued gravely. "There is, as you know, great 
 cause to fear a British invasion this fall. I have 
 reason to believe that not only this port, but every 
 one of importance on the lake and the upper St. 
 Lawrence is threatened. It stands us in good stead 
 to learn all possible facts regarding this." 
 
 I assented silently. 
 
 "You are attached to the Secret Service of the 
 Army of the North," he pursued, "and, owing to the 
 peculiar circumstances surrounding your special 
 sphere of usefulness, you are the man to procure 
 the information necessary to us. But it is a perilous 
 mission, so perilous that I will stipulate that your 
 decision whether you will undertake it rests with 
 yourself."
 
 I bowed. 
 
 "The mission involves more than a swift dush 
 across the border and a quick return," he went on. 
 "Whoever goes, it will entail the taking of adequate 
 time to learn the plans, fighting strength and com- 
 plete resources of the enemy from Montreal to Front- 
 enac. Your role of Stranahan, which you have so 
 successfully maintained up to the present time, ren- 
 ders you, for reasons known to both of us, the best 
 man for the mission. Still, if you would rather not, 
 I shall seek some one else, but I will send no man 
 unwillingly upon this errand." 
 
 "You need seek no further," I said quietly. 
 
 "Good!" he rejoined. "It will be necessary for 
 you to proceed overland to Ogdensburgh and drop 
 down the river from there in a boat that will be 
 ready for you. To start above that port would 
 be dangerous on account of the Prescott batteries 
 and the activity of the enemy on the upper river. 
 Land at whatever Canadian point above Montreal 
 your judgment may approve, acquaint yourself with 
 matters in that town, and then make your way, 
 with such deliberation as you require, up the river 
 to Frontenac. Owing to the present vigilance on 
 the lake, you will have to make your departure from 
 there as best you can. Secure full information. Con- 
 sidering your capability and experience, I do not 
 feel that you require more specific directions. Start 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 "I can start to-night," I answered. 
 
 "Good-by and good luck attend you," he said 
 as we saluted. I left the office. 
 
 I welcomed the mission. It required all my re- 
 source and would divert my mind from my luck- 
 less affair. I was not morbid enough to desire to
 
 OUT INTO THE NIGHT 331 
 
 hug my misery in monotony at home. I was glad 
 the word had come to bestir myself on the other 
 side. I needed it. 
 
 Moreover, I considered that my chances for execut- 
 ing the commission were good, for the reasons I 
 have explained in the foregoing pages of this record. 
 I knew that I was still supposed to be the luckless 
 Stranahan, and, only a month before, had met by 
 appointment some representatives of that officer's 
 chief, from Montreal, at Prescott. Not to have kept 
 the appointment would have aroused suspicion, so, 
 mustering what bravado I could command, and I 
 had a little in those days, I had met them. We 
 conferred and parted, and, through rare good luck, 
 they had returned to Montreal suspecting nothing. 
 I had sent additional messages since and was con- 
 fident that Stranahan was still in the good graces 
 of the British secret service. Truly, it was a merry 
 comedy, but there was a noose in the last act, should 
 fortune fail me. Still, the episode with John's father 
 had passed without his having occasion to suspect 
 me of anything unusual, and, as for Osgood, who 
 might have betrayed if he could not kill me, had 
 not a kind Providence removed him from my path 
 only two nights agone? 
 
 I made my preparations. I resolved to engage a 
 sailboat to take me to Port Putnam that night, 
 starting late. From there I would proceed overland 
 to Ogdensburgh, at which port I would secure my 
 boat and drop down the river toward Montreal, 
 as planned. 
 
 The day continued gloomy, though the rain abated. 
 I told them at the house that I should leave that 
 night on a mission that would take some time, 
 though I did not explain its import. All expressed
 
 332 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 concern and anxiety for my welfare. Renee's eyes 
 sought mine with a troubled expression. I caught 
 myself wondering if, after all, she had noted my 
 presence in the garden the previous night. 
 
 By evening my arrangements were made. My 
 Stranahan outfit, including the valuable papers that 
 might be handy one fine day to prove that I was not 
 I, but another, was packed ready to hand. I would 
 assume the character after leaving Ogdensburgh. 
 
 After the late supper I left the house abruptly to 
 avoid godspeeds, which I detested. I walked through 
 the village toward the woods, bending my steps in 
 the direction of Fish Island, at the extreme end of 
 the long bay that stretched inshore for several miles. 
 The rain had entirely ceased, but a brisk northwest- 
 erly wind drove a bank of clouds, in ragged masses, 
 like dense smoke across the sky. 
 
 A step padded near me, a soft red glow showing 
 next me in the night. A cloud of tobacco smoke 
 floated benignly in my face. 
 
 "Where is it this time, Gilbert?" asked John. He 
 was privileged. "Montreal," I replied, falling into 
 step with him, "and from there up the river to 
 Frontenac. They want to see what there is of this 
 threatened invasion." 
 
 "Risky business," he growled. "If we had gone 
 about it, Gilbert, there would have been nothing 
 left for them to invade with." 
 
 "Quite probable," I replied dryly. "But we didn't, 
 nor will." 
 
 "I guess you're right," he answered with a sigh. 
 "Skim milk and dishwater." 
 
 "Wind and whiskey, whiskey and wind!" I re- 
 joined savagely, kicking at a twisted root that had 
 all but thrown me. He grunted.
 
 OUT INTO THE NIGHT 333 
 
 We were entering the sodden, shadowed woods. 
 Suddenly he paused. "Gilbert," he said, "I want 
 to tell you something." 
 
 "You needn't, John," I answered, steadying my 
 voice, while my heart tightened. "I know it already." 
 I was glad my face was in the gloom. 
 
 "Ah, then she told you!" His tone was one of 
 unaffected delight. "Then I know you will congratu- 
 late me." His hand sought my own, crushing it in 
 a mighty clasp. 
 
 I stared. He was no dissembler. He actually be- 
 lieved that I was pleased. Pleased ! Had he for- 
 gotten the day in the forest when we stood over 
 what we thought to be her grave? No, he as- 
 suredly had not, but 
 
 I saw it now. I was still young and he was much 
 older than I. He had taken it for a mere boyish 
 passion, by now outgrown. And I could not blame 
 him, for since Renee had come to the Harbor, now 
 so long before, I believed I had given no sign that 
 she virtually possessed me should she will. I could 
 almost doubt that she herself knew it. As for Doro- 
 thy, but Dorothy was a little tease from infancy. 
 And now, when the iron had entered my soul, he 
 stood by me, and, in all his open frankness, he asked 
 me to congratulate him ! Ah, well, it was better 
 so ! I wrung his hand. 
 
 "I do congratulate you, John," I said, and I thank 
 God that my voice rang true. "Be worthy of her." 
 
 "Be sure of that," he answered quietly, and silence 
 fell between us. 
 
 Strange, after all, that he happened to follow me 
 that night, into the ghostly woods. A little thing, 
 yet by that whirl of the wheel of fate the currents 
 of his life and mine were destined to be diverted into
 
 334 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SIGNEUR 
 
 strange channels, undreamed of, that wound into the 
 shadows. 
 
 We continued to walk through the forest, finally 
 fetching up at a little lean-to, built by choppers in the 
 neighborhood who had cut trees for the ribs of the 
 battleships. We entered, throwing ourselves down 
 upon a rude bed of poles and fragrant balsam. Close 
 at hand we could hear the lapping of water, for 
 we were not far from the shore of the bay. John 
 smoked. I reached in my pocket for the means to the 
 same end. We reclined there, smoking and chat- 
 ting of everything, of nothing. Perhaps an hour 
 passed. 
 
 Suddenly John raised his hand. "Hark!" he mut- 
 tered. "What's that?" 
 
 "What's what?" I returned drowsily, for the lack 
 of sleep had begun to assert itself. 
 
 " Thought I heard voices," he answered. " Away 
 up yonder." 
 
 "Bah!" I replied, settling back comfortably upon 
 the balsam. "It's the breeze." 
 
 "No," he said decidedly. "Hark! there it is 
 again." He listened a moment. " Can't you hear a 
 murmur?" 
 
 "Not a murmur," I replied, having strained my 
 ears. " John, you must quit it. You must have been 
 fairly pouring it down." 
 
 He rose. " I'm going to investigate," he announced. 
 "Want to come?" 
 
 "No," I replied chaffingly, "I want to smoke. 
 Bring me what you find." He smiled and stepped 
 outside, his faint footfalls dying away into silence. 
 
 I rested, watching the glow of my pipe bowl. I 
 could dreamily imagine the smoke curling upward in 
 the murk. Now the black void became shot through
 
 OUT INTO THE NIGHT 335 
 
 and through with light ; there bent over me the arch 
 of the blue sky. The cloud wreaths expanded, then 
 separated fluffily, floating in little white patches, 
 which, as I gazed, grew into a cloud of winging 
 pigeons, when 
 
 I sprang up with a distinct shock. All was dark 
 about me. My foot struck something. I groped, 
 picking up the object. It was my pipe; no spark 
 remained within the bowl, which felt cold in my 
 fingers. 
 
 Slowly my dazed senses awoke. "John!" I called. 
 There was silence. 
 
 I stepped out into the woods, calling him again. 
 There was no answer. The wind moaned in the 
 branches over me. I walked down to the shore, look- 
 ing out across the ruffled bay, dim in the gloom. It 
 stretched, faintly spectral, before me; like the shore, 
 destitute of life. 
 
 Perplexed and a little irritated, I walked back to- 
 ward the village. "He must have gone back, but 
 why did he leave me?" I muttered. "Or, if not, why 
 is he mooning in the woods on a night like this?" 
 Which was a case of the pot and the kettle, since it 
 was one of my own most inveterate habits. Probably 
 he had come across something that had interested 
 him and had wandered away. He was fully as irre- 
 sponsible as myself, under like circumstances, when 
 he got into the woods. 
 
 I made all haste to my boat, where my outfit had 
 been previously placed. I tumbled into it, wondering 
 how long I had slept. I learned ere I could ask. 
 
 "Holy Jehosaphat!" grumbled my steersman, an 
 old salt of the town, "thought you was never comin'. 
 It's most midnight." And we cast off, sailing out 
 into the night. We rounded the point, cleaving the
 
 336 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 long swells of the bay. He knew the lake to its last 
 cranny. 
 
 About five miles out we heard behind us the sound 
 of waves cleft by the prow of an approaching boat. 
 Almost before we could turn our heads it was along- 
 side, and, in a moment more, was past. It was a 
 schooner, far larger than our own small craft. It 
 drew rapidly ahead. Some shadowy figures stood on 
 the deck. 
 
 " Hey, you, where you bound?" cried my steersman, 
 squinted eyes trying to pierce the darkness. 
 
 "None of your d d business!" came insolently, 
 
 in a voice that boomed. 
 
 I started violently. I knew that voice.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 The Lion Caged 
 
 It had come as I had planned thus far, without 
 mishap. I was again approaching Frontenac, but 
 this time from her own side. The last stop of the 
 journey was close at hand. A day or two in Fronte- 
 nac, and then for home. 
 
 Reaching Port Putnam, as I had arranged, I had 
 procured a horse and journeyed to Ogdensburgh, 
 where I found my boat and dropped down the river. 
 Landing some distance above Montreal, I made my 
 way cautiously into the city. I spent only such 
 time as was absolutely necessary there, prosecuting 
 my investigations by night and being as unobtrusive 
 as possible in the day time, as discretion demanded. 
 I drew a long breath of relief when I had left the town 
 safely behind me. 
 
 I proceeded leisurely up the river, by horse and 
 post, as a civilian, which role I had assumed when 
 too uncomfortably close to Montreal. It was not till 
 I reached Prescott that I deemed it expedient to 
 appear as Stranahan. It was necessary there, for 
 they thought they knew me. So I slipped into the 
 role again, and, after having secured the information 
 I wanted, continued up the river to Frontenac. 
 
 Securing, by way of variety, a Canadian boatman 
 just below the Thousand Isles, I had him bring me up 
 the river, through the north channel, to the lake,
 
 338 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 thoroughly enjoying the trip among this marvellous 
 chain of beauty spots. I had him land me just be- 
 low the town, quietly to approach it with due cau- 
 tion. I made my way through the woods to the 
 main road. An autumnal wine was in the air; al- 
 ready brilliant patches showed here and there among 
 the leaves. A squirrel whisked up the trunk of a 
 maple, darting startled beady eyes at me. I threw 
 myself down upon my back on a bed of pine needles, 
 looking idly up at him. 
 
 Suddenly there came a rush out of the woods. 
 Something sprawled over me, lapping my face, nearly 
 smothering me. I scrambled to my feet. A great, 
 gaunt hound capered about me. John's Gypso, by 
 all that was holy ! I stared. 
 
 "How are ye, Captain?" inquired a dry, cracked 
 voice near me, low and cautiously. I started vio- 
 lently and turned. He stood confronting me, grin- 
 ning. 
 
 "Cyrenus!" I exclaimed. "What the 
 
 " For a purpose, Captain," said he, with a certain 
 solemnity. "I have a mission; in fact, two mis- 
 sions." 
 
 " Where is your company ?" I asked. " Why are you 
 not with it?" 
 
 "In Sackets, at least when I left," he answered. 
 "My time expired, Captain." 
 
 For the first time I marked the significance of his 
 uniform, which was that of a British infantryman. 
 "What are you doing on this side in that garb?" I 
 demanded, in swift anger. 
 
 "Why, it's simple enough," he replied with a grin. 
 " I've enlisted with the reds, that's all." 
 
 "You renegade!" I sneered. "Now I suppose you 
 will consider it your duty to place me under arrest,
 
 THE LION CAGED 339 
 
 won't you? Well, you'll be kept busy doing it. I 
 suppose the old love grew too strong! I remember 
 you have been before a member of the red-coated 
 crew!" 
 
 "Then which side am I a renegade to?" he asked, 
 a grin cracking the leathery face of him, an odd 
 twinkle in his little eyes. 
 
 "To both!" I answered, in disgust. "The term 
 'soldier of fortune' is a synonym for sneaking 
 hound!" 
 
 "Thankee, Captain," he replied, his tranquillity 
 strangely undisturbed for a man of so peppery a 
 temper as I knew he possessed. " Now, perhaps, 
 seein' you've had your say, you'll shut your mouth 
 long enough for me to explain." 
 
 "Why, confound your insolence!" I ejaculated. 
 "How can you explain?" 
 
 "It's easy," he retorted. "I've enlisted, it's true, 
 with armies I fought with long before you began 
 squalling for your pap. And bear in mind, young 
 man, that before that, I fought in the cause with 
 your father, to wrest our land yonder from the 
 British. Do you think I am here to bear arms 
 against your flag and mine? No! When I am 
 through here I shall desert, cut sticks and cross the 
 lake again to re-enlist." 
 
 "Then why are you here?" I burst out, though 
 feeling somewhat less sure of appearances. For the 
 odd dignity that had so impressed me at the time of 
 his enlistment again sat upon and transformed Cyre- 
 nus. He stood very erect, his little spare figure stiff 
 as a ramrod. His queer, small, puckered face, which 
 might have equally belonged to a man of fifty or of 
 seventy, was enigmatical. 
 
 " For two reasons, my suspicious young cock," he
 
 340 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 answered dryly. " The first, to even a score with an 
 old enemy I've learned by accident is here in Fronte- 
 nac. The second, to do what I can toward getting 
 out of a bad scrape a certain friend of yours." 
 
 "Of mine!" I exclaimed. "Why, who is it?" 
 
 "A valued captain of militia, until lately stationed 
 at Sackets Harbor, New York," he answered, watch- 
 ing my changing face with malicious satisfaction, 
 born, and small wonder, of the things I had said to 
 him. " Perhaps you will recall the name, John God- 
 frey !" 
 
 I stared at him, sinking weakly upon a mossy log. 
 "John!" I stammered. "Why, where is he?" 
 
 " Somewhere in Frontenac," replied Cyrenus, with a 
 wicked grin. " Just where remains for you 'nd me to 
 find out. He is imprisoned, I think in the fortress, 
 though I ain't sure." 
 
 "But how did it happen?" I demanded. "When 
 was he taken and who captured him?" 
 
 "The night you left," replied Cyrenus, "you and he 
 were seen to enter the woods together early in the 
 evening. We knew you got away all right, but God- 
 frey failed to return to the house that night or the 
 next morning. We went down to the lake shore, and, 
 about a mile and a half toward Fish Island, we came 
 to a spot that showed the marks of a tremendous 
 struggle. The shore was trampled as if it had been 
 the scene of a bull fight. We picked up some torn 
 clothing that we found was John's. They must have 
 pretty near ripped his whole uniform off him. There 
 was a lot of blood spilled, too, and I'll bet it wasn't 
 all his." He chuckled and resumed. 
 
 "A little more investigation showed that a strange 
 schooner was seen to sail out of Kahuahgo Bay that 
 night. Every thing pointed to John bein' aboard that
 
 THE LION CAGED 341 
 
 schooner. Well, my time was up in a few days, and 
 as soon as it expired, I drew my pay and got across. 
 When my business here is done with, I shall go back 
 and re-enlist. I thought on comin' here that it 
 would be better to work in the open, so I joined the 
 king's men, tellin' 'em a tale of an old British veteran 
 who couldn't stand it to keep still any longer. Of 
 course, I didn't say anythin' about my services over 
 yonder." He grinned sarcastically. "I'm drawin' 
 king's rations," he observed, " and have been for 
 some few days." 
 
 "What have you discovered?" I asked. 
 
 " Only that John is held prisoner somewhere in the 
 town under a murderous charge," he answered, 
 "lodged by the man who brought him from the 
 Harbor. He is accused of bein' a British renegade, 
 and of firm' the powder magazine at Little York and 
 killin' a number of the king's soldiers, thinkin' his 
 own men had got out of harm's way." 
 
 I gasped. "And the man who lodges the accusa- 
 tion " I muttered. 
 
 "Is that hound, Red Rolfe," added Cyre- 
 nus. I saw again the rush of the strange ship 
 through the water; heard the sound of a hated 
 voice. I sprang to my feet. 
 
 "We must save him!" I cried. And putting out 
 my hand, "Forgive me, Cyrenus. I was an ass!" 
 
 "You were, my boy ! " he exclaimed with conviction. 
 "Let it teach you not to take too much for 
 granted. You are mighty young yet." 
 
 I swallowed it, for it was true. "What shall we 
 do?" I asked. I turned to the little man, for in my 
 estimation he was expanding like the fabled Arabian 
 genii of the bottle. 
 
 "You go ahead with your business here," he an-
 
 342 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 swered, "and keep your eyes open. I'll do the same, 
 and between us we'll find where he is in short order. 
 Then we'll confer about getting him out. Now we 
 had better get apart." 
 
 "You had another object in coming," I ventured, 
 as he turned to go. His strange, puckered face be- 
 came lighted with malevolence. The piercing little 
 eyes were as hard as nails. 
 
 "John's turn comes first," he replied, dry as dead 
 bones. "We must cheat the hangman. The other 
 can wait." His lean jaws closed with a vicious snap. 
 He again turned to go. Gypso wagged himself along- 
 side, fawning upon the little man. 
 
 "How comes he here?" I asked Cyrenus, indicating 
 the dog. 
 
 "Followed me to the boat when I left the Harbor," 
 he responded. "Bound to come along. Seemed to 
 know somethin' was up. Mess has made a pet of 
 him. Think he's mine." He was gone, the dog 
 capering after. 
 
