Rabble in Arms, page 49
Doc raised his eyebrows. “Hoy!” he exclaimed lightly. “Us shamans don’t think much of that kind of talk!”
Gautier leveled a hard black eye at him. “One little moment! You will oblige me by remaining silent for one little moment.” He turned to Sponge-belly. “I have been told that when the three strangers were taken prisoner, they were not with the Americans: that they had hidden from their own war party: that they made no resistance on being captured.”
Sponge-belly’s voice, I thought, was eager. “It is the truth. The white men had gone away, taking their wounded with them. Only these three, who are now our brothers, and a sick man they had with them, were left behind.”
Gautier stared from Sponge-belly to us. He shook his head. “Brothers, there is something about this story that is not right. I believe these three should be kept here in the west until bound by ties that can never be broken—until they have wives to keep their fires burning; children to make their lodges gay with shouts and laughter.”
Wahoway got to his feet. “Brothers, you have not been told the whole truth. Our brother from Green Bay is our friend, but the secrets of the Grand Medical Society are hidden from him. Thanks to the medicines of our brothers from the east, we discovered a lead mine close to our village, we won the ball game from our brothers the Foxes, and we have had good hunting since they have been with us. They have dealt honestly with us; used their medicine freely for our benefit. They are our brothers in fact as well as in name. Now they wish to go to the eastward, not only to fight, but to get new medicines, even stronger than those they now have.
“Our brother from Green Bay says they wish to escape from us. This cannot be so, since they have offered to leave with us their medicines as guarantees against their return. If they go, we shall have their medicines. Is there any man so foolish as to think that such powerful medicines as these would ever be willingly abandoned? No! It is clear that our brothers intend to return! They are our people. All our people are free to do as they wish. Therefore these three are free to do what they wish.”
Gautier was a clever man—too clever to suit my taste—and he persisted in his opposition. “Brothers,” he said, “we are friends of long standing. As your old friend, I ask that this question be submitted to the judgment of all the braves together, but that those on whom you sit in judgment be sent from this council house. Their medicines, you say, are powerful. If that is so, they might, by remaining here, confuse your minds with their magic.”
“Hi-yi!” Doc exclaimed when Verrieul translated this to us. “This fellers going to try to make me out a wizard instead of a medicine man! If he does that, he’ll have us tomahawked, all three of us. Well, you tell him this before we go out: you tell him we ain’t none of us wizards, because if we was, we’d have used our magic on him to shut him up, instead of being willing to trust our red brothers to do the right thing by us!” He nodded amiably at Gautier, then herded Verrieul and me from the crowded council house.
Outside, he drew a sleeve across his forehead. “By Grapes! If I ever get out of this, I ain’t never again going to tell nobody I’m a doctor! It’s the most ungratefullest profession there is, and if I had it to do over again, I’d ruther be anything than a doctor. Yes sir: I’d even ruther be in that there Congress in Philadelphia!”
XLVIII
WHILE we waited apprehensively outside the council house, I felt a touch on my sleeve. A quiet voice, close beside me, whispered, “Say nothing. We go where nobody hear.” It was Joseph Phipps, who had somehow contrived to follow us.
When we stood in the center of the grassless dance-enclosure, Joseph laughed silently. “This place long ways from anywhere! I was think I become to be old man before I catch up with you!”
“She sent you?”
He nodded.
“Have you a letter for me?”
“No,” Joseph said. “No chance. My aunt—like hawk!” He made a clutching gesture.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. I understand. But you saw Ellen, didn’t you? She’s well, isn’t she?”
“She all right.”
“And my brother Nathaniel? You saw him too?”
“One-two times.”
“He’s well?”
“Didn’t ask about health,” Joseph said.
“They exchanged him? They sent him to Ticonderoga?”
“No,” he said, and then, disjointedly, in his mangled English, he made me understand that he had taken Ellen to Albany when the two of them had left Skenesboro. In Albany she had remained for two days with people she had never before seen—people to whom she had been directed by Marie de Sabrevois, and with whom she expected to remain until her aunt should join her. At first these strangers had been hospitable; then had changed. They had told Ellen that Albany was not a safe place, and had insisted that she return to St. John’s. They had given her letters to take to her aunt.
