Brother Jacques was up instantly. He grasped the brawny arms of the
Onondaga and drew him toward him.
"The little Father has lost none of his strength," observed the
Onondaga, smiling.
"No, my son; and the tears in his eyes are of rage, not of weakness.
Let Dominique forget what he has seen."
"He has already forgotten. And when will my brother start out for the
stone house of Onontio?"
"As soon as possible." Aye, how fared Monsieur le Marquis these days?
"But not alone," said the Black Kettle. "The silence will drive him
mad, like a brother of his I knew."
"The Great Master of Breath wills it; I must go alone," said Brother
Jacques. He was himself again. The tempest in his soul was past.
"I should like to see Onontio's house again;" and the Indian waited.
"Perhaps; if the good Fathers can spare you."
And together they returned to the shore of the lake. The vibrant song
of the bugle stirred the hush. It was five o'clock. The soldiers had
finished the day's work, and the settlers had thrown down the ax. All
were mustered on the parade ground before the palisade. The lilies of
France fluttered at the flagstaff. There were fifty muskets among the
colonists, muskets of various makes and shapes. They shone dully in
the mean light. Here and there a comparatively new uniform brightened
the rank and file. They had been here for more than a year, and the
seventeenth of May, the historic date of their departure from Quebec,
seemed far away. Few and far between were the notes which came to
their ears from the old world, the world they all hoped to see again
some day. The drill was a brave sight; for the men went through their
manoeuvers with all the pomp of the king's musketeers. A crowd of
savages looked on, still awed. But some of the Onondagas laughed or
smiled. There was something going on at the Long House in the hills
which these Frenchmen knew nothing about. And other warriors watched
the scene with the impassiveness of a spider who sees a fly moving
toward the web.
The pioneers were hardy men; that some wore skins of beasts, ragged
silks and velvets which had once upon a time aired themselves among the
fashionable in Paris, and patched and faded uniforms, mattered but
little. They were men; and even the Iroquois were impressed by this
fact more than any other. Du Puys and Nicot saw that there was no
slipshod work; for while the drilling was at present only for show and
to maintain awe, the discipline would prove effective in time of need.
Neither of these good soldiers had the faith in the Iroquois which made
the Jesuit Fathers so trustful. Who could say that all this was not a
huge trap, the lid of which might fall any day?