 I made my way slowly toward the town, musing 
 on the startling news. I cursed my stupidity in sleep- 
 ing at the shack that night instead of accompanying 
 John as he had asked me. While I slumbered he had 
 been harried by those hounds. True, had I been 
 there, I would have evidently accompanied him, render- 
 ing the execution of my present delicate mission impossi- 
 ble. Still, it was but human to regret. I cursed the 
 whim that had led my feet into that quarter. Any 
 other direction would have saved John. The sur- 
 rounding circumstances made it impossible to believe 
 that Rolfe's party had come for the express purpose 
 of capturing the intrepid trapper. I was certain, on 
 the contrary, that their mission had been some other, 
 equally or more nefarious ; that they landed for some
 
 THE LION CAGED 343 
 
 purpose, making the noise that his lynx's ears had 
 unfortunately heard so far away, and that he 
 had somehow walked into the very midst of them 
 and the struggle had resulted. There must have 
 been a pack of them, I reflected grimly, and some 
 battered wounded to help on board. However, the 
 thing was done, and the problem of his succor was 
 to be solved. That he should be found and released 
 I was determined, else death and I might meet in 
 Frontenac. 
 
 Reaching the town, I made my way to the King's 
 Inn, where I met sundry of my whilom comrades. 
 Them I told, with perfect truth, that I had come 
 from Montreal. I added that I would remain in 
 Frontenac a few days before proceeding, by boat, to 
 Little York. I regaled them with fictitious accounts 
 of my experiences among the Yankees and enjoyed 
 with them a mug or two of good, old British ale. 
 
 In a corner of the room was seated the militia 
 captain, Chichester, my cowardly opponent of the 
 duel so long before. In glancing about I marked 
 his presence. I noted the disfigured nose, which- I 
 had broken in that curious clash, and repressed a 
 desire to laugh. Darting me one venomous glance 
 out of bleared eyes, he rose, leaving the room. He 
 was more dissipated than ever in appearance; a 
 guzzling, uniformed rake. 
 
 "Wonder he doesn't drink himself to death," com- 
 mented one of the officers, when he was gone. "Has 
 a copper-lined stomach, His head is addled as a bad 
 egg most of the time. Were he a regular, he would 
 be cashiered. As it is, they have overlooked him." 
 
 I had supper with my British friends and smoked 
 with them later in the twilight. Our talk concerned 
 the American invasion, which I had learned all along
 
 344 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the line was contemplated, though, with the same 
 tardiness that characterized many of our own com- 
 manders, the definite plans had not yet been perfected. 
 Frontenac, however, was teeming with aggressive 
 preparation. I found my red-coated friends eager 
 for action, particularly for a descent on Sackets 
 Harbor. Their inability to capture that port had 
 evidently left a raw spot in the British pride. 
 
 The full moon rose luminously in a sky that was 
 peppered with stars. The night was magnificent for 
 a stroll. Excusing myself, I left my companions 
 and sauntered through the town and out upon the 
 straggling street upon which stood the house that 
 had once sheltered Renee. A light was in the window. 
 I passed with a look that was lingering and bitter. 
 
 I gained the end of the road. Beyond me lay the 
 shadowed forest, a vague, dark mass, stretching 
 away in a long line of gloom. The old spirit claimed 
 me. I plunged into the woods, moving swiftly and 
 deviously away from the town, later turning back 
 toward it. A cool autumnal breeze, stirring the 
 boughs above me, whispered tremulously. My feet 
 sank softly in a carpet of leafy mould. 
 
 Once I fancied I heard a stir behind me and stopped 
 to listen, but no sound came. Imagination, I 
 thought, and continued. 
 
 Suddenly a spectral, white glow, shimmering 
 through the adjacent foliage, met my eyes. A few 
 strides and I was at the edge of a large, circular 
 clearing, bare of trees save for a few belated patri- 
 archs. The grassy floor, cleared of stumps and all 
 obstructions, lay level before me, flooded with moon- 
 light. I stared an instant and a rushing memory 
 recalled the place. It was the duelling ground, the 
 spot where I had once met a craven and discarded
 
 THE LION CAGED 345 
 
 firearms for the use of a pair of itching fists. I 
 gazed at the very spot where I had pummelled the 
 cur and laughed low with satisfaction. 
 
 A hateful snarl came from the shadows back of me. 
 I whirled, but even as I did so, something came down 
 on my luckless head with a resounding thump and I 
 dropped like a felled ox.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 The Proving of Cyrenus 
 
 A tug at my wrists roused me. I opened a pair 
 of bewildered eyes, blinking with the pain that rioted 
 in my buzzing head. With the adjustment of return- 
 ing senses came the hazy conviction that I was cer- 
 tainly a mark, and a shining one, for the slings and 
 arrows. I glanced at my bound hands, which were 
 crossed piously in front of me, the knots cutting 
 into the flesh. They had evidently been drawn taut 
 with savage satisfaction. Then I looked into the 
 scowling face of Chichester, for he it was who was 
 bending over me. I laughed with what bravado I 
 could summon, struggling awkwardly to my feet. 
 
 "You have an easy advantage this time," I sneered. 
 "Even a greater than that of a shot before the word ! 
 Do I mistake, or did you try to vary the monotony 
 of your usual methods of thuggery just now by 
 braining me?" 
 
 "No, the scaffold is better. I would not cheat it," 
 he growled brutally. "I would rather see you dancing 
 on nothing than eat when I am hungry." 
 
 "Or to drink when you are thirsty," I suggested. 
 "Sorry I have not a bottle with me. I wonder you 
 could leave the tap room long enough to follow me." 
 
 He struck me heavily across the mouth. The blood 
 dripped from my cut, swelling lips as I strained at 
 the cords. They only bit the deeper into my numbed 
 wrists. He laughed sardonically.
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 347 
 
 "A blow for a blow, puppy," he said. My eyes 
 blazed. 
 
 "At least your hands were free, you drunken cur!" 
 I breathed, in an ecstasy of rage. He made as if 
 to strike me again. 
 
 I sprang aside, and, as he came on, lowered my 
 head and charged, bull-like, into his gross paunch, 
 for dramming had bloated him mightily these two 
 years gone. He fell, with a bellow of agony, and I 
 over him. I snapped to my feet to find him rolling 
 in the grass, deathly sick, hands clasping his belly. 
 He gasped and gurgled, his red face suddenly gone 
 chalky white. It was grotesque. I roared at the 
 sight. 
 
 "Get up!" I told him, stirring his writhing car- 
 cass with my foot as he lay grovelling. "Don't cry. 
 'Tis but a little breeze on the stomach. It will pass. 
 Just gulp." 
 
 Presently he got slowly upon his feet, being very 
 shaky in the knees. I stepped toward him, and, 
 bound as I was, he gave way before me, drawing a 
 pistol, with which he threatened me. 
 
 "Bah!" I exclaimed, in deep disgust, "there is not 
 a drop of red blood in you!" 
 
 "Yours will shortly all go to your feet," he re- 
 torted, still keeping away from me, as I noted with 
 amusement. "They will kick merrily at first, those 
 feet, but they will grow heavy at the last, when you 
 get black in the face and your tongue hangs out. 
 Now I'll trouble you to march before me into the 
 town. I'll take a hand myself!" with an oath. 
 
 "Let me ride on your shoulders," I suggested 
 whimsically. 
 
 "Go on, now, no more parleying !" he cried, flourish- 
 ing his pistol, which I judged by this time he had
 
 348 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 forgotten to load before starting after me, a con- 
 jecture which later proved to be correct. 
 
 " So I am to be hanged, eh ?" I asked curiously, 
 making no move to obey his marching orders. " May 
 I ask how you intend to bring this about?" with a 
 sneer. " King's men do not usually hang comrades." 
 
 He burst into evil laughter. "No more do they 
 hang comrades !" he exclaimed. "But you you are 
 a comrade, are you? Your name is Stranahan, is it? 
 You are attached to the Canadian secret service, 
 are you ? I tell you, you shall march before me into 
 the town and be exposed for what you are ! It's 
 none of your business how I know, but I know you 
 
 for a d d Yankee spy, and your name I can tell 
 
 them yonder!" 
 
 "Yes," breathed a quiet voice near us, a strange, 
 attenuated voice that startled us to silence, "but 
 you will never live to tell it ! " And out of the shadow 
 into the moonlit circle, there walked Cyrenus. 
 
 Stopping an instant by me he put forth a hand. 
 A keen blade cut my bonds. The severed cords 
 dropped. My hands were free. 
 
 "Now," I growled exultantly, stepping toward my 
 enemy, who stood as one dazed, "we will have this 
 out right now, with fists, firearms or in any way, 
 only this time it is to the death !" But I was thrust 
 back with a force that amazed me, coming, as it 
 did, from the spare little man who had delivered me. 
 He stepped into my place, confronting the coward. 
 I looked at them both, then stood motionless and 
 speechless. 
 
 For Cyrenus was glaring into the coward's red- 
 rimmed eyes, and the coward's were blasted with a 
 stare of terror. Cyrenus' thin, wiry frame was tense 
 as a drawn bowstring; nervous tremors of anger
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 349 
 
 shook him like a reed. His hands were clenched; 
 his unwinking eyes, glowing like a cat's, flamed into 
 the white face opposite him. It was a strange and 
 terrible tableau in that white, ghostly radiance; it 
 held a grim significance born of a buried something 
 in the churchyard of the past. For one of them the 
 world would end that night. And which? 
 
 Which, indeed ! Yon shivering coward, waxy pale, 
 ghastly in the moonlight? Or that strange little 
 figure, trembling with speechless rage, the pose alive 
 with a leonine courage, the face that I scarcely recog- 
 nized? For a certain awe stole over me as I watched 
 him and wondered if I had ever really known 
 him. The rough, uncouth mask that I remem- 
 bered in my first acquaintance with him was gone 
 like a discarded garment; the mask that had come 
 doubtless to a ruined life, withered at a blow; the 
 sour, dour mask that had grown more hideous with 
 the dramming with which he sought to bring for- 
 getfulness; the mask that endured until the night 
 in the tavern when Noadiah, a missionary indeed, 
 opened the eyes of the sour little man with his 
 stinging words and Cyrenus began the struggle 
 back to manhood. 
 
 A royal return, indeed; for Cyrenus, as he now 
 appeared, brought the vision of a youth season far 
 different from his days of age. A certain conscious 
 power, a premonitory sense of an impending some- 
 thing from him which should fill me with amaze, 
 held and thrilled me. As he spoke, even the pro- 
 vincialisms picked up by his loose manner of living 
 and his residence in a raw, new region dropped from 
 him like uncouth rags, and his enunciation was as 
 pure as my own. The conviction seized me that, 
 while he had not been born in the purple, he at least
 
 350 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 had lived with it, and, as he glared at the wretch 
 opposite him, I divined in a flash that here stood 
 the malign influence that had wrecked the little 
 man had made of him for a time a pariah among 
 men. 
 
 A breathless moment they remained, staring one 
 at the other, when Cyrenus had thrust me back. 
 Then the little man spoke to me, without removing 
 his eyes from the creature's face, his voice soft as 
 the first low snarl of some wild thing disturbed. 
 
 "No, boy," he muttered, "you stand back. This 
 is my quarrel. Youth must defer to age. You have 
 had provocation; yes, but mine has been greater. 
 ' The first shall be last and the last first.' How true 
 that is, Gilbert. You remember I told you that I 
 came here to do two things and that I should do 
 the other first. Well, God is good, and it is the 
 second I shall do first, after all, for this night I 
 shall kill a man ! " 
 
 As he concluded his voice grew in intensity; there 
 was in it the concentration of a world of hate ; of a 
 desire for death-dealing that held all of life. His 
 hand, outstretched, pointed across at the whitened 
 face of the wretch, who staggered backward, sick 
 with fear. The voice went on, harsh with sarcasm. 
 
 "Watch him, Gilbert, don't let him run !" it admon- 
 ished. " We must not have to stab him in the back, 
 for it smacks too much of his way. He shall be 
 forced to die like a man, whether he will or no, with 
 his death wound in the breast ! But why is he alarm- 
 ed at the sight of an old man? Why, he looks as if 
 he had seen a ghost!" 
 
 Still not a sound from the pallid bravo. Still the 
 eyes of the little man, gleaming with strange power, 
 held the wretch's wavering own; still the wretch
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 351 
 
 stood like a cowed criminal, apparently powerless 
 to move or speak. 
 
 "A ghost!" pursued Cyrenus, his speech grown 
 like bitter brine. " I'll wager, Gilbert, he does see 
 one at this moment ! The ghost of a brave young 
 fellow dead for years, a young fellow who didn't look 
 much like me, for God was good and made him like 
 his dead English mother, God rest her ! A young 
 fellow with as stout a heart as ever pumped under 
 any jacket and a sword arm that was famed through 
 the kingdom, yes, and across the Channel; an arm 
 I taught. Only this cur yonder, Gilbert, this 
 son of a British nobleman and a servant wench, 
 for I know him if no one else does; this cur who 
 had even then been cashiered from the regular army 
 in disgrace; this adventurer of a dozen names, who, 
 if his record were known, would be strung up in 
 Frontenac tomorrow by the men he insults with his 
 association; this hound who is about to die, what 
 of him? Only this, he didn't know of the boy's 
 sword arm and its fame when he insulted the boy 
 in the fencing rooms of the boy's own father, for he 
 didn't know at the moment that the young fellow 
 was the old man's son, you see. Nor did we know 
 him, else he would have never been allowed inside 
 those rooms. The cur knew the boy's father, though, 
 and he could give you another name for him than 
 the one you know; a name that London and the 
 continent knew in the old days as a master of blades ; 
 a master who had as a stripling served our own 
 land, Gilbert, in '76 and helped place it among the 
 nations. The stripling was taken prisoner late in the 
 struggle, chancing to fall under the notice of a British 
 officer who was as fine a gentleman as ever lived 
 and a famous swordsman. Through a whim this
 
 352 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 officer began teaching the stripling, whom he had 
 caused to be treated with great consideration in cap- 
 tivity. The stripling learned the game with great 
 rapidity, and, when the war ended, the officer took 
 him to England with him and made of him a protege. 
 Every opportunity was afforded him, and his blade 
 began soon to be celebrated. He married early and 
 a son was born. The stripling had become a man, 
 and, while he was not large, he was made of springs 
 and steel. He appeared in Paris; in Vienna he met 
 the German experts upon their own ground. He 
 was never worsted. By and by, through pure love 
 of fighting, he was for a time in the British armies, 
 and others as well, a free lance. The boy was about 
 ten years old when he finally returned to settle in 
 London and to open modest rooms that were always 
 filled with the clash of steel, for the flower of the 
 kingdom came there then to be taught, Gilbert, by 
 one you have known as humble and snuffling and 
 of no account. And the boy grew up like a weed 
 and his father taught him all he knew; taught him 
 to know the sword as few men know their creeds. 
 The boy, quite naturally, was younger than his father, 
 and by and by there was not a better blade in Lon- 
 don than he, nor among the king's men, for he took 
 rank in George's armies, though he would never 
 have borne arms against his father's country. But," 
 he continued, his voice grown snarling, " the coward 
 opposite, who will presently die, did not know who 
 the boy was when he insulted him. He showed the 
 craven when he heard the boy's name, but there 
 were others present, so he pretended still to be a 
 man. A man ! A meeting was arranged, but the 
 day before the affair, the boy was found dead in a 
 mean London alley, assassinated by hired thugs.
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 353 
 
 "Nothing could be directly proved," continued 
 Cyrenus, after a slight, thrilling pause, his voice 
 shadowed, "but those who knew the cur suspected. 
 And the father of the dead man afterward learned 
 from a confession by one of the assassins who it was 
 that had hired them. The cur, fearing the father, 
 quitted London and the father could not find him. 
 The mother, who had been in ill health for years, 
 pined and died, and the fencer, again alone in the 
 world, shut up his rooms, having no heart for them, 
 and returned to American soil. Lately, through 
 happy chance, the old man heard that the cur was 
 in the king's service as a militia officer in Frontenac. 
 The king's cause, did he know it, has fallen low 
 indeed, and the only reason that the red uniform 
 now appears upon the veteran is that he may be 
 enabled through it to kill the cur. He has searched 
 for the cur so many years that it seemed as if he 
 would surely die before the cur did, but the quest has 
 ended and it is the cur who will die first." 
 
 He stepped briskly into the shadow from whence 
 he had come, Chichester's eyes following him stupidly. 
 In an instant the old man reappeared, bearing a 
 couple of rapiers. He must have shadowed the 
 doomed ruffian since he had arrived at Frontenac, 
 ready to force an encounter, in some secluded spot, 
 at the first opportunity. This night had favored 
 him, and he must have followed Chichester even as 
 the militia captain had followed me. One of the 
 blades the old man flung at the fellow's feet. 
 
 "Strip!" he ordered grimly, removing his own 
 coat. The man spoke at last. His lips were blanched, 
 his voice hoarse. 
 
 "You are crazy," he croaked. " I never killed your 
 son. I knew nothing of it !"
 
 354 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Cyrenus pressed the point of his weapon lightly 
 against the other's breast. Chichester shuddered 
 and recoiled. 
 
 "Strip!" again ordered the little man. "Take 
 up that blade and protect yourself, or I'll run you 
 through where you stand!" 
 
 There was no alternative. With the feeble flicker 
 of courage possessed by the cornered mongrel, which 
 snaps and snarls when dying, with the zest born of 
 the insanity of fear, the ruffian prepared for his last 
 stand. His jacket fell to the ground. He rolled up 
 the sleeve of his shirt, his coarse face chalky, his 
 eyes wild. 
 
 Cyrenus stood waiting, a man transformed. Was 
 he indeed the insignificant pariah I had known ? He 
 stood irradiated in the moonlight; his odd, wizened 
 face thrilled and changed with a sense of power; the 
 face of a master of his art, whatever it be, even if 
 that of the scientific killing of a man. His throat 
 was bare, his shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow. 
 He swished his light blade through the air. Grasp- 
 ing its supple point, he tested its temper with the 
 air that marks the veteran. Now he raised the slen- 
 der foil in salute and fell into position, his free arm 
 half raised, his wiry form as spare and supple as a 
 boy's, his face strangely youthful, his old eyes afire, 
 a sour smile on his thin lips. The man opposite 
 him, nerving himself, leaped forward as he essayed 
 a desperate thrust. 
 
 The old man's feet never moved. As the other's 
 blade, like a white flame, darted in, he bent forward, 
 interposing his own from underneath with a swift, 
 upward parry. A second the two blades wrestled in 
 midair, guard by guard. Then, in a flash, Cyrenus 
 had twisted his own blade under and thrust inside
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 355 
 
 his opponent's sword arm, straight at the red throat. 
 A muffled howl broke from the bully. A few drops 
 of blood, vividly red, more than I had thought the 
 creature had, appeared at the slight wound, stain- 
 ing the neck crimson. Cyrenus sprang back with a 
 dry laugh and I knew he was but playing with the 
 rat. 
 
 "Faith, but you are awkward!" commented Cyre- 
 nus. " The boy would have had you dead by now, 
 for he was younger than I. But I am young to-night, 
 my dog, as young as Gilbert there, though after you 
 are dead I fear me I shall feel old again ! Come on 
 and try to improve! All h 1 is watching for you. 
 Try to enter it more gracefully!" 
 
 The scene for the next five minutes will be vivid in 
 my memory till it dies with me. At the words a 
 demon of desperation seized the doomed adventurer. 
 Clenching his teeth at the taunt, he fell to with 
 savage fury, revealing to me, who stood breathless 
 at the edge of the moonlit clearing, that he was far 
 from a novice. 
 