Ellen had accepted the letters without protest; and since the two of them had been at a loss as to what else to do, they had made the journey to St. John’s. On the way they had discussed the letters. Ellen had told him, Joseph said, how I had accused her aunt of being a spy, and how I had feared Ellen might be used to the hurt of the American cause. She had begun to suspect that I had been correct; and that the letters she was carrying were not innocent ones. If this was the case, Ellen had said, it was not right that she should have been asked to carry them. They held a long discussion as to what should be done. Ellen was for destroying the letters: Joseph for opening them. Joseph prevailed; but when they were opened, there was nothing in them. The pages were blank.
“Blank?” I cried.
“Trick,” Joseph said. “Old trick! Everybody know! Write in onion juice.”
They had heated the letters over a fire and the writing had appeared. One letter contained a map of Albany with certain buildings marked: the other a list of names. In Joseph’s opinion it was a list of Tories in Albany who could be depended on to take up arms against the rebels in case Burgoyne broke through. There had been two hundred and eight names in the letter.
Ellen was furious, Joseph said, but he himself had thought more of the results of being caught with such letters. He had destroyed them with no loss of time.
I was sick at the thought of the danger to which Marie de Sabrevois had subjected Ellen. “Where were you when you opened the letters?” I asked.
“Bouquet River,” Joseph said.
Bouquet River was almost opposite Split Rock, not far north of Crown Point.
“For God’s sake,” I said. “You knew I was still in Skenesboro at that time! Why didn’t you turn around and come back to me?”
Joseph smiled ruefully. “She ashamed. She think you too much good man.”
“Too much good man!” So that was what Ellen thought of me! It was not entirely satisfactory, but it was better than nothing.
“Joseph,” I said, “I hope you were careful not to let your aunt know what you’d discovered.”
“You think I pick up rattlesnake by middle?” he asked. “My aunt bad woman. My aunt do anything. Woman like that in St. Francis, we cut off nose.”
I had already learned enough about Indian customs from Verrieul to know that nose-cutting was reserved for Indian ladies whose morals were not what they should be.
“Lanaudiere’s no relation to her, is he?”
Joseph shook his head. “Friend. Lanaudiere, friend; Burgoyne, friend. Friend have money—give much money—she like money-much money. She like money very much. Rich soon, I think.”
“What happened when you got back to your aunt? How’d Ellen explain not having the letters for her?”
“Ellen angry,” he said, “so she tell big he. She tell my aunt big American devil Whitcomb follow us in woods, so we hide letters under big rock. Mark place so sometime she go get ’em. I say I show her rock sometime. She say letters not important now, right quick.” Joseph chuckled.
“My aunt bad woman,” he repeated. “She try send Ellen back to Albany again, with letters. Ellen say no. Ellen big fool. I say take letters, go see Captain Merrill. Ellen say No: she not do that way.” He sighed. “Ellen know nothing: she great fool. When she refuse, my aunt know Ellen find out something—maybe find out something from you. That’s why she take Ellen with army—so she not run away somewhere: not tell anybody something dangerous. My aunt no fool: she know Ellen angry: she know Ellen honest: always want do what right. My aunt know girl like that, she tell somebody something!”
There had been, Joseph said, no open break between his aunt and Ellen, until the Sacs had brought us back to Grand Isle after the battle. Then Lanaudiere had come to his aunt’s tent with Nathaniel in his arms, and had told her the Indians had also captured me.
“When he say that,” Joseph said, “my aunt look at Lanaudiere and Lanaudiere look at her. They say nothing; but Ellen know what they think. They think, ‘Here is chance to get rid of man we don’t hke. Here is chance to put that man where he never bother us no more.’“
Thereupon Ellen had pleaded for us: had begged her aunt to have us treated as prisoners of war should be treated. She even threatened, if we were not so treated, to send word to the Americans so that they could retaliate on such British prisoners as were in American hands.