 The blades writhed and flashed in the air like 
 flames, scraping interminably. Chichester pressed 
 forward, foot by foot, in the vicious assault, seeking 
 by every trick he knew, by every artifice he had ever 
 learned, to avert the doom that was inevitable. For, 
 as I looked at Cyrenus, I knew that this was so. 
 Just now, I made no doubt simply to prolong the 
 play, he chose to work purely on the defensive, but 
 with a defence so perfect, so masterly, that my blood 
 grew hot with admiration and my pulses thrilled. 
 Back he went, giving ground slowly inch by inch, 
 his piercing eyes darting fire into the passion-bulged 
 ones of his adversary. There was not an unnecessary 
 motion. The wiry frame, superbly poised, responded
 
 356 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 with the suppleness of youth to every exigency. The 
 defending blade, flashing meteor-like in the air, ward- 
 ing off thrusts with a nicety of calculation that was 
 wonderful, seemed to turn hither and yon of its own 
 volition. But I could see the tense forearm, small 
 but swollen with knotted muscle, the wrist of steel, 
 and, more than all else, the watchful eye, piercing 
 as a needle, holding his opponent's own; the calm, 
 impassive face; the eye and the face of a master. 
 They spoke of the Continent, of dramas I might 
 never know, of champions worsted, of the apogee of 
 deadly skill. It was a revelation. 
 
 Presently Chichester's assault decreased in violence. 
 His chest labored convulsively, he gave vent to great, 
 sobbing breaths. He was tiring fast but still fought 
 with fearsome stubbornness. Finally, as he lunged 
 forward with a feeble thrust, Cyrenus stepped in. 
 There was a ringing impact and Chichester stood 
 disarmed, his rapier flying through the air. The 
 point of the little man's weapon was against his 
 breast. 
 
 "See!" cried Cyrenus, and his voice held the ring 
 of his own steel. " I should kill you now ! When 
 did you ever refuse to kill a disarmed man? But I 
 am neither a cur nor a coward! Go pick up your 
 sword!" 
 
 He turned to do so, with a look of dumb entreaty 
 in eyes that were like a bullock's in a slaughter- 
 house. For he knew it was the end for him. 
 
 Once more the blades crossed, but now it was the 
 little man who assumed the aggressive. I stared 
 amazed, for it was borne in upon me that the fore- 
 going had been merely play for him. His blade flew 
 in and out with such rapidity that it was difficult 
 to even remotely follow the thrusts, like lightning
 
 THE PROVING OF CYRENUS 357 
 
 flashes. Chichester did what he could, but I could 
 see that he was helpless. He was driven backward, 
 turned at the clearing's edge, and forced to retreat 
 slowly around again in a circle. As they passed me 
 I noticed that he was bleeding from the neck, arm 
 and breast. Pin pricks only, administered by the 
 lithe demon before him merely as foretastes. Chi- 
 chester's labored breath came in sobs, tearing his 
 great chest. The sweat from his forehead rolled down 
 into his eyes, blinding him. Still he fought on; 
 dogged, despairing, hopeless. 
 
 And as the little man thrust and feinted alternate- 
 ly with lightning-like rapidity, prolonging the agony 
 with all the hot lust for revenge within him, he 
 taunted the wretch with bitter, biting words. 
 
 ''Look out!" he exclaimed. "Ah-h! you nearly 
 got it that time. I had nearly thrust too far. I'm 
 not ready to kill you quite yet. Pardon, does your 
 arm pain you? Well, you have pained people in your 
 time, people whose wounds were in the back. They 
 did not know whose hand it was that pained them, 
 but you know, do you not? For see, though you 
 don't deserve it, your wounds are all in front. You 
 are being forced to die like a man, but only that 
 the ordeal may be somewhat protracted. However, 
 I must hasten. Did you have a drink to-night, 
 before you came here? I'm afraid you will go dry 
 yonder, and you can't bridge the gulf. Lazarus 
 could do you no good anyway, since you don't 
 care for water. And it's too late to learn, for now 
 you have but a moment. Look out! You need 
 bleeding, take that! Well, let's end it! Ah-h 
 take care! You were too late that time. Well, 
 good bye to you!" 
 
 He drew the blade from the body and plunged it
 
 358 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 into the soft earth, wiping it dry with a tuft of grass. 
 The body quivered briefly, then lay still. Except for 
 one agonized cry, there had been no sound. Cyrenus 
 stood quietly resuming his coat, his face sombre. 
 He was breathing a little more quickly, that was all. 
 
 "Gilbert," he called, "help me drag this into the 
 bushes. It will be found in a day or two, but 
 think that will answer for our other purpose." 
 
 I assisted him. The dead eyes glared in the moon- 
 light. Some cold drops of sweat beaded the fore- 
 head. I left him with relief. 
 
 We started toward the town. "Gilbert," he said 
 with a certain severity, somehow there was no rea- 
 son why he should ever call me other than by my 
 Christian name again, "that's a bad habit you 
 have of mooning around when it isn't healthy to 
 do it. You'd ought to wear a helmet. You'll get 
 your skull cracked some day." 
 
 "You are right," I answered, with humility. He 
 could address me as he pleased henceforth. "I seem 
 to be a butt for blows in that locality." 
 
 He smiled his sour smile at me. "You are young 
 yet, very young," he averred " The very young are 
 always soft in the skull. Yours will harden some 
 day." 
 
 And we tramped on.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 The Enemy Paves the Way 
 
 I rose early the next morning. My sleep had been 
 fitful and disturbed, for I had beheld interminably 
 the scene of the night and heard the scrape of steel, 
 with the thin blades always rasping, and the sound 
 of the labored breathing of the man who now lay 
 so quiet yonder. I saw the dead eyes with the look 
 of terror, like a slaughtered bullock's, frozen in them ; 
 the dead face on which the cold, beaded sweat still 
 stood; saw the body sprawled on the green in a 
 gross, huddled heap. Toward the morning, how- 
 ever, I dropped into a heavy slumber which did 
 much to freshen me. After breakfast I left the inn, 
 stepping out into the sunshine. 
 
 The day was fit to dissipate bad dreams. The 
 town lay gilded with radiance. Not a cloud drifted. 
 I sauntered down to the docks, from whence sounded 
 the ceaseless tap of hammers. Yeo was as active in 
 Front enac as his opponent across the sunlit water. The 
 ribs of half-finished mastodons reared above the stocks, 
 over them swarmed, like ants, a multitude of work- 
 men, tapping like woodpeckers. I smiled with inward 
 contempt at this farcical zeal, this fuss and foam of 
 incessant preparation, that was destined only to 
 the doom of ridicule for the things left undone ; to 
 the spectacle of half-completed frigates in the coming 
 time, rotting on their mouldy stocks, beheld with
 
 360 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 idle curiosity by the men of a later day, who should 
 open the page of history and learn with edification 
 of the official mountains of naval effort that labored 
 for achievement on either shore of old Ontario and 
 brought forth mice. 
 
 I began unobtrusively to gain what information I 
 desired, circulating freely, but with circumspection, 
 among my acquaintances and others. I desired to 
 attend to this as soon as possible, for I burned with 
 impatience to secure John's release, with Bantwell's 
 assistance, before I should attempt leaving for the 
 Harbor. This I hoped we could accomplish speedily, 
 for I felt ill at ease because of the dead body in the 
 woods yonder. It was almost certain to be dis- 
 covered in a few hours and an investigation would 
 certainly be made. True, there were no visible clews 
 to betray Cyrenus, but there lurked the possibility 
 of some luckless circumstance revealing the living 
 actors in the grim drama. I wished, as I reflected 
 on these things, that we could have sunk the body 
 in the river, but the distance was considerable and 
 detection would have been too imminent. Another 
 consideration caused me great concern, for the dead 
 captain had told me that he knew me and intended 
 to reveal my identity to the defenders of the town. 
 If he did know me, and I was quite certain that he 
 did, how had he learned it? Must it not have been 
 from others, and in this very place? I had a dis- 
 quieting feeling of enemies unseen about me, and 
 was convinced that every additional moment that 
 I spent in the town was the more unhealthy. I was 
 naturally in a fever of impatience to get away; not 
 for my own sake, particularly, though no man likes 
 to be trapped like a rat, but for that of my mission. 
 That John should come with me, . however, I was.
 
 THE ENEMY PAVES THE WAY 361 
 
 determined. It seemed to me, in my morbid state 
 of mind, that in not accompanying him to the lake 
 shore that night of my voluntary departure and his 
 unwilling one, that I was in a measure responsible 
 for sending him to the death which his half-brother's 
 devilish ingenuity was devising for him. I should 
 stay by him to the end. If worst came to worst, I 
 was resolved to despatch Cyrenus, with the infor- 
 mation I had gained to the Harbor, and remain 
 myself for whatever might come. 
 
 With the fear of discovery that had arisen within 
 me, I watched suspiciously for any signs that I was 
 detected. None were apparent, but I knew the bolt 
 might descend at any moment out of a clear sky. 
 
 Just then I felt the compelling influence of the hu- 
 man eye. I turned. Cyrenus stood at a little dis- 
 tance. He sauntered behind a boat-house. I strolled 
 casually in that direction and we found ourselves 
 secure from observation. 
 
 " I have found where John is," he told me cautious- 
 ly. His manner showed an odd exaltation, born 
 doubtless of the successful issue of his affair of the 
 previous night and the good fortune, thus far, of his 
 present one. 
 
 " You lost no time," I commented, with eager satis- 
 faction. "Where is he?" 
 
 "Not in the fortress, as I supposed," he answered, 
 "but in that old limestone building that stands 
 about a quarter mile from it. You may have noticed 
 it." 
 
 "Yes," I replied. "Years old, isn't it? Didn't it 
 formerly serve the purpose of a French prison? 
 They're guarding him well, evidently." 
 
 " He's under ground," replied Cyrenus. " There's a 
 dungeon there."
 
 362 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "How did you find out?" I asked. 
 
 " Sentry," he responded briefly. My uniform is 
 right now, you know, for this business. I asked 
 fool questions as if I had a right to do it and he 
 answered them like a fool. Seemed surprised that I 
 didn't know it. Godfrey seems to be as noted on 
 this side as on the other. Told him the truth, that 
 I was a new arrival. He told me something curious 
 about that place." He paused. I eyed him inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 "I don't understand it," he mused. "Sentry said 
 that the building proper was put up by the English 
 some years ago. When they dug for the foundations 
 they came to a floor of thick stone. Proved to be 
 the rock roof of this dungeon that is holding John 
 at present. Well, they dug around it, finally locating 
 the wadls, which proved to be in natural rock in 
 places and extended at the ends with rough masonry. 
 
 "After a good deal of trouble, they broke a passage- 
 way through one wall. They found the dungeon 
 completely walled in, with no communication from 
 the surface of the earth except a rude air shaft, that 
 was well hidden, and not a sign of a clew to indicate 
 where the entrance might be. They have searched 
 everywhere for secret doors and springs and entrances 
 and have never found them. What they did find, 
 though, were chains fastened to the wall for prisoners 
 and a heap of dry bones in the corner. The place 
 is a mystery they have never been able to solve. 
 There must be an entrance somewhere, but the 
 English were never able to find it, such was the in- 
 genuity of the French who built the tomb, for it 
 was nothing else in those old days. As it was, the 
 English reconstructed the gap they had forced in 
 the wall into a doorway and now use the dungeon
 
 THE ENEMY PAVES THE WAY 363 
 
 as an adjunct to the building which they built over 
 it. The French prison you heard of is that dungeon. 
 Wherever that secret passage is, no prisoner whom 
 the English have ever had there has been able to 
 find it, and they are never afraid to put important 
 captives in there, even though they know there must 
 have been some hidden communication with it by 
 the French in the old days. It is a strange thing." 
 
 I stared. "I should think it was," I muttered, 
 for I had never heard of it. " We must consider get- 
 ting John out," I resumed, after a pause. "I must 
 see him." 
 
 "How will you manage it?" he inquired. 
 
 " Perhaps not at all," I responded, "though I shall 
 try. I will visit headquarters and try to get a per- 
 mit to see him. I shall say that I am anxious to 
 see the man accused of being the renegade who fired 
 the magazine at York, because I wish to see if he 
 is the same man I met on the other side, who pub- 
 licly boasted of some dark exploit in that battle. I 
 shall represent that I desire to ascertain if possible, 
 in a guarded way, what he knows about that unfor- 
 tunate affair." 
 
 "Rather thin," commented Cyrenus, "but it may 
 work. Of course, your being supposed to be a secret 
 agent of theirs may make it appear more plausible. 
 Well, try it, and meanwhile, I'll loaf around." 
 
 I left him, proceeding to headquarters. I engaged 
 in conversation with some officers there, conversing 
 easily upon matters of which we were mutually 
 informed. I spoke as much as was prudent of my 
 pretended service in the king's behalf on the other 
 side. We were on the best of terms. I felt reas- 
 sured, for I was clearly not suspected yet, after all. 
 My spirits rose.
 
 364 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "By the way," I finally observed, carelessly flick- 
 ing away my cigar ash with a finger, " I hear you 
 have the man who fired the powder magazine at 
 Little York." 
 
 " We have the man who is accused of doing it," re- 
 plied Major Stuart, who was temporarily in charge 
 and being the officer whom I had addressed. 
 
 " Rather a finely shaded distinction," I commented, 
 laughing. "I am only just arrived, you know. Is 
 there any doubt of his guilt?" 
 
 "With all due respect to our arms," dryly re- 
 sponded the major, " the accuser looks more capable 
 of having done it than the accused." One or two 
 other officers nodded silent approval. I mentally 
 followed suit. 
 
 "Who is the prisoner?" I asked carelessly. "And 
 who accuses him?" 
 
 " The accused is one John Godfrey," he answered. 
 "The accuser " 
 
 "John Godfrey!" I exclaimed, straightening in my 
 chair. " What sort of man is he, I mean in appear- 
 ance?" 
 
 " He is a giant," with conviction, " both in size 
 and strength. He was captured at the Harbor it- 
 self by Red Rolfe, so-called, with some of the red 
 allies. They were engaged, at the time, in another 
 mission of a rather strange nature." This last with 
 a peculiar smile. "Some of the allies are not yet 
 fit for business," he added. 
 
 "I can readily believe that," I observed, "for I 
 have seen the man. Indeed, I. know him. I have 
 met him at the Harbor, where, as you know, I held 
 a commission for a time as a bona fide Yankee. 
 Though he would be rather surprised to see me in 
 this uniform."
 
 THE ENEMY PAVES THE WAY 365 
 
 I was debating how best to approach the delicate 
 matter of securing leave to meet him when Major 
 Stuart took the matter out of my hands. 
 
 "Would you like to see him?" he asked. "For we 
 can have you conducted there, if you wish." 
 
 " Why, yes," I answered, rather doubtfully, though 
 secretly exultant. " Though," I added whimsically, 
 "I should not want to get too close to him with 
 this uniform." 
 
 Major Stuart laughed. "Well," he said, "we would 
 be glad to have you see him, if only to witness his 
 surprise. You will be admitted to-night." 
 
 I had hoped it would be earlier, but concealing my 
 disappointment, I changed the subject. After chat- 
 ting with the officers a while longer, I took my leave.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 Unmasked 
 
 Where was John's father all this time, I wondered. 
 I felt that he must be far from Frontenac, for his 
 fruitless visit to the Harbor was sufficient to assure 
 me that had he heard of his son's plight and the 
 monstrous charge lodged against him he would ere 
 now have been here to move heaven and earth to 
 extricate him from the difficulty. A little inquiry, 
 made to a friend, apprised me that he was at Mon- 
 treal. The villainous scheme of Rolfe was made 
 plain. He had chosen his time well, and if he could 
 compass John's death before the return of their father 
 he would do it. Not if I could prevent it, I reflected 
 grimly. 
 
 Once, in the late afternoon, I saw the fiend. I was 
 standing in the door of the King's Inn when I caught 
 sight of him walking down the opposite side of the 
 street. The battered hat, the what-not uniform, the 
 blotchy, bearded face, all these I caught with a 
 shudder of repulsion, as I hastily withdrew from 
 sight. In that instant he turned his head. Did I 
 imagine it, or had he recognized and leered at me? 
 I could not be sure, but the sight of him gave me a 
 bad turn. I had hoped him miles away. I was 
 deeply disturbed; his foul presence brought some- 
 thing like a premonition. I longed for night and the 
 opportunity to plan with John for our departure.
 
 UNMASKED 367 
 
 Cyrenus I saw no more. In my overwrought state 
 the fact produced keen irritation. What was he do- 
 ing, I wondered. I wandered aimlessly about, keeping 
 a sharp lookout for Red Rolfe, prepared to slip out 
 of sight at his approach. However, I saw nothing 
 more of him that day. I employed the afternoon in 
 securing the rest of my data, but the time dragged. 
 An evil something was in the air, a something I 
 could not define. Perhaps it had to do with the 
 corpse in the woods yonder. 
 
 I supped with the officers at the King's Inn. After- 
 ward I lighted my pipe and strolled down to the 
 docks. I noted a couple of men following at a little dis- 
 tance, keeping to my heels with strange persistence. 
 Of course I could not swear that I was being fol- 
 lowed, but what did it mean? 
 
 I returned to the inn, going into the taproom. 
 It was still early, but there were many officers there. 
 There was but little else to do in Frontenac just 
 then. The indescribable hum of conversation sounded; 
 wordless, unintelligible, in strange confusion. There 
 was the scraping of chairs and the clinking of glasses ; 
 boisterous laughter, the banging of great fists upon 
 shuddering tables. Mine weasel-faced host and his 
 assistants scampered hither and yon like scared 
 rabbits, breathless with business, while the scores 
 mounted up like a balloon. I sat with some friends 
 and some capital ale, when the door opened, and in 
 walked the two men who I was convinced had been 
 shadowing me. I made no sign, but the ale grew 
 suddenly more bitter than the brewer ever intended it. 
 
 My potion finished, I was about to excuse myself 
 and proceed to headquarters for my permit to visit 
 John, when Major Stuart and a couple of other offi- 
 cers I had met there entered the room, seating them-
 
 3 68 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 selves at a table and ordering drinks. I arose, mak- 
 ing my way to them. I saluted, addressing the 
 major. 
 
 "You will recollect that you suggested my seeing 
 the prisoner to-night, Major Stuart," I said. "I 
 hope the visit will be profitable to us." 
 
 "Ah, yes, Lieutenant," he replied urbanely. "You 
 shall see him presently, rest assured, and I am sure 
 that your visit will prove profitable to us." 
 
 There was something sinister in his tone. What 
 did it mean? I was afraid to answer, even to my- 
 self. I turned away, saluting, and rejoined my com- 
 panions, a question knocking at my heart like win- 
 try sleet tapping against a window. Did I fancy it, 
 or was there a glance of swift significance exchanged 
 between the major and the two men opposite me? 
 
 The buzz went on, the swigging of ale, the sipping 
 of spirits, the loud laughter. I sat outwardly calm, 
 but feeling as if I was being gradually hemmed in, 
 closer and closer, by a living wall ; as if a crisis were 
 at hand. 
 
 Suddenly there came loud voices from outside, the 
 tramping of many feet. The door was flung wide, 
 and through it there strode a strange cortege 
 whose coming brought a still hush ; the tramp of a 
 fearsome company who trod to the center of the 
 room, and bending, laid a huddled something on the 
 floor; a ghastly something at which men gazed with 
 mouths agape and blanched faces, making no sound; 
 a bloody something that seemed to emanate a 
 deathly chill that struck to the hearts of all that 
 watching company. For at the feet of wild, rol- 
 licking life had been laid the gray mask of death, 
 the cadaver of one who had been the most uproar- 
 ious devil of them all. And the coming of that poor,
 
 UNMASKED 369 
 
 cold clay back to the room where it had so often 
 held unholy carnival, on the floor of which it now 
 lay blind, insensate, a thing of livid horror, exacted 
 the tribute that must eternally be paid to the soul- 
 quit temple, however desecrated the tribute of 
 stunned silence. 
 
 A moment so, and then there burst within the room 
 a babel of sound, of helpless questioning, of vague 
 surmise, of horror unrestrained. 
 
 " Chichester ! "-" Murdered ! " " Who did it ?"- 
 "Poor drunken devil!" "Where was he found?" 
 "Through the heart, eh?" "I saw him last night." 
 "Good God!" 
 
 Major Stuart was bending . over the body, which 
 was surrounded. He raised his hand. "Silence!" 
 he cried. " Stand back !" The red-coated rush ebbed, 
 like out-bound tides, on either side. 
 
 " This looks like a so-called affair of honor," said 
 the major. " I am informed that the body was found 
 in the woods just outside the clearing, which has 
 been used for a settlement of differences by king's men 
 who should have had no differences. Is any man 
 here responsible for that officer's death?" 
 
 There was no reply. I became conscious of a 
 brutal face turned toward me; of cruel eyes, like a 
 cat's, peering into my own ; of a coarse hand pluck- 
 ing in triumph at the red hairs of a coarser beard. 
 He stood beside the body, which he had helped to 
 carry in. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, in those deep, musical tones 
 of his that drew the attention of the entire roomful ; 
 "perhaps the lieutenant there knows of it. There 
 are those here who will remember a lively to-do be- 
 tween him and the deceased on that very spot, two 
 years gone."
 
 370 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 They all stared at me. There was a strained si- 
 lence. 
 
 "That quarrel was never renewed," I answered 
 quietly. "At least, not in that way." 
 
 "Lieutenant," interposed Major Stuart, "did you 
 kill that man?" 
 
 "I did not!" I rejoined, with emphasis. The com- 
 pany murmured. "It matters little whether you 
 did or not!" snarled Red Rolfe, shaking a swollen 
 
 fist at me. "You'll hang anyway, you d d. 
 
 spy!" 
 
 "Spy!" I exclaimed angrily, "explain yourself!" 
 But I went cold all over. 
 
 Again Major Stuart raised his hand. "I will ex- 
 plain, Lieutenant," he told me, while again that 
 great room went still. "You are a brave man, 
 sir, and I hope you may suffer an ignominious death 
 like one. You have been watched for days, shad- 
 owed almost constantly since you left Montreal. 
 Attempts to warn you during the past few days 
 from your own side, have been diverted. Indeed, the 
 knowledge has been confined but to a few of us. 
 Your success, Captain," with a slight smile, as for 
 the first time he recollected my proper title, "in be- 
 fooling us these two years cannot but compel our 
 admiration, but your course is all but run. You 
 have, speaking literally, come to the end of your 
 rope, for you know the stern penalty prescribed for 
 such as you who are so unfortunate as to be de- 
 tected. By a strange whim of nature, aided by the 
 private papers of the man you have so successfully 
 simulated, together with your own natural resource 
 and daring, you have been enabled to obtain success 
 almost beyond belief. Only the merest accident has 
 destroyed you. Can you guess it?"
 
 UNMASKED 371 
 
 " Some one, of course, has betrayed me," I icplied, 
 summoning a rather sorry smile, "though just now 
 I am at a loss to guess who." 
 
 "Did you not have dealings with suspicious char- 
 acters on your own side?" suggested the officer. I 
 started. "You mean " I exclaimed. 
 
 "One Miles Osgood," he supplied. "He knew he 
 was suspected and left just in time. Afterward," 
 with a repressed sneer, "he became identified with 
 the cohorts of our friend Rolfe here. I have under- 
 stood he heard a conversation between you and 
 your incarcerated friend yonder, near his hut at 
 Sackets Harbor, whither he was stealing to secure 
 some hidden funds of his, not long ago, which im- 
 pelled him to try a shot at you. It resulted in his 
 discomfiture, for you sent him to Watertown a pris- 
 oner. But in that conversation which he heard 
 you let drop a remark regarding your sphere of 
 effort which aroused his suspicion. Upon reaching 
 the prison there he accidently made a discovery, 
 a discovery that was ordinarily well guarded against, 
 which confirmed that suspicion. Miles, an old hand 
 and accustomed to worming out of difficulties, man- 
 aged to make his escape in time to keep an ap- 
 pointment with Red Rolfe here, and some of his 
 allies. They, by the way, had by arrangement em- 
 barked for your shores the day prior to Osgood's 
 escape. The object was a purely predatory one and 
 what followed was an accident, though a fortunate 
 one for us. Rolfe ran his schooner one dark night 
 up your bay and cunningly left it concealed in a 
 cleverly arranged screen of greenery in an unfre- 
 quented deep spot close to shore. There it remained 
 unmolested till the crew were ready to return. Os- 
 good escaped just in time to join the band on its
 
 373 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 arrival, which he had arranged to do. He encoun- 
 tered Rolfe in the forest near Fish Island and told 
 him of you and also of his discovery in the Water- 
 town prison. It did not take Rolfe long to grasp the 
 situation. Osgood, under cover, shadowed you for a 
 day or two, for the two had determined to make a 
 double coup before returning. The Watertown prison 
 was to afford one captive and you, Captain, were to 
 be the other. Osgood followed you from Watertown 
 upon a night you will remember to the rendezvous 
 you had appointed for an expected messenger. He 
 had learned that this was to be the place. Red 
 Rolfe and his allies were to proceed there from their 
 post in the woods near Fish Island. Osgood was 
 concealed in the ruins of a cabin nearby. He grew 
 impatient, not knowing if Rolfe had intercepted the 
 messenger, as he intended doing, and fearing that the 
 envoy would arrive and that you would give him 
 the papers and leave before you could be captured. 
 Moreover, he wondered why Rolfe did not arrive. 
 He left the cabin, took a good look to be sure it 
 was yourself, and was then about to slip into the 
 forest to see if he could discover Rolfe when you 
 heard him and turned. I understand they buried 
 him as a result of the encounter." 
 
 "I believe so," I returned, "though the encounter 
 was perhaps not in itself directly responsible. I wish 
 it had been." 
 
 The major smiled. "I can appreciate your feel- 
 ings, Captain," he said. " It is somewhat ruffling to 
 learn that we have been duped when it appeared as 
 if we were on solid ground. At any rate, you es- 
 caped the programme arranged for you for the time 
 being. Rolfe arrived too late to be of any assistance 
 to his friend. There was no one there, though he
 
 UNMASKED 373 
 
 looked about carefully. He encountered the messenger 
 later, on his way to the rendezvous, and explained 
 to him how we had all been tricked for so long. 
 After that your detection was only a question of 
 time. It was necessary only to keep quiet and use 
 discretion. Rolfe learned of the fate of his assistant 
 later, for it was talked among the soldiers and came 
 to the ears of some of his men." 
 
 So it was Red Rolfe that I had seen on the brink 
 of the cliff that night. As I remembered it now, the 
 figure had looked oddly squat and familiar. And the 
 dead man had told me he had escaped only that night ! 
 Ah ! blind dupe that I had been ! I had blindly run 
 my own head into the halter. 
 
 "But you will remember, Captain,'* pursued the 
 major, "that I mentioned that from Osgood, Red 
 Rolfe here had learned of a prisoner at Watertown, 
 confined there for two long years and more, and of 
 the peculiar circumstances connected therewith. A 
 day or two after his ineffectual attempt to capture 
 you, he and his men made their way undetected 
 through the woods to Watertown. That night there 
 was a jail delivery that was not discovered till the 
 next day, so cleverly was it managed. In that same 
 night, following a breakneck trip on borrowed horses 
 to the spot where the schooner was secreted, Rolfe 
 picked up the friend to whom I promised you this 
 morning that you should to-night be conducted, 
 though this was quite by accident. Rolfe had man- 
 aged the delivery I have referred to with a few picked 
 men, leaving the bulk of the band in the vicinity of 
 the hidden schooner. Your friend heard them talk- 
 ing and investigated, chancing to step into the midst 
 of them. They knew him, it seems, and he at once 
 had his hands full of Indians. I believe they also
 
 had their hands full of him. However, when Rolfe 
 arrived with his assistants and the freed prisoner 
 your large friend was secured and ready for him. 
 A serious charge rests against him, for Rolfe has 
 many witnesses, and I fear you are likely to meet 
 death together. 
 
 " In the schooner that sailed out of your bay that 
 night, there was, in addition to your friend, another 
 passenger, one whom these gentlemen have never 
 seen, but one they will welcome. He is here." He 
 beckoned toward the outer shadows. 
 
 I knew whom I should see. I remembered a fierce 
 encounter in gathering dusk, a recoil of mutual 
 amazement, a struggle and a stern chase, the final 
 capture of a gallant foe. After that, a prisoner 
 doomed to execution and spared by a warm hearted 
 general at the united petition of his two captors ; a 
 prisoner confined secretly for two long years, while 
 I assumed his role with a bravado that, after all, 
 was not so reckless as it seemed till now. For now, 
 from the outer shadows into the candlelight there 
 stepped and stood confronting me, amid bewildered 
 stares and gasps of incredulous amazement my 
 counterpart ! 
 
 The same height and carriage, the same eyes, hair 
 and features, the startling sameness even to the red 
 uniform he wore. There was a breathless silence, 
 broken by Major Stuart's sarcastic voice. 
 
 "Lieutenant Percy Stranahan," said he ironically, 
 "allow me to re-present to you one whom I believe 
 you have met previously, Captain Gilbert Warburton, 
 at present of the Secret Service of the U. S. A., in a 
 word, your double, whom I fear must shortly die." 
 
 "The latter contingency," responded the young 
 officer, and sincerity rang in his tone, "would be
 
 UNMASKED 375 
 
 most genuinely regrettable. I shall do what I can 
 to make it impossible." And our hands met. 
 
 "The third fall," queried I. "Do you remember 
 it? Well, you have won it'. I bear you no malice." 
 
 " I am sorry," he replied earnestly. " It is the for- 
 tune of war. Believe me, if I can aid you ' 
 
 "As you say, it is the fortune of war," I inter- 
 rupted. "It is now as God wills. In the meantime, 
 Lieutenant Stranahan," I added, with I trust a little 
 of the sang froid which the "situation demanded, 
 " allow me to congratulate you upon being no longer 
 nameless. I take pleasure in returning to you your 
 name, which has served me better here previously 
 than my own is serving me now, and with it these 
 documents that gave my assumption of it some 
 needed plausibility." I bowed and placed his papers, 
 which I always carried for convenience's sake, in his 
 hand. 
 
 Major Stuart made a sign. A file of soldiers, who 
 had evidently been in waiting outside, entered, sur- 
 rounding me. I caught sight of Cyrenus near the 
 door, an enigmatical expression on his leathery face, 
 the sour smile on his lips. The file moved, my luck- 
 less self in the midst. Through the gaping crowd I 
 went, past the huddled heap on the floor, by the 
 wizened Cyrenus and the leering Rolfe, into the outer 
 darkness, to join John,
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 Cyrenus Smites the Rock 
 
 Through the town we went, down the long walk, 
 our steps ringing on the flagstones, the gabble of a 
 pursuing throng sounding in our ears. Presently we 
 turned upon a less frequented street, and, after some 
 minutes' walk, came to the old gray building, 
 ghostly in the moonlight. We descended some stone 
 steps, passing a few posted sentries, and advanced to 
 a massive door, upon which the sergeant in charge of 
 my escorting detail knocked sharply. It swung 
 open ponderously with the rasping turn of a key 
 from within and the rattle of released chains. We 
 stepped inside and the door banged to, shutting 
 us off from the curious stare of the crowd without. 
 We found ourselves in a dark passage, with nothing 
 visible in the gloom. The sergeant bawled for a 
 lantern. Soon one appeared, borne by a slouchy, 
 red-faced soldier in his shirt sleeves. We walked to 
 the end of the passage and paused, while the lantern 
 bearer unbarred a great, iron-ribbed door. 
 
 It swung open, creaking on rusted hinges. There 
 came a damp, mouldy breath from the regions be- 
 low, coldly pestilential. We descended some stone 
 steps, preceded by the lantern bearer, whose light 
 showed wanly ahead, a sickly yellow splotch in the 
 dark. It was very dismal. I caught myself wonder- 
 ing when I should ascend those steps again.
 
 CYRENUS SMITES THE ROCK 377 
 
 At the bottom we traversed an uneven stretch of 
 floor, formed, I judged, from the solid rock. I stum- 
 bled once or twice over unseen projections, being 
 jerked none too gently to my feet by my escort. 
 
 We descended six more steps. There was the rat- 
 tling of chains, the scrape of a huge key, and I was 
 shoved forward to join John. 
 
 I found myself in a large, noisome, oblong hole, 
 rockribbed below and above and with chill gray 
 walls, also of massive rock, which reeked with damp- 
 ness. The air was foul, telling of a mockery of ven- 
 tilation, and there were great rusty rings and shackles 
 set in the floor and the thick walls, though I was 
 glad to see they were not in use. 
 
 Seated on a low, wooden stool in a corner, as I en- 
 tered, was a great, huddled figure. He rose as we 
 came in, towering by a head over the tallest man in 
 the company. Dazzled by the dull glare of the lan- 
 tern, his eyes blinked owlishly for an instant, then 
 became widened as they rested on me. 
 
 "Captain Godfrey," said the sergeant, with some 
 sarcasm, " Captain Warburton wished this morning 
 to be conducted to you. The king's men are always 
 obliging. Here he is. I trust you will keep merry 
 company until we lead you forth together to be 
 jerked God-ward from the same scaffold." 
 
 He stood grinning at us, surrounded by his mates, 
 while we silently regarded each other; amazement in 
 his eyes, heaven knows what in my own, for they 
 were misty. The light, perhaps. It was such a miser- 
 able end to it all! 
 
 The sergeant's voice again sounded, rumbling hol- 
 lowly in that grim hole. 
 
 "Doubtless you two will want to gaze at each 
 other," he said. "It would be a pity to leave a
 
 378 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 couple of such luckless devils in the dark on the 
 night of their reunion. Leave the lantern, Tom," 
 addressing the man who had lighted us hither, " and 
 chase up for another to get back with. I can't find 
 my way out over these blasted stones without one." 
 
 This was considerate and I thanked him. He grunted 
 gruffly, while we heard the slouchy Thomas cursing 
 as he stumbled up through the gloom for the lan- 
 tern. Presently he returned with one, and the squad 
 left the dungeon, banging the heavy door behind 
 them. We heard the slipping of bolts and the rat- 
 tling of chains. Then the footsteps grew fainter, till 
 at length came silence. 
 
 We gripped hands, searching each other's eyes. His 
 own, staring wistfully out of a face that was already 
 chalky with a deadly prison pallor, and covered 
 with a beard grown unkempt in his confinement, held 
 a puzzled questioning. 
 
 " How, in God's name, Gilbert," he began, "but 
 
 first, have you your pipe with you, or did they take 
 it? I haven't had a smoke since my latest fraternal 
 encounter, which resulted as you see." 
 
 I still had one and produced it, together with my 
 tobacco pouch. John filled up and leaned back 
 against the wall on his stool, puffing contentedly. 
 " Tell me about it, Gilbert," said he, with half-closed 
 eyes. 
 
 I did so from the beginning. "And they plan a 
 bird-like ending for me, as you heard, in the air," I 
 concluded dryly. 
 
 "What a lark for them," he observed, and his eyes 
 twinkled. " I gather also that they intend the same 
 for me. Did you happen to hear on what charge? 
 I am rather curious." 
 
 "Have you not heard?" I asked him in surprise.
 
 CYRENUS SMITES THE ROCK 379 
 
 Truly the ways of his captor had been invested with 
 a most diabolic cunning and reserve. 
 
 " Why, no," he replied. " Until the moment of the 
 sergeant's recent cheering assurance, I should not 
 have known that I was accounted more than an or- 
 dinary prisoner of war, though I confess this extreme 
 solicitude for my safe keeping has struck me as some- 
 what significant." 
 
 " Your amiable kinsman, Red Rolfe, for such I pre- 
 fer to call him," I replied grimly, "has lodged an 
 accusation against you. He charges you with being 
 an English renegade who fired the magazine at York. 
 He means to have you hanged." 
 
 His white face grew awful to gaze upon. A moment 
 he sat in silence, then he spoke, only three livid, hiss- 
 ing words. And to me, sitting there in silence, the curse 
 of that wronged, doomed giant arose to the Throne 
 as a justified, burning prayer. 
 
 John arose after a time and paced the cell like a 
 caged beast, his eyes blazing, his great hands clenched, 
 muttering hot maledictions, shaking impotent fists, 
 while I watched him dumbly. All the murderous re- 
 sentment of his ruined life, all the rancor of a heart 
 burning with bitterness, flamed in his face and 
 dropped, white-hot, from his lips. After a while he 
 stopped in his rapid walk, throwing himself upon 
 his pallet, one end of which I occupied. The sickly 
 flame of the lantern threw a strange glow upon his 
 white face, now calming, giving little sign of the 
 storm that had shaken him. 
 
 " Ah, well," he said, with a bitter laugh, " this does 
 no good." He paused a moment. " But it's hard 
 to die like dogs, you and I, Gilbert," he resumed, 
 "when we've everything to live for, and to be done 
 to death by him ! Think of it ! To think that
 
 3 So THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 you and I must die in the coils of a snake like him. 
 I should have killed him long ago, but I would have 
 had to gone gloved, Gilbert, after my hands were 
 stained with his black blood. They would never 
 bleach out. They would be like those of Black Julius ; 
 you remember him?" He laughed harshly. 
 
 "I wonder where my precious father is?" he con- 
 tinued sarcastically, " my father who was once a 
 fool? I wonder if he yet appreciates the enormity 
 of his foolishness? 'As ye sow, so shall ye reap.' 
 His seed fell on good ground, didn't it? And I'm 
 wallowing in the thorns and thistles. Hark, what 
 was that?" 
 
 There was an odd, scraping sound, seeming to come 
 from under my feet. A moment it lasted, then ceased. 
 " Rats," I commented, but he shook his head. 
 
 " This is a queer place," he observed, " it seems to 
 be independent of the rest of the building." 
 
 I told him what Cyrenus had said in regard to it. 
 
 " It is peculiar," he mused, " and hard to credit. If 
 there ever was a secret entrance, it must have been 
 disposed of long ago. Can you see any sign, however 
 dim, of such a doorway to freedom ? I have exam- 
 ined this place quite thoroughly myself." 
 
 I shook my head mournfully and a dim hope died. 
 But now there came a new sound, that of approach- 
 ing footsteps from without. Then there was a rattle, 
 the dungeon door swung open, and into the cell 
 stepped, pale and agitated, John's father, he whom 
 I had assisted so recently, at the time of need, in 
 Sackets Harbor. 
 
 The men remained a breathless moment, staring 
 into one another's faces. The old officer was a hand- 
 some, stalwart man of over six feet. His hair and 
 beard were gray. There was a strong resemblance
 
 CYRENUS SMITES THE ROCK 381 
 
 between them, though the father's eyes were blue. 
 Just now they were full of trouble. He gazed, across 
 the gap of years, at the unsmiling face of his son, 
 with mute appeal. He seemed not to notice me, his 
 eyes only for his boy. 
 
 "Take a seat," said John finally, indicating almost 
 anywhere about the nearly bare floor with the sweep 
 of his arm. " To what am I indebted for the honor 
 of this visit? The accommodations here are few, 
 but such as I have you are welcome to. I had not 
 thought to see you again, except it be perhaps in 
 the crowd I should face from the scaffold." 
 
 The older man winced as from a blow. " I have 
 but a few minutes; they are very strict," he said 
 hurriedly. " I came from Montreal as soon as I 
 heard. For my sake, for your dead mother's sake, 
 boy, forgive the past!" 
 