Marie de Sabrevois, Joseph said, had become powerful because of her relations with Burgoyne. Night after night, he said, she dined with him. Their intimacy was known to every high officer in the English army. She could do as she pleased, and it pleased her to run no risks from an American, or from a girl like Ellen Phipps. To keep Ellen quiet, she had promised her to protect me from the Indians, but within the hour the Indians had taken us away.
So Ellen knew at last that Marie de Sabrevois was as ruthless as she was beautiful, without virtue, without respect for her word of honor, without regard for human life.
There was apprehension in my next question. “You say Marie de Sabrevois would run no risks from me or Ellen, Joseph. Do you mean anything could happen to Ellen if she considered Ellen dangerous?”
For the third time Joseph said, “My aunt bad woman. She do anything.”
I tried to understand exactly what he meant, but couldn’t. The truth was that I was afraid to think clearly: afraid to think what might happen to Ellen if Marie de Sabrevois ever made up her mind the girl could continue to be dangerous to her.
“Does Nathaniel know what’s become of us?” I asked.
Joseph nodded. “Yes. I think he sorry. Not very long, maybe. I think, maybe, he like aunt very much.”
“Where’s Ellen now?”
“Locked up,” he said. “My aunt say Ellen sick here.” He tapped his forehead.
I fumbled helplessly for words. “Sick! Sick! Damn that hellcat to a million hells!”
“Yes,” Joseph said. “Hellcat. Ellen locked up same convent St. John’s. That Montgolfier, he keep her quiet there! I see her, though. Brother, they can’t keep out; so she ask me if I can find you. I say Yes. I say I give somebody black squirrel robe. Then somebody send me to Langlade with message. Then if you with Indian, I see you. She say I must do that, so I come. I’m here—stay with you now to help. You get away? We can’t tell!”
From the council house on the far side of the dance-enclosure there came a cheerful murmur like the murmur of a west wind in the rigging on a summer morning. We heard Doc’s quavering laugh; heard him set out across the dance-enclosure, shuffling clumsily. “Cap’n Peter!” he shouted. “Cap’n Peter!”
Joseph Phipps left me, slipping away into the night.
“Here!” I called. “Here!”
Doc drew near, smelling disgustingly of asafoetida, to stand swaying before us. With him came Verrieul and Sponge-belly. In spite of himself, Doc gave utterance to a squealing yell of triumph. “Hi-yi! I’m going back to that war I belong in! I guess it’s still running! Or else Gautier wouldn’t be fixin’ up for all us red warriors to take part in it. Hi-yi! Come on, now!”
“Where?” I asked him. “Come on where?”
“To the distribution party,” he said, “I got to give them shamans of the Medical Society all my scientific equipment to hold for me and wreak damage with till I get back to the east where I ain’t coming back from—only they think I certainly am.
“Come on! I got to distribute my own personal asafoetidy among ’em, and teach them poor souls how to use Old Sir Kenelm Digby’s Sympathetic Powder in connection with wounds—”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted him. “What’s in that powder? We don’t want to poison ’em.”
“Hi!” Doc cried. “It wouldn’t poison nobody! I made it! It ain’t nothing but maple sugar and cooking soda; but it’s better’n anything Digby ever made. It’ll do you good, too, if you believe in it. Come on! I got to show ’em how to use the Talking Book, and how to handle the dowsing rod, and use the lancet with the Venesection Mannekin—Lord have mercy on ’em! They ain’t going to learn these points very good, I don’t suspicion; but that’s their look-out; not mine.”
“What’ll happen to us if they can’t make those medicines work?” I asked. “I’m afraid they’ll—”
“Hi-yi!” Doc shouted. “Nothing to be afraid of! That’s all looked out for! They been told all those articles works only by virtue of being infested with my manitou. They know my manitou is naturally goin’ to be tollable sulkish on account of getting left behind with them and separated from me. They told Sponge-belly he’s got to keep us fed awful good on the war-party, and treat us the nicest in the world all the time we’re away, on account that manitou of mine being so affectionate toward me. My manitou, hell know what’s happenin’ to us; and if it ain’t good, he won’t do nothing at all he’s asked to till I get back. That’s goin’ to be never, but not mentioned. Come on! Hi-yi!”