 John's face grew stern. "Do not mention my 
 mother, sir," he said bitterly. "You " 
 
 "Stop!" cried his father, positive torture in his 
 face. " Have I not suffered from the beginning, 
 more horribly than you can ever know? Do I not 
 suffer still? My conscience is all I can bear; do not 
 add to the burden!" 
 
 "Why did you believe my brother?" with a writhing 
 lip. "That day I left England, do you recollect it? 
 Why were you so willing to swallow the lie he 
 rammed down your throat? Why, you thought 
 that I, instead of he, had robbed you!" There was 
 deep scorn in his tone. 
 
 "I was thrice a fool," miserably answered the 
 elder man, with downcast head. From my soul I 
 pitied him. " I was morbid in regard to my sin and 
 hoped, weakly, as I know to my cost, to remedy 
 it in some small measure. And you, you had been
 
 382 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 wild, you know, and he was very smug in those 
 days. He deceived me. The gnat and the camel." 
 
 "I was always frank," returned the son, "in sin 
 as well as in sobriety ! And he, why, his dog's 
 face, man! had you no eyes?" 
 
 "I was blind blind!" he answered, and shook 
 like a reed. 
 
 John's stern face relaxed somewhat. "Ah, well," 
 he muttered dryly, "it's a tale that is nearly told. 
 We are all puppets pulled by strings, and Fate holds 
 them. Mine and Gilbert's here will be about 
 the neck, that is all. Others have danced the hang- 
 man's jig. You and I, Gilbert, will have to execute 
 some new steps on that festive occasion." 
 
 The man opposite him shuddered, his face showing 
 gray in the dim light. 
 
 " Tell me," pursued John, " how you learned I was 
 alive and here. Your knowledge is a source of some 
 surprise to me, as my personality has been veiled 
 quite as completely as the face of an Eastern bride 
 for some years past." 
 
 " I saw you at Little York," answered the old man 
 humbly. " It was when you were embarking to 
 leave for Sackets Harbor. I was wounded in the en- 
 gagement and was in bed in a house near the lake 
 shore. I would know you anywhere. Ill as I was, I 
 hobbled to the door calling to you, but you did not 
 hear me. Afterward I learned under what name you 
 were living and of your fame in the forest and your 
 record with the army yonder. I was and am proud 
 of you. I sent you messages, but I judge you never 
 received them." 
 
 "No," replied John, "I never have." His mood 
 was softening, and I was glad, for I pitied the gray 
 old man with the wistful blue eyes.
 
 CYRENUS SMITES THE ROCK 383 
 
 "Once," continued the father, "I went to Sackets 
 Harbor to see you. I was in disguise. It was risky, 
 but I wanted to find you. You were away on some 
 mission. I was forced to return unsuccessful. I 
 should have fared ill there had it not been for the 
 kindness of a young officer, a Captain Warburton, 
 who contrived to get me away safely. I learned by 
 accident in Montreal of your incarceration here, 
 through a letter received by an acquaintance, and 
 came as quickly as possible." 
 
 "Captain Warburton," replied John, "is also in 
 trouble. He finds himself in a tight box, indeed as 
 tight a one as do I. Our cases are equally dubious." 
 
 "Warburton in trouble? How so?" inquired the 
 old officer. "To what plight do you refer?" 
 
 John beckoned me from the dim corner, where I had 
 withdrawn at the meeting of the two, into the lan- 
 tern light. "Do you recognize this gentleman?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Major Aberdeen glanced toward me for the first 
 time. "Why, Warburton!" he exclaimed. "How 
 come you to be here, and in company with my son ?" 
 
 "It is the result of a division of identities," re- 
 plied John, with a slight smile, and breifly explained 
 the strange circumstances of our mutual capture of 
 my double, of my assumption of the role, the en- 
 suing operations and my final discomfiture, forbear- 
 ing, however, as yet to state the identity of the man 
 who had returned with the real Stranahan whose ap- 
 pearance had capped the climax at the King's Inn 
 a little while before. The major himself made the 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Who brought back the real Stranahan ?" he asked. 
 Then, with a searching glance at me, he exclaimed : 
 "For genuine, impudent daring I have never heard
 
 584 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 Anything to excel this ! I had often heard of Strana- 
 han, the Stranahan who was yourself, sir. He was 
 accounted most capable and efficient by us of this 
 side. And how cleverly you managed it at Sackets 
 Harbor ! I never entertained a suspicion of you." 
 
 " It is over now," I smiled ruefully, " though I 
 think I did fairly well while I was alive, for Strana- 
 han is now dead as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " The man who betrayed Gilbert here, through the 
 affair yonder, is the man who betrayed me," said 
 John, eying his father curiously. " You know doubt- 
 Jess of the charge against me ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the old man, "but I do not believe 
 it." 
 
 "Thank you," said John, a trifle ironically. "Do 
 you happen to know of the identity of my accuser?" 
 
 "No," responded his father, "I have not chanced 
 to hear, nor have inquired." 
 
 "It is the man who has undone Warburton; it is 
 the man seen by Gilbert and myself to have himself 
 committed the deed," said John, quietly but with 
 kindling eyes. "A man in whom you and I have a 
 common interest. In a word, Red Rolfe." 
 
 The old man sat stunned, with stony, horrified 
 face. "God have mercy!" he ejaculated in odd, 
 muffled tones. The cruel wave of his early sin beat 
 back upon him across the gray years. 
 
 There sounded impatient movements without, the 
 shuffling of feet. He sprang up. 
 
 "My time is up," he said, agitatedly but low. 
 " I must go, but I will move mountains to save you, 
 my boy, and Captain Warburton also, if possible," 
 as we clasped hands warmly, for I felt as kindly 
 toward him as his own impulse was toward me. 
 " I can only do my best," he pursued, with emotion,
 
 CYRENUS SMITES THE ROCK 385 
 
 "but you may both rest assured that the best will 
 
 be exerted," " I will see Provost, every one, " as 
 
 the door swung open, "and now, God bless you, 
 
 my son, will you " and he put forth a hesitant 
 
 hand. 
 
 It was gripped with a force that gave me a satis- 
 fying thrill. A moment they stood, gazing deep into 
 each other's eyes, and then he was gone and the 
 great door clanged. That last instant made me 
 glad in the after years. 
 
 For some moments after the sound of the retreat- 
 ing footsteps had died away we sat in silence. I 
 watched him, his sombre face half in the dim light 
 of the lantern, half in the shadow. 
 
 " He may be able to help us," he said slowly, " and 
 
 yet, " and he shook his head sadly. I knew he 
 
 thought of me. 
 
 Into the succeeding silence there crept a sound; 
 cautious, vague, insistent. John lifted his hand. 
 "Listen!" he breathed. "Am I growing crazy, or 
 can you hear it too? I have been hearing it all 
 day." 
 
 We crept toward the end of the dungeon, bending 
 over a spot which gave forth a vague alarm. For 
 beneath the solid stone slabs on which we stood, 
 there came a curious fumbling, an insistent tapping, 
 certainly produced by no prowling rodents. 
 
 John and I peered into each other's faces with a 
 strained expectancy. What was it that we heard? 
 Did it augur good, or more of ill? That some one 
 was at work beneath us was certain. Below us was 
 the baffling secret entrance. Did an enemy seek to 
 enter it, or a friend? 
 
 Now the sounds ceased and we caught a soft- 
 breathed curse under us, vague and far away. A
 
 3 86 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 moment more and there came the impact of solid, 
 heavy blows, striking upward against the stone 
 floor. Several muffled thuds, and then 
 
 A great slab lifted upward, v/avered a moment, 
 and then fell backward, exposing the maw of a black 
 hole. An instant later, while we crouched in silence 
 by the opening, out of it was stretched a hand hold- 
 ing a lantern, which it set upon the floor. Then there 
 appeared out of the gap the head and shoulders of a 
 man. A face, leathery and quizzical, surveyed us; 
 the face of Cyrenus.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 The Trail of the Grand Seigneur 
 
 We grasped the little man and drew him out of the 
 gateway he had created. Truth to tell, we nearly 
 cracked his ribs for him. 
 
 "Let be! let be!" he gasped, trying to squirm 
 away. "Let me breathe, I tell you ! What's the 
 matter with you?" 
 
 We finally released him. "Where did you come 
 from?" I asked in deep amazement. 
 
 " I'll tell you later," he answered. " First thing to 
 do is to get out of here," he observed, drawing deep 
 breaths and ruefully rubbing his ribs. "Won't be 
 healthy to dodder around here. If they should catch 
 us, there' d be three of us to do the ghost dance 
 instead of two." 
 
 His little eyes, sharp as a ferret's, wandered around 
 the cell, his thin lips curving in their sour smile. 
 "Fine quarters, these!" he ejaculated. "They'll 
 wonder what you've changed them for." 
 
 "But this will show them the route we take for 
 the new ones," observed John, indicating the hole. 
 
 Cyrenus grinned. " Not when we've got the lid on," 
 he rejoined. " Do you suppose that if you've been in 
 here all this time without finding it, that your land- 
 lord will be able to do it? Besides, if he did, which 
 he won't, it wouldn't help him any. He'd have to 
 come the same way I did to open it, and I'll bet he
 
 3 88 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 won't find the route. There's no spring on the in- 
 side here," he added, chuckling. "Just look at that 
 stone a minute, will you?" 
 
 We examined it. It was a ragged, solid slab, simi- 
 lar to the other blocks that formed the floor and 
 very thick thicker in fact than its fellows, as we 
 observed now that the unsuspected gap appeared. 
 Crosswise, on either side and close to the bottom of 
 the slab, large holes had been drilled completely 
 through it. We noticed that the edges of these were 
 red with rust, evidently just disturbed. 
 
 "When that stone is in place," explained Cyrenus, 
 " a couple of thick iron bars pass through these holes 
 and extend under the floor on each side, for a short 
 distance, into small crevices in the rock under us. 
 The passage is very narrow beneath us, and it is a 
 mean place to work in," he commented reminiscently. 
 " When the stone is down, the bars slip through, the 
 projecting ends holding the block, thrust under the 
 neighboring slabs as they are, so that no power 
 could raise it from above, even if they knew it could 
 be moved, which they don't. It's a snug fit," he 
 added, ruefully regarding a pair of bruised hands. 
 That bar slides in under so that there isn't a fraction 
 of an inch of leeway from above. The bars hadn't 
 been moved in years, and I had the devil's own time 
 starting them, for they were rusted. I've been work- 
 ing all day." 
 
 "So it was you I heard!" exclaimed John. 
 
 "None else," he answered. "I'll tell you all about 
 it when we get out of this. That's the next thing. 
 You two get down in here." He pushed us toward 
 the opening. " I'll raise the stone on edge so we can 
 tip it down over us. We can all get under it and ad- 
 just it. It fits like a glove. Stuck so I had to pound
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 389 
 
 it up with the second bar after I got it out. Hadn't 
 been used for a long time. That's why it stuck." 
 
 "The lanterns!" I exclaimed. 
 
 Cyrenus grasped his. " Leave yours there," he an- 
 swered dryly. " They'll be looking for you inside it in 
 the morning, if not earlier." 
 
 And indeed, I have no doubt they did, for our dis- 
 appearance that night produced the most profound 
 sensation that Frontenac has ever known. Con- 
 fusion reigned, I learned afterward, when our in- 
 comprehensible escape was discovered. They ran- 
 sacked the dungeon from floor to ceiling and never 
 found the avenue of escape, because they never hit 
 upon the strange approach to it from the outer 
 world, of which that generation knew nothing. In- 
 deed, I make no doubt that no Englishman ever did, 
 unless he were luckless enough to be incarcerated 
 there, long years before, when his countrymen and 
 the French were by the ears, being secretly seized 
 and taken surreptitiously through that dark passage 
 to his subterranean doom. For I am certain, though 
 the history of that grim old dungeon, now crum- 
 bling in ruins, is and then was enshrouded in sinister 
 mystery, that I know something of its purposes. For 
 tradition tells strange tales of the period of unrest 
 that accompanied the intrigues and storms oc- 
 casioned by the presence of the rival English and 
 French as claimants of Canada; tales of strange 
 disappearances, of mysterious gaps where there had 
 formerly been arrogant Englishmen, and I doubt not 
 that the dungeon held many hopeless secrets that 
 were later hidden forever in the river beyond. In 
 time the old order gave place to the new, and the 
 French, lapsing into quietude, withdrew and left 
 England to quarrel, for England must ever quarrel
 
 390 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 with some one, with us, of her own flesh, to the 
 south. In time, through a strange trick of fate, a 
 British prison was erected on the very spot, and the 
 presence of the buried dungeon was discovered and 
 the grim cell made to do duty for Englishmen. But 
 the latter had never learned the secret of the place, 
 the strange avenue upon which Cyrenus had stum- 
 bled by a God-sent accident. It was a horrifying 
 thing, this secret egress of which the captive knew 
 but could not avail himself. One could readily imag 
 ine how he must have suffered the tortures of the 
 condemned. Perhaps a mysterious reaching out and 
 a plucking from the living; a weary death in life in 
 the depths. Then finally the dark, subterranean path 
 to oblivion and a dreary blotting out, with the awful 
 details hid forever from the world. Not a pleasant 
 picture, but that tortuous, black tunnel told of past 
 dramas, whispered of sealed horrors, shuddered with 
 a pestilential breath of the dead long ago. 
 
 If the hidden history of that grim grave could be 
 known, I am convinced that many a thrilling chap- 
 ter would stir the pulses of the world. However that 
 may be, the flitting of John and I that night, blown, 
 in a moment, like gray vapors, out of the British 
 ken, furnished a sensation which shook Frontenac to 
 its foundations and brought the superstitious un- 
 godly among the soldiery whimpering to the anxious 
 seat. At first the entire squad that had had charge 
 of us, were suspected, albeit they were trusted men, 
 of aiding our escape. Things might have gone seri- 
 ously with them, had not they been able to prove 
 the next day, by unimpeachable authority, a perfect 
 alibi from any connivance in our interest. All Fron- 
 tenac then wondered what occult power had resolved 
 two stalwart prisoners into thin air that drifted
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 391 
 
 through a chink or two out into the night, and for 
 that tradition lives the generations wonder yet. I 
 smile as I think that if these poor memoirs of mine 
 should ever see the light of day, what a flocking 
 there would be to that gray ruin to find the hidden 
 passage; of the thunder of the powder train that 
 would be laid to bare the secret. And I wonder if 
 the reverberations of that thunder, echoing afar, 
 would not steal across the white water to Cyrenus, 
 sleeping in the village churchyard, to the very spot 
 where he lies dreaming in his grave, and if the 
 shadow of a sour smile would not cross the drifted 
 dust of his face ! 
 
 Mindful of haste, John and I obeyed Cyrenus and 
 dropped into the hole. A moment he stood, looking 
 about him. Then, poising the stone, he followed us. 
 We stood crouched in a black, damp tunnel, low 
 ceilinged and reeking with a heavy, musty odor of 
 dead air. 
 
 "Lower the stone," said Cyrenus softly, his voice 
 sounding weirdly in that strange place, "and fit it 
 over." 
 
 We soon had it in position. Then, with some little 
 difficulty, we shoved the iron bars through into 
 place, clinching the stone for the last time, in all 
 probability, that human hands would touch it. 
 
 We started, Cyrenus leading with the lantern. A 
 few steps further on, the passage grew narrower 
 and lower. We had to walk doubled over at an un- 
 comfortable angle. The lantern ahead threw a faint 
 glow, revealing dimly slimy black walls, rough and 
 dripping with moisture. The course was downward. 
 The rock beneath was wet and slippery. We slipped 
 and sprawled about as we progressed, but our spirits 
 made of the path a velvet carpet.
 
 392 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "You come out way below the town," called Cy- 
 renus. "I think this part runs close to the harbor. 
 We are very deep down. I stole a boat after supper. 
 It's a few miles above the town, hidden in a cove on 
 the lake shore, a place I know. It was safer there. 
 I had it taken there by a man I can trust, who is 
 in sympathy with us. We'll make Sackets in her if 
 we're lucky. We'll have to make a detour through 
 the forest around the town. It's ticklish, but the 
 only way." 
 
 The roof grew higher. We walked now nearly erect. 
 The tunnel was ascending. 
 
 As we continued, Cyrenus told us, with odd chuck- 
 lings, how he had stumbled upon his strange dis- 
 covery. " It was an accident," he explained. " I was 
 walking along the side of the river when a part of 
 the bank gave way with me. I landed plump in the 
 water, but I had my eyes open, and but you'll see 
 in a minute. It was early this morning, I saw I 
 had hit something as soon as I got inside. There 
 were some dry pine knots just within the entrance, 
 must have been there for years, with flint and steel. 
 Must have had 'em constantly on hand. I got one 
 going and kept on, for I was mighty curious. I 
 came to the end and noticed that iron bar arrange- 
 ment. Of course, I didn't know where I was, when, 
 all of a sudden, I heard some one bellowing over my 
 head like a bull. It was you, Captain Godfrey, and 
 you were singing," with a reproachful note in his 
 voice. " I dught to have left you to hang after that, 
 especially as it was some cussed love song." I felt 
 rather than saw John's blush. 
 
 " But," continued the little man, " I examined that 
 bar an.d tried moving it, but it was no go. I wanted 
 to get it open so you could get out to-night, as it
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 393 
 
 was a safer time. I had to go back to barracks to 
 sneak some tools to work with, marking the place 
 so I could find it again, for it's a blind spot. I 
 worked several hours at the bars and finally got 
 'em started. Then I went back for awhile, for it 
 wouldn't do to be absent too long. After supper I 
 got the lantern and then waited around awhile to 
 see Captain Gilbert nabbed," with a grin back at 
 me. "Then I came back and finally got the bars 
 out. Thought I'd never do it. 
 
 " You'll have to crawl here," he called back. " The 
 passage is small for a way. The opening's about a 
 hundred feet on." 
 
 We bent, obedient to the hint, and in a moment 
 were crawling on hands and knees down a sharp 
 descent. We wormed along like snails, the rough 
 stones bruising our palms and knees, anxious only 
 for the outer world. Suddenly the passage widened 
 and the next instant we had slipped into shallow 
 water. Cyrenus was standing erect near us. 
 
 " Here you wade a few steps," said he. The lantern 
 preceded us, then suddenly disappeared. All was 
 black. 
 
 A couple of steps more and we encountered a wall 
 of rock as we stood in the water. Reaching out, 
 I felt my arm slip beneath it. Calling cautiously 
 to John, I lowered my head and brushed under it. 
 Then, pushing through a dense clump of bushes that 
 fringed the opening, I stepped out into freedom, 
 John following. Cyrenus was there awaiting us. 
 
 Above us was the starlit glory of the sky. We 
 stood, close inshore, in the current, that rolled in 
 dark, wide majesty, of the mighty St. Lawrence.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 A Cry in the Night 
 
 Leaving the water, we climbed up a steep bank 
 which was grown over generously with shrubbery 
 reaching clear down to the water's edge. Looking 
 back after a few paces, we could not distinguish the 
 place from which we had emerged, hidden in the 
 bushes which effectually screened it. Small wonder, 
 indeed, that the egress to that mysterious dungeon 
 was not known in Frontenac. Nature had most 
 cunningly arranged it. As I climbed up the bank I 
 wondered under what circumstances it had been first 
 discovered and speculated upon the construction of 
 the dungeon we had left. From its rough, unfinished 
 appearance I had thought, soon after entering it, 
 that it was an enlarged cave, transformed by work- 
 men, long years since, into the grim cell that had 
 held us, and others before us. Men could work under 
 there, with the rocky materials to hand, and the 
 world overhead would never know of it. 
 
 Arrived at the crest of the bank, we found our- 
 selves in the deep forest that skirted the river's edge, 
 at that time, almost continuously, save for the few 
 intervening towns, from the lake to the sea. Cyrenus 
 pointed a little way above, where the overhanging 
 bank of soft forest soil had crumbled. 
 
 "It was there I went down," he said, "and if I 
 hadn't fallen directly in that spot below us, you
 
 A CRY IN THE NIGHT 395 
 
 two would still be cooling your heels yonder. And I 
 guess I'd not been able to do much for you except 
 to gape at your hanging, and, I hope, bring back 
 a good account of your end to Sackets." 
 
 " Cyrenus, you're a brick !" John averred, reaching 
 for him. Cyrenus evaded the grasp with positive 
 terror. "No, you don't!" he said. "I haven't 
 breathed right since I broke in on you two." 
 
 We had been advancing through the woods. There 
 came, close at hand, a low whine. 
 
 "Wait a minute," exclaimed Cyrenus, "I nearly 
 forgot him." He slipped back through the trees for 
 a moment, then there came bounding toward us a 
 vague, black shape that brought up with a crash 
 against John's legs, leaping up into his face with 
 low whines and lapping tongue, a severed rope flying 
 about his neck as he gamboled. 
 
 "Gypso, by all that's holy !" exclaimed John, hug- 
 ging the animal. "Why, how did he get here?" 
 
 Cyrenus explained the hound's coming to Frontenac. 
 "I brought him down this afternoon and tied him 
 yonder with some provender," he added. "Thought 
 we'd want to bring him back with us." 
 
 He extinguished the lantern and dropped it. "We 
 are not far from the town," he explained softly, 
 " and we can't afford to take any chances. We must 
 go north and then head west, to pass the town 
 through the forest. It's dark in the woods, but we 
 can't take the chances of a light. We can skirt the 
 clearings close enough to keep our bearings. We 
 must hurry, for I want to get to that boat to-night. 
 There is a trail on the other side that leads to the 
 cabin of a queer little miser, a Frenchman, yonder, 
 and from there it is only a short distance to the 
 lake and the spot where I hid the boat. We can
 
 396 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 make time after we work around to that trail. Come 
 on, and, John, you keep that dog still." 
 
 A word was all the animal needed, seasoned veteran 
 that he was. He glided softly after John, who led 
 us, noiseless as a shadow. We proceeded in the dark- 
 ness with a speed that would have appeared incom- 
 prehensible to a novice, for we were all experienced 
 woodsmen. Since his arrival from England, Cyrenus 
 had spent considerable time in the forest and was 
 thoroughly at home in it, and as for John and I, 
 it had always been for us the best loved of habi- 
 tations. So we glided on, dark patches in the gloom, 
 keeping close to the fringe, ready to slip like shadows 
 into the deeper murk if molested. Arrived at a safe 
 point beyond the town, we veered to the west- 
 ward, working our way over rotting logs, through 
 snares of twisted vines and brambles, diving 
 under low, spreading branches and climbing over 
 an occasional abattis of fallen, dead timber that 
 barred our way. Occasionally we came to streams, 
 finding them all possible to wade save one, which 
 we swam. We were unencumbered with weapons 
 except Cyrenus, who swam with a pistol in his teeth 
 and a knife in his belt. My own had, of course, 
 been taken from me. Shoulder to shoulder with John, 
 across the black water, still beneath the stars, moved 
 the dog. 
 
 Regaining the shore, we proceeded on till we had 
 reached a point above the town, then we again 
 turned, this time to the south, to reach the trail of 
 which Cyrenus had spoken. We found the going 
 easier, passing swiftly along, close to the wood's 
 edge, keeping a sharp lookout meanwhile for inter- 
 ruptions. None occurred, however, and in a short 
 time we were on the very spot where, two years
 
 A CRY IN THE NIGHT 397 
 
 before, I had stood while the dusk gathered, survey- 
 ing the town which I was about to enter as a spy. 
 I looked toward Frontenac that I was now leaving, 
 still as a spy, but now known for what I was and 
 with the noose itching for my neck. The town 
 sprawled before me, gray and cold in the moonlight, 
 the limestone buildings squatting in graven, sturdy 
 silence. Not far away, over toward the fort, I could 
 see the prison we had lately quitted. Evidently no 
 alarm had yet been given. As it was already past 
 midnight, our escape would hardly be discovered 
 until the morning, when we should be well on our 
 way toward home, for we marked with satisfaction 
 the blowing of a favoring wind which rustled in the 
 branches over us. 
 
 "The boat I stole is a traveller," chuckled Cyrenus, 
 as we started up the trail. "She's cut right. The 
 man who owns her is dead drunk. He won't know 
 she's gone till about to-morrow night. They can't 
 stop us." 
 
 We hastened along the tortuous trail at a pace 
 far more rapid than the one I had taken in approach- 
 ing Frontenac on that long previous day. 
 
 Suddenly the dog, which was ahead, uttered a mut- 
 tering growl, and, with his nose to the ground, stole 
 forward stealthily. With caution quickened, we 
 crouched behind him, waiting breathlessly. The dog 
 evidently had some fresh scent. 
 
 Then, faint to our ears, there came an awful sound, 
 an agonized cry from far ahead. It was the voice 
 of a man in mortal torment. The dog, with another 
 growl, bounded forward. "He's heard that sound 
 before!" growled John, as we began running, all 
 three, in pursuit. 
 
 On we ran along the crooked trail, the cries nearing
 
 398 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 now, wild with terror and wringing pain. Out into 
 the little clearing. we came. There was a rude cabin 
 there, a cabin I remembered. From inside there pealed 
 another of those horrible shrieks. A growl sounded 
 in reply; we noted the dog, crouched before the 
 closed door, hackles up, whining and scratching to 
 get in. John, who led us, lowered his great head 
 and plunged toward the heavy door. One brawny 
 shoulder struck it broadside. It reeled, shattered, 
 falling inward. Over it and into the room the giant 
 leaped, the hound following and Cyrenus and I bring- 
 ing up the rear.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 Into the Shadow and Beyond 
 
 On a rude table, bound to it with ropes, lay the 
 half nude body of Jacques Pitou. The poor, pinched 
 face of the miserable little miser was contorted with 
 suffering. It was a ghastly yellow, like the teeth 
 that protruded from under thin lips that grinned 
 like a dog's under the exquisite torture which the 
 wretch was undergoing. 
 
 Surrounding the writhing body stood Red Rolfe 
 and a half dozen of his savages. They turned sharply 
 as we entered. On the repellent face of the leader, 
 inflamed with the drink that so plainly explained 
 his presence, so close to the town, on so inhuman a 
 mission, appeared a mingled expression of hatred and 
 incredulous dismay. 
 
 "You !" he snarled, backing away as if we had 
 been ghosts. "Both of you ! God ! How came you 
 here? Traitors in Frontenac, eh?" 
 
 "No, you red-handed scoundrel!" answered John, 
 his black eyes smouldering. "If there are any of 
 your black breed there, we did not meet them!" 
 
 "My black breed, indeed!" sneered the other, his 
 deep voice harsh with anger. "That from you ! You 
 who fight against the flag under which you were 
 born!" 
 
 "And which you dishonor," answered John, with 
 writhing lip. "It owns you as an ally only by suf-
 
 400 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 ferancc. Its real defenders despise you. The rag of 
 piracy is a fit flag for you !" 
 
 The other, white with passion, dropped a hand 
 upon the hilt of a knife on the table where the bound 
 miser lay moaning feebly. Pitou's body was bleeding 
 from a score of tiny gashes. The sickening odor of 
 burned flesh was overpowering. I noticed for the 
 first time, with horror, the blackened soles of his bare 
 feet, cruelly scorched. It was the old story over 
 again ; the drink-crazed tormentors with their devilish 
 cruelties; the inhuman attempt to extort from the 
 old man the secret hiding place of his real or imag- 
 ined wealth; the sealed lips of the sufferer, silent 
 either through the triumph of cupidity over a tor- 
 tured body, or because he had in reality nothing to 
 impart. For the past few years, his proximity to 
 Frontenac and the fact that Rolfe was busy with 
 other evil matters and had temporarily forgotten 
 him, had left him unmolested. But a lull had come 
 in the tide of Rolfe's affairs, the poor wretch's re- 
 treat had been discovered, rum had banished caution, 
 and Rolfe must have his holiday, and, if there be 
 any, the money. We saw what we saw with gleam- 
 ing eyes and hands that were hungry for the feel of 
 the throats opposite. 
 
 John noticed the bravo's clutch at the knife. His 
 voice rang out, biting, vibrant with scorn. 
 
 "Take it and run me through, coward ! " he cried. 
 "I am not armed. Well, why don't you do it? I'll 
 tell you, it's because you are afraid; because you 
 know so well that I would kill you with my hands ! 
 Well, so I shall presently, but first there are other 
 things to be done." 
 
 He leaped toward the table, grasping the ruffian's 
 wrist and twisting the knife from his hand. He then
 
 INTO THE SHADOW AND BEYOND 401 
 
 threw the cursing adventurer aside as easily as if he 
 had been a child. He surveyed the knife he had 
 secured. The point was crimsoned. 
 
 "A brave weapon, this!" he sneered. "It tells of 
 gallant deeds, of the conquest of the bound and 
 helpless!" He passed the blade over the cords that 
 bound Pitou to the table. The ropes fell severed to 
 the floor. Godfrey lifted the old man and bore him 
 back to us, placing him groaning on his pallet in a 
 corner. 
 
 "Here, Gilbert," said John, slipping the knife to 
 me, "you and Cyrenus are now ready and I shall 
 have one in a moment." He smiled grimly. 
 
 The face of the bravo opposite grew red with wrath. 
 "You're out, both of you," he growled, "and there 
 will be traitors' necks to stretch for it. But yours 
 will stretch with them, if we don't kill you here, for 
 I shall take you back, you two, by God ! dead or 
 alive, and the little weasel-faced whiffet with you, 
 whom I don't know, or care for his identity!" 
 
 "You talk too much," replied John, with easy in- 
 solence, tossing aside his coat and baring his huge 
 arms to the elbows. "You are brave enough when 
 intimidating women and old men. As for men, here 
 are three young ones; two of easy years, and the 
 whiffet is youthful enough in heart, I can assure you, 
 and I think you will find, in skill. Moreover, there is 
 a fourth," indicating the dog, who, with gleaming 
 eyes and low growls, was crouching by him. "Believe 
 me, kinsman, the chances are more nearly equal 
 than you think, and it is to the death this time." 
 
 An instant there was silence, while we glared across 
 at each other in that rude room, lighted with candles 
 and flaming torches, for the bravo's* crew had seen 
 to it that there should be light and to spare upon
 
 402 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 their villainous proceeding. Red Rolfe, with his coat 
 off, his mottled face flaming with evil fury, on the 
 one side, with his six braves, every one a stalwart 
 giant, with black eyes burning in impassive faces; 
 on the other Cyrenus, John and I, two of us grasping 
 our knives, the third with only his naked fists as yet> 
 but terrible weapons, as some of us knew and others 
 were speedily to discover; and lastly, the hound, a 
 formidable ally, crouching at our feet. The flickering 
 light played upon the odd face of Cyrenus, slit with 
 its sour smile, lighted with piercing little eyes, the 
 eyes that danced just now with the appreciation that 
 proclaimed the strange little warrior a man to fear 
 in times of stress like these. The glow shone upon 
 Godfrey's stern face, pale with the prison pallor, 
 framed in the unkempt black beard. The eyes of the 
 hound were glowing, while he gathered, ready for a 
 spring. Groans sounded from the senseless man in 
 the corner. A moment thus a tableau that can 
 
 never fade from my memory and then 
 
 With a yell from their leader they were upon us. 
 It was like a horrible, unreal nightmare. They 
 slashed like fiends, for they were evidently determined 
 to return us dead as being surer than to try to com- 
 pass it with us alive. We were hard put to it. I 
 found myself engaged with a tall savage who kept 
 me busy for a few moments. Like the others, he had 
 a knife. I sustained a slight flesh wound, but after 
 a little I knocked his weapon from his hand and 
 found his breast with my own t He ceased to trouble 
 me. Another Indian came bounding at me, his knife 
 descending in a powerful thrust. I sought to parry 
 it, but my own weapon was forced from my hand 
 and his steel grazed my shoulder. His hand was at 
 my throat and it would have been short shift with
 
 INTO THE SHADOW AND BEYOND 40 j 
 
 me but for a growling rush that bowled my assail- 
 ant over, the hound at his throat. I picked up my 
 knife, and, leaving him with his hands and face full 
 of frenzied dog, I looked about me. 
 
 I had sprung into a corner when first engaged, in 
 order to render it impossible for one of the treach- 
 erous beasts to stab me from behind. As I swept 
 the room with anxious eyes, to see how the others 
 were faring, I saw Cyrenus' blade go clean through 
 the throat of a red ruffian, who dropped in a gush 
 of blood, his life fast ebbing with the flood. Cyrenus 
 had delivered the thrust exactly as he would have 
 done with a rapier, and the unexpected tactics had 
 proved a surprise that the savage lived hardly long 
 enough to appreciate. 
 
 But there, at the opposite end of the room, was a 
 struggle beside which our own seemed puny indeed. 
 With Cyrenus and I, it had at least been man for 
 man. We had dealt with but single opponents. Why 
 had there not been more? The scene opposite told 
 why. While the little man and I, to say nothing of 
 the hound, were engaged, Red Rolfe and three of 
 his braves had tried to master one man and tried 
 in vain. 
 
 For they reeled as we turned, bloody and battered, 
 from the blows of those flails of fists, for he had 
 used no other weapons. Rolfe himself, with crimsoned 
 face and a closed eye, was moaning on the floor, 
 clasping his stomach, where John, I judged, had 
 kicked him. One redskin was making for the door, 
 a swinging right arm telling of his state. Two of 
 them were upon the giant, clinging like wolves, thrust- 
 ing with their knives, as Cyrenus and I leaped to- 
 ward the struggling group. I felled the rascal who 
 was trying to escape, as I passed him, for it would
 
 4 o 4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 not do to have all Frontenac about our ears just 
 now. 
 
 As we hurried toward them, while the hound still 
 worried the feebly struggling savage on the floor, 
 John managed to secure a leglock about the limb 
 of one of the redskins, who had been attempting to 
 throw and throttle him. It was the deadly grapevine 
 twist. John straightened his leg and the Indian, with 
 a yell of uncontrollable pain, fell to the floor, his leg 
 broken in two places. He crawled away moaning, 
 the agony beating down even the stoicism of his 
 race. 
 
 We stopped, Cyrenus and I. There was no need for 
 our assistance now. There had been four while we 
 were singly engaged, and of these four but one re- 
 mained. Two lay helpless with broken limbs ; a third, 
 and their leader, still grovelled, gasping for the 
 breath which it seemed as if he would never catch 
 again. And we stood there to watch the fmale, the 
 little man and I. 
 
 They grappled, John and the Indian, the latter of 
 a splendid build and muscles like steel. But in the 
 broad shoulders and deep chest, the tapering, sinewy 
 back and waist and iron limbs of the white man 
 who towered above him, there was a power beside 
 which his own was a puny thing. I know he felt it 
 as he stood there, facing the giant whose prowess 
 had been a terror to his people. But he gave no 
 sign of fear, for which I give him credit. Weapon he 
 had none, for John had wrested it from him. He had 
 only his natural weapons, which were pitifully in- 
 adequate against the man who faced him. 
 
 It was over in a moment. A flash of time they 
 glared into one another's eyes, then the Indian tried 
 to jerk the trapper forward in an attempt to gain
 
 INTO THE SHADOW AND BEYOND 405 
 
 a hip-lock. John stumbled toward him, filling us 
 with sudden dismay, which changed to wonder as 
 we noted the success of the ruse. As Godfrey plunged 
 forward, seemingly in the power of the redskin, whose 
 black eyes flashed with exultation, the trapper sudden- 
 ly grasped the left wrist of the Indian, forcing it 
 outward with a sudden jerk. In a flash he had 
 slipped his head under the Indian's arm and slid 
 his free arm between the tawny legs. There was a 
 quick snap upward of his body, a backward fling 
 of the iron neck, a heaving upward of his arms, and 
 the Indian went flying backward over the trapper's 
 head across the room. 
 
 The wretch's skull crashed against the opposite 
 wall. The body fell to the floor, shuddered con- 
 vulsively and lay quite still. John drew a long 
 breath and surveyed the situation. With the ex- 
 ception of a few insignificant scratches, he was un- 
 hurt. 
 
 "Well, we can .start now, I guess," he observed. 
 
 "You have not finally disposed of that," I said, 
 indicating the leader, very white now, who was pick- 
 ing himself up with some labor, his face a spectacle. 
 
 "Nor shall I," he answered, with a shrug. "Some 
 one else must do it, Gilbert." 
 
 "Who else than you?" I demanded hotly. He has 
 ruined your life; has tried to take it. He will do 
 it yet, if " 
 
 "Gilbert," he answered gravely, "we both have 
 the same father. What is to be must be. Because of 
 the old man yonder in Frontenac, I cannot kill him." 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 "Where's the red you floored, Gilbert?" just then 
 called out Cyrenus. "The one with a broken arm?" 
 
 We looked. The savage was gone.
 
 4 o6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 A voice spoke, full of bitter malice, of savage joy. 
 
 " He's halfway to Frontenac by this time," snarled 
 Red Rolfe. " You'll never get out of here alive. They 
 will soon be here, thick as hiving bees. It's short 
 shift with you all!" 
 
 His eyes fell upon the stiffening forms of his men, 
 ghastly in the pale light. Madness glowed in his 
 eyes. Before we could realize his intention, he whipped 
 a knife from his belt and made at me. 
 
 "I kill what lean!" he shouted. Guard, young- 
 ster !" 
 
 Taken by surprise, I stumbled backward, feeling 
 for my own weapon, which I had thrust in my belt. 
 His blade never reached me. A quick, strong hand 
 interposed, wresting it from him, a powerful arm 
 hurled him far to one side. He bounded to his feet 
 like a ball. 
 
 "No?" he fiercely bellowed. "Well, by God ! young- 
 ster, we'll try this!" 
 
 His hand flew up on a level with my face. It held 
 a pistol. I bounded forward across the intervening 
 gap between us. His finger pressed the trigger. 
 
 There was a swift, confusing rush of a great bulk 
 in front of me, out-reaching hands, trying to an- 
 ticipate that shot. It rang out, and with the report 
 echoing in my ears, I was kneeling beside a great, 
 shuddering form on the floor, with twitching face 
 and hand gripped convulsively over his breast. A 
 moment I knelt there with a wild tumult in my 
 brain, though my lips were dumb, a throbbing horror 
 chilling my veins, for my blood seemed turned to 
 ice. Then came, as if from far away, then nearing, 
 a horrible sound; the bubbling of wild, maniacal 
 laughter Red Rolfe roared while his brother gasped 
 out his life upon the floor.
 
 INTO THE SHADOW AND BEYOND 407 
 
 "Well, my God!" he cried. ''Winged the big one, 
 eh? I'd never hoped for it. So he's gone first !" He 
 roared again. 
 
 My blood grew hot again, beating like fire within 
 me. I sprang to my feet. 
 
 "Rolfe," I muttered. "You shall not leave here 
 alive. It is you and I now. and afterward, if you 
 still live, the whiffet here will kill you!" 
 
 Cyrenus grasped my arm. "Neither of us!" he 
 cried, exultation in his voice. "There is one with a 
 better right! Look at the dog!" 
 
 The dog indeed ! He crouched by his master's 
 body, this demon with fiery eyes and growls like 
 muttered thunder; hackles up; every muscle in his 
 gaunt, powerful body taut and trembling; murder 
 in his heart for the man he hated, the man he had 
 twice before met in enmity and who had now killed 
 his master before his flaming eyes. The feud of years 
 between the dog and the man; a blood feud, to be 
 fought out at last; the reckoning of the score. The 
 scoundrel looked at the maddened animal; looked, 
 and suddenly remembered. His face paled ; he reached 
 for his fallen knife. As he stooped, the dog leaped. 
 