XLIX
WE, THE wax-party, moved up to Green Bay amid a flotilla of canoes; for twenty-two Sacs and sixteen Foxes had decided to follow Gautier to the eastward to help the British, and triple that number of relatives and friends accompanied those thirty-eight to Green Bay, not only to speed the warriors on their way, but to exchange the winter s accumulation of furs and sugar and bark at Langlade’s trading post, he being what was known as an honest trader, content with a mere five hundred percent profit.
In the canoe commanded by Sponge-belly were Tiny, Joseph, Verrieul, Doc and myself. This time we were not passengers, but workers. Doc held the post of bow-man, not only because he was a shaman and lucky, but because he was a good bow-man. Sponge-belly wielded the steering-oar. The rest of us were middlemen, driving our short paddles at high speed. Forty strokes a minute we averaged, rising to sixty and even higher when the current was against us.
“Hi-vi!” Doc shouted from time to time. “Hi-yi! Old Shaman Means, going east fast! Hi-yi! Old Shaman Means goin’ back to the war! Put your backs in it for Old Shaman Means! Hi-yi! Good Old Shaman Means!” He was full of vanity.
We seemed, somehow, to have become Indians. Our bodies were blackened with soot and grease, which stuck to us even when we leaped in the rivers and lakes, which we regularly did twice daily and frequently oftener, following the example of our red companions. Our faces were painted, we were stripped to belt cloths and moccasins. Yet it was not our paint and our nakedness that made us feel like Indians, but rather our state of health. Never at any time in my life had I felt myself so wholly a healthy man, with a body so light and yet so able to endure fatigue.
… Gautier, we knew, would watch us unceasingly. If we were ever to escape, we realized, we must never betray our sympathies. Like spies, we must forever sing the praises of the things we most feared and hated; and in this occupation Doc and Verrieul became proficient, bursting into tirades against Americans whenever they suspected they were overheard.
At our camp on Fox River, one night, we heard a faint rusde behind our overturned canoe, beneath which we sat. Doc rolled a suspicious eye at the sound, and immediately began to talk loudly for effect.
“I do believe,” he said, “that there ain’t nothing as hypocritical as an American. The Philistines were pretty bad, but they couldn’t hold a candle to Americans.”
“A low set,” Verrieul agreed heartily.
“Why,” Doc said, “there ain’t a gentleman among ’em! Practically every one of ’em works!”
“Impossible!” Verrieul murmured.
“Well, it’s the truth,” Doc said. “They got the idea that one man’s as good as another, and that a feller like you or me has as much right to walk right plum down the middle of the road as the Duke of Bug-gerum.”
Verrieul seemed shocked. “I had no idea it was as bad as that!”
“It’s worsen that,” Doc insisted. “America’s a nation of shopkeepers! What you think of a country that not only ain’t got sense enough to have a King, but ain’t got enough sense to have any important offices at all, like the Queen’s Bedchamber Women, or Wet Nurse to the Prince of Wales, or Porter of the Back Stairs for the Princess Amelia, or Heater of the Water for the Horses, or an Honorable Band of Suberan-nalated Gentlemen Pensioners at five hundred dollars a year apiece, like you can read about in my Almanack! Why, Americans don’t pay their generals as much as His Royal Majesty, God bless him, pays the Cistern Cleaner to His Majesty’s Household!”
“They don’t understand such refinements,” Verrieul said. “They’re mere money grubbers.”
“And brag!” Doc complained. “You never heard so much brag! To hear ’em talk, you’d think they had a chanst of licking England!”
“Canaille!” Verrieul said.
Doc was mystified. “Can you what?” Then, when Verrieul had explained, Doc said “Oh!” a little feebly, and added, “Yes, you’re right! They’re the worst Can-I’s there is! With them Americans it’s all the time Can-I this and Can-I that; and the truth is, they can’t. They can’t lick nobody without they hide behind a tree and do it long-distance! They ain’t sporting!”
“Purely barbarous in action and speech,” Verrieul assured him. “It’s agony to be near such uncultivated fellows, talking through their noses about trade, trade, trade!”