 The powerful jaws, like a bulldog's, were fastened 
 on that gasping throat, tearing the evil life out of 
 it; the fangs buried deep, while Cyrenus and I stood 
 over the dying ruffian and gloated. The dog's teeth 
 sank into the great vein and opened it. The red 
 flood dyed the brute's jaws, that settled the firmer. 
 The man's clenched fists beat the beast impotently; 
 the glaring eyes blazed futile hate ; the tongue, bitten 
 through and through with his agony, was thrust out 
 horribly, as he uttered strangling gurgles, gurgles 
 that grew weaker with the swelling of the red stream. 
 It did not take long., for the hound was a veteran
 
 40 S THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and a fit beast to champion his passing master. 
 The bravo had no chance. When the dog had left 
 him, for he knew when his task was done, Rolfe 
 breathed raggedly once or twice and then lay still. 
 The hound, with bloody jaws, padded softly to his 
 master. He peered into the white face and whined. 
 
 Cyrenus and I knelt beside the dying man. I 
 raised his head tenderly, resting it against my knee, 
 smoothing back the black hair that fell over the 
 chilling forehead. It seemed unreal, a thing evilly 
 imagined ; this passing out into the dark ; this rending 
 of the bond. As I watched him through dim eyes, 
 his own opened. A shudder passed through the 
 great frame. He coughed, blood bubbling from 
 his lips. 
 
 "Through the lungs," he gasped, speech choking 
 him. "I'm done for, boys, both' the old smile 
 flashing toward Cyrenus. "I'm bleeding fast inside. 
 
 A few moments more ' ' A hand, weakly extended 
 
 on either side, was clasped in our own. 
 
 "And it was for me!" I cried, the bitterness of 
 death smiting me like a mighty wave; the thought 
 of this man, who had all to live for, suffering death 
 for the preserving of my own poor life, which must, 
 though unknown to him, be henceforth so lonely; 
 the thought that was even more bitter, that of the 
 other life, fair and young, lost to me, that must be 
 blasted through the sacrifice. The incomprehensible 
 irony of it all struck me like a blow; the things as 
 they were ordered; the fiat that doomed me to live 
 while he slept and she sorrowed. 
 
 "O, John!" I cried. "I wish " 
 
 "Hush, Gilbert," he gasped. "You would have 
 done the same for me. I tried to knock his arm 
 up but he was too quick. Where is he?"
 
 INTO THE SHADOW AND BEYOND 409 
 
 "Dead on the floor, near you," replied Cyrenus 
 grimly. "The hound killed him." 
 
 The dog thrust his face close to his master's. John 
 fondled his head. "Good dog," he said simply. "I 
 am glad it was you." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. His pulse weak- 
 ened; he was going fast. His head turned wearily, 
 the great, black eyes staring wistfully through the 
 log walls, back into the past. On either side, Cyrenus 
 and I held his cold, nerveless hands. Cyrenus had 
 folded his coat and slipped it under his head. Finally 
 he spoke, so low we could scarcely hear him. 
 
 "It's been a lonely way," he murmured. "I had 
 thought, but it's nearly over!" 
 
 He turned his face to mine. "Gilbert," he said 
 "I loved her, you know. Tell her so." 
 
 I bowed my head, unable to speak. 
 
 "And," he said, "in the days to come, when 
 you and yours are happy, think of her, Gilbert, 
 and be kind to her, for she will be lonely." 
 
 Happy in the coming days ! I was glad, at the 
 end of all for him, that he did not know. 
 
 The head settled back, the great eyes staring up- 
 ward into our own. 
 
 "Out into the dark," he whispered. "Still the 
 lonely way " 
 
 The voice was still. Cyrenus closed his eyes, the 
 big tears dropping upon the white face, tears that 
 ennobled the little man and his manhood. As for 
 me, I knelt in the shadow, silent and overwhelmed; 
 words of solemn import, ages old, beating in my 
 brain ; the words of the gentle Nazarene : 
 
 "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man 
 lay down his life for his friend."
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 Till the Book Unfolds 
 
 We managed, with infinite labor, to convey him 
 between us, through the forest to the lake shore 
 and the cove, where the boat that Cyrenus had 
 brought lay in waiting. We were determined, the 
 little man and I, that his body should rest where 
 his stout heart had been, under the sod for which 
 he had fought with the strength of ten, for which 
 he had battled with the love of liberty that was 
 in him. 
 
 When we arose from beside his body, we made 
 hasty preparations for departure. We knew that 
 ere long, too soon perhaps, that all Frontenac would 
 be at the cabin, led by the disabled Indian who had 
 escaped and likely by now given the alarm, and 
 that the tortured Pitou would receive attention. 
 We made him as comfortable as possible, then, pro- 
 curing a lantern, which we found in the cabin, we 
 lifted the dead man, a numbing weight, and stepped 
 out with the hound, a sad procession, into the chilly 
 night, leaving the cabin and its ghastly company 
 till the searchers should come from Frontenac. 
 
 The distance was not great, but it was a muscle- 
 racking strain. I locked my hands beneath his shoul- 
 ders, the lantern depending from my fingers, the 
 ghostly glow serving indifferently to indicate the 
 way. Cyrenus held him by the knees. It was a
 
 TILL THE BOOK UNFOLDS 411 
 
 heavy weight. We had frequently to stop and rest 
 a moment, but the need for haste urged us on. So 
 we staggered onward through the dense thickets 
 and over dead logs, stumbling often while the dead 
 weight sagged, seeming ready to tear our arms from 
 their sockets. Our backs were breaking; we panted 
 for breath ; but we were near the end now and plung- 
 ed on. Finally we reached the shore. Close at hand, 
 moored to the bank in deep water, lay the boat, 
 a craft of respectable size. We laid the great, still 
 form decently in the bottom, placing it upon a 
 strip of canvas which we found there. I thought, 
 as we were laboring with our senseless burden, of 
 the splendid strength that was gone with him; the 
 strength that would have performed, with ease and 
 unaided, such a task as we had together completed 
 with such infinite labor. A rush of tears blinded my 
 haggard eyes. 
 
 Hastily hoisting the sails, which Cyrenus, for cau- 
 tion's sake, had lowered, we took in the hound and 
 pushed out. Cyrenus was at the helm, bringing 
 the boat up into the wind, which was strong and 
 blew from the north. Once out from the shore, and 
 it caught the sails, driving us south at racing speed. 
 
 It was dark at first, but after a little came the 
 gray awakening. The dawn, dim and cheerless, 
 gradually crept out of the east, spreading like a 
 curtain out over the still scroll of the sky. Now 
 the wind grew stronger, lashing the lake, which began 
 to heave in long, rolling swells, carrying us, dipping, 
 with them. Here and there were bared the teeth of 
 whitecaps. A bank of clouds, vanguards, we feared, 
 of an autumn gale, came rolling up from the north. 
 The moan of the wind deepened. In the stern the dog 
 whined softly, licking the dead man's face.
 
 412 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "We had best tack and stand west," said Cyrenus. 
 "We don't want to pass too close to their islands, 
 as they are mostly garrisoned. It would be better 
 to try for Port Putnam with this gale coming, but 
 they've the lower lake and the river full of boats 
 and it isn't safe. Better work out toward the open 
 lake." 
 
 We tacked, heading southwest. A little while we 
 drove along, it growing gradually brighter. The 
 stars paled and went out, the gray day was fully 
 ushered in. I sat in the bow, my gloomy eyes turned 
 to the southward. 
 
 "Look," said Cyrenus, grimly. 
 
 I glanced behind us. Frontenac was already far 
 astern, but the harbor was dotted with sails, skim- 
 ming over the wind-swept water in our direction. 
 
 "They're after us," commented Cyrenus, "but we've 
 a good start and this is a good slipper of a boat. 
 There's a reef in that mainsail. Shake her out, 
 Gilbert." 
 
 I obeyed his bidding with all speed. Then we were 
 off again, the stout craft seeming to fly through 
 the water. 
 
 "Now," said Cyrenus, "if we don't meet one of 
 their cursed brigs coming back from a cruise, we're 
 all right. Duck, Gilbert, we must tack." 
 
 A veritable cloud of sails was in pursuit, but we 
 could not see that they gained much, if any. Cyrenus 
 brought the boat well out into the open water, then 
 sent her flying before the wind, directly across the 
 lake. The pursuers kept on. Now some of them, 
 larger boats than our own, began to appreciably 
 cut down the gap, though but slowly. Our chances 
 were still good. We carried a deal of canvas and 
 every stitch was drawing. The gallant little boat
 
 TILL THE BOOK UNFOLDS 413 
 
 slid through the water as if greased. Soon the town 
 loomed low on the horizon, but the chase still con- 
 tinued. 
 
 We must have been a couple of hours out when 
 there came a distant boom. A solid shot came skip- 
 ping across the water some distance to one side 
 of us. 
 
 " I thought some of those fellows were armed 
 schooners," muttered Cyrenus. "But I've yet to see 
 any one from Frontenac that's any on the shoot." 
 
 " If they do find the range," I said dryly, " we'll 
 go down with her, along with John and the good 
 old dog. No surrender, Cyrenus. Better the water 
 than the rope." 
 
 He nodded approvingly. Another half hour went 
 by. Several shots more were fired without effect. 
 Some of the boats, with greater sail area than our 
 own, drew nearer. 
 
 "I'm afraid that unless one of Chauncey's brigs 
 is out cruising," said Cyrenus, "which it probably 
 isn't when it might do some good, that we're 
 dished." 
 
 "Then we'll drown!" I exclaimed. Again his 
 approving nod, and we lapsed into silence as deep 
 as that of the man in the stern. 
 
 Suddenly I leaned forward. I had been facing the 
 fleet since its appearance in our wake. " Look, Cyre- 
 nus!" I cried. "They're turning about; they're 
 leaving us! What is the trouble?" 
 
 He, sitting quietly there, never turned his head 
 Instead, his eyes swept the sky. "That!" he an- 
 swered simply, with pointing finger. I looked. From 
 the southwest there was rolling up a black, opaque 
 bank of clouds, storm-fringed and menacing. Light- 
 ning flamed from the heart of the approaching mass ;
 
 4 i4 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the diapason of thunder muttered and rolled; was 
 silent and growled again. Far to our rear the erst- 
 while pursuers, facing about, raced for home. Without 
 my noticing it the wind had shifted with startling 
 swiftness and this terror was racing down upon us. 
 
 "Under bare poles, boy!" cried Cyrenus, spring- 
 ing to assist me. "There'll be h 1 to pay in a 
 few minutes!" 
 
 We worked like mad. The sails came rustling down. 
 Now Cyrenus again took the tiller. After passing 
 the islands, far back in the rear, he had tacked con- 
 siderably to the southeast, for we hoped soon to 
 gain American waters on the chance that we might 
 fall in with a vessel which could afford us protection. 
 We judged now that the shore was not far distant. 
 Presently we could see it, still several miles away, 
 while beyond an open stretch of water marked the 
 beginning of its journey to the sea of the St. Law- 
 rence. But the shore, would we reach it? For now 
 there was rolling down the lake another black mass, 
 cloud-ribbed and terrible. Chaos was to rule on 
 the waters that day. 
 
 I stood gazing at the body of my friend, helpless 
 in this wild waste; deaf to the roar of the wind; 
 blind to the awful portent of that black sky. To 
 go down in that seething maw; to be bruised and 
 battered, buffeted and pounded by those smashing 
 billows, without the ability to bend one of those 
 mighty muscles, now so useless, for his preservation ; 
 to be finally cast upon some rocky beach, vomited 
 out of the deep, a bloated thing of horror ! Was 
 this to be his fate; a bit of loathsome flotsam, hurled 
 here and there, in wanton diversion, by the element 
 that should eventually spew him forth, a horrible, 
 ghastly burden, to be committed with shudders of
 
 TILL THE BOOK UNFOLDS 415 
 
 disgust to his native earth? Was it for this that 
 we had borne him from the spot where he had pur- 
 chased my poor life with his own? 
 
 Better a bed in the calm beneath the storm; better 
 an eternal resting place far below; the poor, still 
 frame unbuffeted by storms ; where the raging of the 
 surges over him would be no more than the purling 
 of meadow brooks in his unheeding ears; where he 
 might sleep, in that peace which passeth understand- 
 ing, silent in his still grave, until the day when the 
 great sarcophagi of the waters, with the tombs 
 of earth, unite in giving up their dead. 
 
 I knelt by the body and began to roll about it 
 the canvas on which it lay. The dog watched me 
 with sad eyes, as if he knew. And he licked the 
 dead man's face, even as I, for the last time, grasped 
 the dead man's hand. 
 
 "Cyrenus!" I called. He was beside me, steady- 
 ing himself in the pitching boat, his hand against 
 the mast. 
 
 "If three of us go down to-day," I told him, "one 
 shall not come up again!" 
 
 He grasped my meaning instantly and bent with 
 me over the task. We rolled the canvas over the 
 body, securing it with some rope we found in the 
 stern. There were some sand bags there, also, used 
 for ballast. Three of these we bound about the 
 still form, knotting them firmly. It was soon done. 
 In the event of our capsizing, the body would sink 
 like a plummet. 
 
 Our work finished, we raised our eyes to the sombre 
 sky, Cyrenus making his way back to the tiller. 
 The sweep of a mighty wind, rushing to meet the 
 giant which was coming to oppose it, drove us on, 
 nearer to the shore. Now, even as we gazed into
 
 4 i 6 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 the black sky, the opposing currents met, crashing 
 together in a deafening reverberation of thunder. 
 
 A moment the boat seemed to stop, trembling in 
 the clutch of those wrestling gusts. The next in- 
 stant she was heeled over, climbing like a fly up 
 the side of a huge, green wall, only to topple over 
 the crest down into a hissing chasm. Cyrenus and 
 I were hurled into the bottom, where we gasped, 
 drenched with spray, clutching the mast. The dog 
 crouched howling by that long, still shape that rolled 
 and lurched, fearfully inert, with the pitching of the 
 boat. 
 
 A flood of icy rain poured out of the black vault 
 overhead. The thunder rolled like an endless can- 
 nonade; the lightning writhed like a soul in pain. 
 Everywhere that great, hissing, boiling waste of 
 water raged and roared ; everywhere the vast mouth 
 of the deep frothed and foamed, like a wild beast 
 attacking its prey; everywhere the wind shrieked 
 in mad, elementary joy. The boat, poised dizzily 
 on the crest of a huge, uplifting wall, slid swiftly 
 down as it dissolved under her, only to reel and 
 mount again. Cyrenus made his way back to the 
 stern, grasping the tiller. Broken, it swung idle in 
 his hands. 
 
 Now she was in the trough, swung broadside to a 
 huge, ripping wave that came thundering down upon 
 her, filling her half full of water. She trembled and 
 turned over. As she did so, Cyrenus and I, who were 
 ready, sprang clear. 
 
 We could do no more than keep afloat in that 
 raging waste, and I knew we could not do that 
 long. I lost sight of Cyrenus and wondered dully 
 if he had succumbed. Suddenly I heard him call 
 ahead, I answered it.
 
 TILL THE BOOK UNFOLDS 417 
 
 "Keep afloat, Gilbert!" he called, above the storm. 
 "There's land ahead, quite close." 
 
 It put new life into me. A few moments after 
 we were flung, bruised and exhausted, on the shore 
 some distance from Port Putnam. 
 
 As we were wading out of the water I heard, close 
 behind me, a plaintive whine. Shaking himself as 
 he gained the shallows, the hound followed us to 
 land. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 We hurried on to Sackets Harbor, after securing 
 horses, for the storm spent its force quickly. We 
 arrived in the afternoon. I first visited General 
 Izard, giving him my report and acquainting him 
 with John's death. He was profoundly shocked, 
 for he had known and esteemed him. 
 
 "I wish to acknowledge our indebtedness to you, 
 Captain Warburton," he said, extending his hand. 
 "You have been more than gallant and trustworthy. 
 And now there is one more commission I would like 
 to have you execute, with friends this time. How 
 soon can you be ready to start for Washington 
 with some important communications which I wish 
 to send by special courier? There is also some work 
 you must do there." 
 
 "At once," I replied promptly. "To-night." 
 
 "They are all ready," he repeated doubtfully, "but 
 I dislike letting you go so quickly. You must be 
 worn out." 
 
 "I will start in half an hour, and will be here for 
 final instructions within that time," I answered, 
 and saluting, left him. 
 
 I welcomed the opportunity. In my present mood 
 I felt that I must have action or go mad. 
 
 I walked up the main street. I would not go to
 
 4i 3 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SIGNEUR 
 
 the house yet. I proceeded to the bluff. A woman 
 stood there, looking out at the tumbling waters. 
 She turned and saw me, uttering a little, joyful cry, 
 extending both her hands. 
 
 "Why, M'sieur Gilbert, back again!" she cried. 
 "And where is M'sieur Godfrey?"? 
 
 Something in my face whitened her own. " Why, 
 what has happened?" she faltered. 
 
 I told her all, as gently as I could, from the 
 tragedy's beginning to its end out yonder, averting 
 my eyes that I might not read the agony in hers. 
 " I shall not go to the house," I ended low. " I can- 
 not. I am ordered to Washington at once. Cyrenus 
 will tell them. I have not the heart. But you, 
 mam'selle, I felt that you must hear it from me." 
 
 Then I raised my eyes to her white, stricken face. 
 She stood as one blind and dumb. A great wave of 
 pity for her left me trembling. I stepped forward, 
 lifting her cold, little hand to my lips, then turned 
 and left her.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 The Paths of Peace 
 
 December came, with its wolfish howl of unleashed 
 winds in the northland I had quitted, with gray 
 mildness in Washington. The Ghent treaty was 
 signed; the nations released their clutch upon each 
 other's throats. But news crept in those days. 
 Ere the tidings had reached Louisiana's coast, 
 Jackson had in January won behind his cotton bales 
 the battle of New Orleans, and the wretched record 
 of the national arms at the north, generally con- 
 sidered, was put to shame. In a measure, the closing 
 act of the dreary drama of our land operations was 
 a redemption of the past. 
 
 I was busy at the capital for some time after the 
 coming of peace, and found ways in which to be of 
 use to my government of which I need not speak 
 here, since my subsequent active career, which lasted 
 till age had laid its heavy hand upon me and I re- 
 tired to rest for the little time remaining to me, is 
 sufficiently indicative of the success of my endeavors. 
 It will suffice to say that at the time of my journey 
 to Washington I bore most complimentary endorse- 
 ments of my services from Generals Izard and Brown. 
 The latter, in the after years, when his worth had 
 been recognized and he was in his rightful place at 
 the head of our armies, proved a valuable friend. I
 
 420 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 had no better, and to his kindly interest I owe much 
 of the success that has attended my career. 
 
 The spring of the south had burst in balm and 
 bloom when I was ready to return, with the assur- 
 ance of a responsible post abroad in the near future 
 and the friendly interest and regard of influential 
 men whose friendship later proved good fortune to 
 me. As the day approached for my return for a 
 season there was a tentative pleasure in the thought 
 of it, but there was also a wistful pain. Ambition 
 reared its head. I was young and not of the weak 
 type that pines and pules for the love of a woman 
 when that love can remain but a dream. My career 
 remained for what, with all the power within me, I 
 could make of it. Though a lonely, loveless way, I 
 would follow it, and, however stern the chase, pursue 
 and capture Opportunity. It were better so, infinite- 
 ly better, than to sit idle in the shadows, mocked 
 by the wraiths of my dead dreams. 
 
 As I strolled through the streets of the city on 
 those wonderful spring nights, breathing the soft 
 air, the myriad murmurs of the exultant emanci- 
 pation from the white death of winter sounding in 
 my ears, my thoughts, tender as the kiss of a 
 mother, winged to the northland. A belated awaken- 
 ing was there. The sweep of the forest was still bare 
 and brown; the grasses of the year that was dead 
 were stale and withered. Out in the lake the fragments 
 of the broken ice floes still tossed and tumbled, grind- 
 ing together in the grim throes of dissolution. Under 
 the unrest, far down in the stillness, in the calm 
 that dwells below the heaving waters, which rolled 
 above him, lay the body of the man whose soul had 
 gone out into the silence for me; the friend whose 
 life, in ebbing, had taken with it an irrevocable, irre-
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 421 
 
 coverable something of my own ; a something that 
 would, with the slipping years, when I should sit 
 among my memories in the dusk of the failing day, 
 call to me out of the silence and spell my eyes a- 
 dream, gazing out and beyond into the mists that 
 veil the mystery. 
 
 And something else he had taken with him down 
 into the deep, something warm and living and true, 
 something I had lost ere I had gained it the heart 
 of a woman. It lay with him, buried in the still 
 sepulchre to which my own hands had consigned 
 him; and the door of my own heart, which might 
 enshrine but the one fair image, was closed and 
 sealed and against it was rolled the stone of resig- 
 nation. 
 
 So it was that I gazed to the north with a chaotic 
 mingling of longing and of dread ; that I yearned for 
 the sight of her face and the light of her eyes, while 
 my soul shrank at the emptiness that lay by the 
 side of the wide water, beyond the intervening 
 reaches of the awakening valleys and the sunlit 
 hills. The light of her eyes ! Sweet eyes, once hued 
 with the blending of the glory of a sunlit sea and 
 smiling sky, but shadowed now, while they mourned, 
 misty with falling tears. Each of us treading the 
 gloom of a separate way, a gray way, full of utter 
 loneliness. Mine the dream that lived though it was 
 dead, that must live till the sweet eyes, that held 
 the light of the world, be closed. Hers the pitiful, 
 the hopeless destiny ; the dream that was unalterably 
 dead, dead with the man out yonder; that might 
 still live only in the hope that trembles before the 
 closed door of the Unknown the door before which 
 we stand in hushed awe and wonder if indeed Death 
 holds the key.
 
 422 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 The day for my departure came at last and I set 
 forth, by the slow methods in vogue in those days, 
 for home. A season of languorous sailing in indif- 
 ferent winds brought me to New York. I ascended 
 the Hudson to Albany and made the remainder of 
 the journey in jolting stage coaches and upon in- 
 different horseflesh. 
 
 I journeyed by the latter method from Utica to 
 Watertown, which village I reached in the afternoon 
 of a day in early May. I put up my horse for rest 
 and fodder at the tavern, where, long before, John 
 and I had heard the news of the declaration of war. 
 I then entered the taproom, which I found filled 
 with many of my old acquaintances. There was an 
 animated buzz of conversation. 
 
 A welcoming chorus of salutations greeted my 
 entrance. In the midst of them I found my hand 
 grasped in a firm and fleshy clasp. Turning, I be- 
 held Noadiah. 
 
 "Why, Sergeant," I exclaimed, "I am glad to see 
 you!" 
 
 "Lootenant, now, Captain," he responded impor- 
 tantly, his fat face shining with satisfied ambition. 
 "I was made one right after you left on that last 
 scout of yours over the river. They said it was on 
 account of general efficiency, incloodin' that second 
 affair at the Harbor. And it was in the paper that 
 way." 
 
 " I congratulate you," I said heartily, at which he 
 thrust out the great folds of his cheeks. " I suppose 
 you're retired now," I added. 
 
 "Yes, two wars is enough at my age," he replied, 
 with becoming modesty. " Cyrenus, though, I guess 
 he's itchin' for another. I never seen such a fire- 
 eater. Abner, he's behavin' himself. He's back
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 423 
 
 on the farm with Betsey. Betsey, she's got more 
 respec' for 'im now, quittin' a sergeant the way he 
 did. Don't give 'im down the banks the way she 
 used to. Why, she lets 'im come here to town once 
 in a while by himself." 
 
 Noadiah must have noticed my look of surprise at 
 his mention of Bantwell's name, for he added, with a 
 solemnity befitting the announcement : 
 
 " We're rekernciled, me an' Cyrenus, as Abner allus 
 wanted us ter be. Cyrenus quit a lootenant too, 
 you know, and he ought ter have been made a cap'n. 
 He re-enlisted after he got back from Frontenac with 
 you. I happened to hear that he got you and poor 
 Godfrey, God rest him ! out of the box you were 
 in and that he took chances to do it. So, when he'd 
 got back and you'd gone pikin' on to Washington, 
 without as much as stoppin' to say a howdy-do, I 
 stopped him the first time I seen him at the Harbor. 
 Says I, 'Cyrenus,' I says, 'I want ter take back 
 them words I said to you in the tavern at Water- 
 town, before this trouble came up. You're a brave 
 man/ I says, ' and here's my hand, if you want it.' 
 And he took it, and we've been good friends ever 
 since." 
 
 "I am glad of it!" I said heartily. The two old 
 fellows were too sturdily similar in the welding qual- 
 ity of courage to be at enmity. I was glad the feud 
 was healed. 
 
 "And," added Noadiah, lowering his tone, "an- 
 other thing, Captain. There's a second Mrs. Swanson 
 now, and I ain't a widow man no longer and neither 
 is she that was Mrs. Hankinson a widow woman. 
 We was married two months ago." 
 
 I grasped the fleshy hand in warm congratulation. 
 It was fitting; it could not be better. Noadiah was
 
 424 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 worthy and gallant and the ex-widow, as he had so 
 emphatically declared to me on a broken Sabbath 
 so long before, was a woman. 
 
 "So Abner quit as a sergeant, did he?" I com- 
 mented. "I believe you said so." 
 
 " Yes," replied Noadiah. " That Sandy Creek affair, 
 you know. If the war had lasted long enough, I 
 guess Abner'd quit a lootenant too, like me 'nd 
 Cyrenus." 
 
 " Yes," I muttered reflectively. " I guess so, if it 
 had lasted long enough." 
 
 "I'm satisfied," wailed a familiar voice at my 
 elbow. " An' the war, it lasted long enough for me." 
 
 There he stood, as of old, unchanged, lifeless, list- 
 less and replete of settled melancholy. He extended 
 a limp hand to me in weary greeting. 
 
 "Jest came in," he assured us, "from the farm, to 
 pass the evenin'. It's surprisin' what inflooence a 
 little military stint by a man will have over a wo- 
 man. I'm gittin' more leeway these days. Good 
 thing I enlisted." I smiled unobtrusively. The potent 
 power that had forced Abner' s enlistment was through 
 that act undone, for Abner had become invested in 
 Betsey's eyes with a martial glamour that inspired 
 awe in her breast and rendered his path one of roses. 
 
 "Let's liquor," said Abner, leading the way to a 
 group. We liquored and I spent some time convers- 
 ing with them. As I had rather expected, the British 
 had not made their threatened invasion the previous 
 fall, though preparations for it had gone ahead till 
 the news came of the suspension of hostilities, they 
 meditating an ice attack at the time. Chauncey and 
 Yeo had continued their harmless series of threatened 
 movements, unbacked by action, up to the time that 
 the ice closed navigation, and the end of the war
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 425 
 
 found them each solemnly building more brigs for 
 the succeeding season's operations. I doubt not that 
 had the war been protracted long enough Ontario 
 would have been strewn so thickly that one could 
 have walked across to Frontenac on the boats of 
 the rival fleets, the sole effect of whose building had 
 been the denudation of the forests. 
 
 I learned that Cyrenus, since the close of the war, 
 had been at my father's. Mars seemed astir in him, 
 and he talked either of joining the regular army or 
 migrating to some far shore where there was trouble 
 on. I determined to induce him to remain and resume 
 the pursuits of peace. 
 
 I had a late supper at the tavern, then ordered 
 my horse saddled. I mounted and rode slowly out 
 of the village and onto the remembered road to the 
 Harbor. I recalled sadly the riding together of John 
 and I to the town on the night of the reception of 
 the news of war. A round moon rode in a star- 
 strewn sky. The dreamy drone of nocturnal insects 
 murmured in the tall grasses that fringed the road- 
 way. There was the occasional hoot of an owl in 
 the nearby woods; further on there sounded the 
 pessimistic croaking of the frogs in the marshes. 
 The night was altogether lovely, but I rode alone 
 and my heart was heavy. I proceeded, lost in a 
 sad reverie. 
 
 Ere long the twinkling lights of the post showed 
 close at hand. Presently I rode into the village, pro- 
 ceeding directly to our stable, which was some dis- 
 tance from the house. I turned the animal over to 
 the boy, who was startled at seeing me, and walked 
 away. 
 
 I would not go to the house just yet, I decided. 
 My mood led me slowly up the street toward the
 
 426 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 bluff. It was late and the street was well nigh de- 
 serted. I encountered only an occasional straggler. 
 
 The white spectral peace of the moonlight irradi- 
 ated the sleeping village, sprawled in silence like that 
 of a country churchyard. The mute black mouths 
 of silent batteries, the cannon already rusting, gaped 
 near at hand. The log forts and the rude barracks, 
 holding perhaps here and there a handful of sleeping 
 men, seemed tenantless. Down at the docks on Ship- 
 house Point, mounted upon stocks that should crum- 
 ble to decay, showed, weird and ghastly in the moon- 
 light, the giant skeletons of half finished frigates, 
 precisely as they were left with the dropping of the 
 hammers at the news of peace, as grotesquely incom- 
 plete as the tale that is told of the navies of Ontario. 
 The hamlet drowsed, bathed in moonlight, still 
 as August meadows; as if war or the rumors of 
 war had never pierced its ears; as if the diapason 
 of the cannonade had never thrilled and made of it 
 a thing alive ; as if war was a dream and only its 
 own strange peace a still reality. I felt the spell as 
 I went on. It was a presage of the days, so soon 
 to come, when the old village, upon which the eyes 
 of the entire nation were turned in that memorable 
 grapple, should be but an obscure frontier post, a 
 sleepy old mausoleum of dim memories ; a thing for- 
 gotten that once was all in all; a crumbling crypt 
 of hoary traditions that would grow old and en- 
 feebled with the flowing of the years, as the glowing 
 present crowds out the senile past. The paths of 
 glory, ah me! 
 
 So, in the still peace of the moonlight, I walked 
 on until I came to the bluff. My head bent in wist- 
 ful retrospection, I advanced to the edge and looked 
 out over the still face of the deep. Not a breath of
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 427 
 
 air stirred; the lake was a silver mirror in which 
 was reflected the moonlight and the glory of the 
 stars. Peace, the peace that passeth understanding, 
 rested on the waters. 
 
 Had there indeed ever blown lashing winds, whip- 
 ping that calm, shimmering surface into boiling 
 shapes of frenzy that beat out the lives of men and 
 scattered their ships, broken in driftwood, upon the 
 rocky shores? Had there indeed ever sounded from 
 that placid sea before me the thunder of the can- 
 nonade, while the shots were returned, in murderous 
 hate, from the very spot on which I stood? In the 
 midst of this still, perfect beauty, in the white radi- 
 ance that shaped the dark deeds of men, the memory 
 of past days seemed a profanation. 
 
 Suddenly there was a soft stir near me, a soft 
 tongue licked my hand. Dumb, dark eyes looked 
 wistfully up into my face. 
 
 "Gypso!" cried a voice, subtly sweet. "Come 
 here, sir ! " I sprang to my feet. She extended her 
 hands with a glad little cry. 
 
 "Renee!" I cried. All the love without hope, all 
 the bitter longing that time nor death could assuage, 
 rang like a knell in my voice. I was bending over 
 her, her slender hands crushed within my own, gazing 
 deep into her eyes, her wonderful, changing eyes, 
 now so dark, so full of shadowed mystery in the 
 moonlight. A moment so we stood, and then she 
 drew her hands away. And I remembered, remem- 
 bered with a dull pain at my heart that grew and 
 grew, and, as I knew so well, must still grow until 
 the end. 
 
 "When did you arrive, Gilbert?" she asked me, 
 "and why did you not let us know you were com- 
 ing? Have you been at the house?"
 
 4 28 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 "No mam'selle," I answered her. "I have just 
 come. I walked here a moment first. My mood was 
 a lonely one. I wanted to think." 
 
 "To think," she echoed wistfully, her eyes turned 
 to the shimmering lake. "Ah, yes, M'sieur Gilbert, 
 we must all think, must we not ? So much ! And 
 so much of our thinking, how sad it is, Gilbert ! 
 Ah, there is so much sadness in the old world, so 
 many tears!" 
 
 " True, mam'selle," I answered low. " It is a gray 
 old world. Fate spins so many skeins of life awry, 
 and we are helpless. We can only wonder why. Why, 
 indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, why?" murmured the girl, her voice break- 
 ing. " Why is it that the splendid fellow, your friend 
 and mine, is lying so still to-night out yonder? Why 
 is it that Dorothy's heart must be broken with its 
 very awakening? Ah, they are tangled skeins, Gil- 
 bert, in this grim old world ! " 
 
 "My friend and yours!" I cried confusedly. "And 
 Dorothy, why, Renee, what of Dorothy?" 
 
 She gazed at me, startled. " Why, Gilbert, I thought 
 you knew!" she exclaimed. " They were betrothed." 
 
 "Betrothed!" I repeated, like one dazed. "But 
 how, Renee, I do not comprehend ! I thought it 
 was you!" 
 
 "I!" she repeated amazedly, "I do not under- 
 stand you, Gilbert." 
 
 I bent forward, seizing her hand. "The night be- 
 fore I left on my last trip across the lake," I told 
 her, "after you and I had walked back from this 
 spot, do you remember? Afterward I stepped into 
 the garden. You were with him. I heard him ask 
 you a question. He said it had been a lonely way 
 for him. And your reply, I heard that also, Renee."
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 429 
 
 She had been looking away. Now she turned her 
 eyes upon me. They were brimming with tears. 
 
 " He had confided to me his love for your sister, 
 Gilbert," she said softly. " He asked me if I thought 
 there was hope for him. We had been much together, 
 she and I, and, though she had said nothing, I 
 knew there was hope and told him so, for we women 
 can read each other, Gilbert. The next day they 
 were betrothed." 
 
 I stared helplessly, overwhelmed. So this was the 
 secret which John had meant to confide to me that 
 night in the forest, when I anticipated him; Dorothy's 
 his dying message. O, how blind I had been ! 
 
 "Her heart is dead, poor Dorothy!" said Renee 
 at my elbow, her voice full of tears, " dead with him 
 out yonder." 
 
 "Poor child!" I said, brokenly. "And I I have 
 been blind!" 
 
 There was silence for a space. The hound sat 
 silent near us, gazing out over the moonlit water. 
 Now, in his utter loneliness, he threw up his head, 
 howling pitifully. Then silence fell again and he 
 sat, like a graven image, eyes fixed once more on the 
 still, radiant waters. 
 
 " He comes here nightly," murmured the girl at my 
 elbow. " Watching, always watching, and waiting." 
 
 "Waiting," I repeated mechanically, for the word 
 was like a knell. Then 
 
 "Renee," I told her low, with something in my 
 voice that throbs but once in the life of a man, " I 
 too, had waited, till hope died, and afterward I 
 kept vigil where it lay coffined. But now, whether 
 with reason it is for you to say, it lives again. There 
 is something I must now tell you, something I had 
 never expected to say. Why, you will understand.
 
 430 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 But since that night, dear girl, the night in the gar- 
 den, my soul has lain in the shadow. Is the shadow 
 to be lifted, dear? For I love you, have loved you 
 from the beginning! And you your answer. What 
 shall it be, Renee? Now and irrevocably." 
 
 Her head was turned from me; she stood with 
 downcast eyes, silent. I grasped her hands, drawing 
 her close. Slowly her face, lovely as a flower, radiant- 
 ly pure and sweet in the moonlight, was raised to 
 mine. A divine world unfolded in her shadowed eyes, 
 a world of promise and of peace, of love and the 
 lilies of the field of life. Then 
 
 "To the end," she whispered; it was all. But it 
 merged the white grace of land and sea with the 
 glory of the stars ; it attuned a rolling world to the 
 wistfully exultant strain that can sound but once; 
 it bound us, heart and soul, through the day of life 
 and unto the expiring glow of the setting sun and 
 afterward, by grace of the thrilling portent that the 
 soul whispers of God's eternity, stretching inimitably 
 beyond the world ! So, heart to heart, we faced the 
 future that smiled like a garden gemmed with beaded 
 dew, radiant with bloom. The moment, than which 
 there is nothing like again in the round old world, 
 was ours; the moment which, though so soon gone, 
 was to leave behind it enough of the grace of its 
 fleeting exaltation to sweeten all the after years. The 
 after years ! To whom do they not bring the mem- 
 ories of such a moment, with the wistful swelling of 
 the heart that throbs more quickly, as with a remem- 
 bered strain of sweetest music, and dim the eyes with 
 tears ! 
 
 After a little I asked her low, " But how came you 
 to care for me, Renee? I had not dreamed of it." 
 
 "I have cared long, Gilbert," she answered, "but
 
 THE PATHS OF PEACE 431 
 
 you were blind, as blind as was your poor comrade," 
 with a little sob in her voice. " You were both braver 
 with men than with women, else you would each have 
 learned sooner," smiling through gathering tears. 
 " As for you, I could not propose to you, you know," 
 with tender coquetry. 
 
 "I thought you considered me merely as a warm 
 friend," I aswered humbly. "There was nothing to 
 indicate that I might have presumed " 
 
 "A woman may not wear her heart upon her 
 sleeve," she told me, with a fine dignity. "What 
 the lover may plainly see, in such case, so may the 
 world, and the prize's value lessens in his eyes. And 
 a bold lover, mon chere," now with laughter in her 
 eyes, " will make an end of doubt, for weal or woe. 
 He will not dawdle." 
 
 " True, Renee," I answered, with humility. " I was 
 faint of heart, though deep in love. And you 
 divined it?" 
 
 "I had thought so," she answered, her eyes now 
 darkening with a reminiscent shadow, "until you 
 left me so suddenly, the day you told me of him out 
 yonder," indicating the moonlit lake, "nor stopped, 
 even to comfort your sister or any of us, all of 
 whom loved him. Then I thought you selfish in your 
 grief, and afterward, when you failed to write me, 
 I wondered if, after all, you had ever cared for me 
 as I had thought. And I suffered agonies because 
 of my feeling for you, that seemed so unrequited, for 
 I am proud, Gilbert!" with a regal lifting of her 
 little head. "But now I understand," her lovely 
 hand upon my shoulder. " Poor boy, you have suf- 
 fered, as have I. But now the day breaks for us." 
 
 " 'And the shadows flee away,' dear heart," I 
 breathed, drawing her close. " Ours the full of life,
 
 432 THE TRAIL OF THE GRAND SEIGNEUR 
 
 and, please God, through His eternity. The white 
 world, is it not radiant in the moonlight? It seems 
 as if it would be so always, a white way of peace to 
 the end!" 
 
 "Ah, no, Gilbert," she answered, moving back a 
 step, her white hands upon my shoulders, sweet eyes 
 seeking my own, her voice laden with the sad in- 
 tuition of woman that is the heritage of ages of 
 women's tears. " There will be often the gray, often 
 the storm and rain. But the sun shines," with a 
 brave smile, "behind it all and presently the clouds 
 roll away and show the blue and the rain is over 
 and gone." 
 
 THE END
 
 A 000 040 424 4 
 
 WSADENA HOSPITAL ASSOCIATION