Chapter 11

A NIGHT IN THE BOAT

This was one of many nights we passed in the narrow confines of the boat during our flight northward. Yet its incidents remain in memory with peculiar distinctness of detail. I do not recall exactly how it occurred, but my duty during that first night chanced to place me at the after oar. In consequence I sat directly facing Madame de Noyan, operating the rudder bar. It was so warm, merely a delicate, fragrant breeze blowing from the south, she had felt no necessity for drawing up her hood, and the soft light of distant stars, glimmering along the bosom of the river, reflected back into her face, illumining it until I could almost note the changing expression within her dark eyes.

It was a sadder, graver face than the one I associated with her girlhood. Yet I could scarce forbear an impression that it was now a sweeter one, more womanly, faint lines beginning to mark its satin smoothness with impress of sorrow. To my thought a new, higher womanhood had found birth within, during weary days and nights of suspense and suffering. It was yet torture to me constantly beholding these two together, but, as I observed her then, I thanked the good God who had permitted me to be near her in time of trial. In patience I would serve, even though I must suffer. Tears were clinging to her long lashes, and occasionally one would glitter an instant upon her white cheek, as she leaned her face upon one hand, from which the loose sleeve fell away, revealing an arm like chiselled marble. She made no effort at concealing these evidences of emotion, doubtless believing them sufficiently hidden by the gloomy shadows. Nor did she appear to glance at me, keeping her own gaze directly ahead, where the dark, swirling waters merged into the mystery of the North.

We were none of us in talkative mood--although I heard De Noyan, behind me, humming a light French air, as though perfectly free from trouble--and I have no recollection of exchanging a word for more than an hour. We merely continued to pull sturdily against the downward rush of the stream, the deep silence of the night broken only by the dripping of uplifted blades, or the occasional far-off hooting of an owl upon the bank to our left. The pressure of the river's current was scarcely perceptible close against the shore, so we made fair progress. Yet it was hard work, neither of us being accustomed to such exercise, the heavy oars feeling awkward to the hand. The grim uncertainty of the future, coupled with our solitary surroundings, exercised a depressing influence upon the spirits of each, although differing widely in degree, according to our several natures. Undoubtedly this same sense of dreariness led De Noyan to sing, caused me such painful restlessness under that same singing, and left Eloise saddened in her lonely thoughts.

Every occurrence impressed me that night as unusual. Perchance this was because both heart and head were sadly out of tune. Yet, at best, it was a lonesome journey, and remains a grewsome memory, haunting with many a spectre, as weird as the shadows of delirium. The few stars, peeping shyly forth between scurrying black cloud masses, were so far away they merely silvered the cloud edges, leaving them as though carven from granite. The low shore, often within reach of our oar blades, appeared gloomy and inhospitable, the spectral rushes creeping far out upon the water like living things, seeming to grasp after us as the wind swept them, and we glided past in phantom silence. Beyond, like a great black wall, arose higher ground, occasionally jutting into bare bluffs outlined against the lighter sky; again diversified by gaunt dead trees, their fleshless limbs extended upward toward ghostly pillars of vapor ever floating from off the river's surface. Occasionally, jaggedly uneven, close-set trunks of forest growth would appear, spectral in solemn ugliness, a veritable hedge, impenetrable and grim.

If, with a shudder of disgust, I turned away from that lorn, dead line of shore, my eyes swept a waste of waters slipping solemnly past, while farther out, where sky and stream met and mingled in wild riot, the surging river swirled and leaped, its white-capped waves evidencing resistless volume. It was a sight to awe one, that immense mass pouring forth from the upper darkness, flashing an instant beneath the star-gleam, only to disappear, a restless, relentless flood, black, unpitying, impenetrable, mysterious, a savage monster, beyond whose outstretched claws we crept, yet who at any moment might clutch us helpless in a horrible embrace. It was a sight to stun, that brutal flood, gliding ever downward, while, far as eye could see, stretched the same drear expanse of cruel waters.

From out that mystery would suddenly emerge, rolling toward us, as if born of the shadows, some grim apparition, a wildly tossing figure, with gaunt, uplifted arms beating the air, to startle for an instant, then fade from our ken into the dimness below. Well I knew it was only driftwood, the gnarled trunk of uprooted tree made sport with by mad waves, yet more than once I shrank backward, my unstrung nerves tingling, as such shapeless, uncanny thing was hurled past like an arrow. Nor were the noises that broke the silence less fearsome. Bred to the wilderness, I little minded loneliness when in the depths of the backwoods, but this was different. I cared nothing for the honk of wild fowl overhead, nor those sounds of varied animal life borne to us from off the black land; but that strange, dull roar, caused by great logs grinding together in the swirl of the current, and the groaning of bits of undermined shore as they gave way and dropped heavily into the water, racked my nerves.

The peace I found lay in that sweet face, turned partially away, yet appearing fairer than ever beneath the protecting hood, drawn up as the night air grew chill. Whether similar sense of strangeness and timidity rested upon her, I could not determine, yet I believed her thoughts so far away that our present surroundings were no more to her than the vaguest dream. She scarcely stirred during all the hours I watched her; only once did she glance up, to smile as she met my eyes before I could withdraw them from her face. Had she read aright their message, perchance this story might never have been written; yet purer, truer love no man ever gave to woman. We must have continued thus, pulling silently, for hours before De Noyan broke the oppressive silence with impatient speech. Indeed, not the least impressive feature of the grewsome night was his continued stillness.

"_Le Diable_!" he exclaimed uneasily, shifting in his seat. "If the Styx be more gloomy than this accursed stream, then Jesu pity its voyagers. Never have I put in so miserable a night, to say nothing of a strained back, and a pair of sore hands. What are those black, crawling things yonder? _Mon Dieu_! I have seen a thousand hideous demons since we left the cane."

I glanced across my shoulder in the direction he pointed, glad enough to hear once again the sound of a voice.

"Only the fire-seared branch of a tree tossed on the current--the night rests heavily upon your nerves."

"Heavily? _Parbleu_! it has unmanned me with hideous silence, with creeping, ghostly mystery, until I am half mad, scarcely daring to whisper, in fear of my own voice. Eloise, are you there? or have the spectres of this haunted journey flown away with you?"

"Angels or demons, they would have naught of me," she replied in seeming unconsciousness of his mood. "My thoughts, I fear, have been sufficiently sad to accord well with the gloom, only my shadows are within, not without."

"_Sacre_! mine are all yonder," he exclaimed, indicating with a gesture the vast extent of angry water. "Why should I bear heavy heart, except for brooding phantoms of the night? Life is still mine in all its sweetness. Not that I greatly valued it, to be sure, yet 'tis somewhat better than I once thought, and there is always pleasure left in the world for the young. From whence springs your mood of sadness, Eloise?"

"My thought was with my father."

"'Tis not strange it should be. Yet, it might be better if you dwelt upon the brighter view of our own future. He is at rest; no tears can be of aid. But we can look forward to dreams of happiness. 'Tis my plan to cross the great ocean, seeking better fortune on the Continent. France, they say, has ever a vacant place for a good sword, nor is the king likely to refuse service to a nephew of Bienville. You and I, Eloise, shall yet tread the Paris streets, nor shall we go as beggars."

I marked her quick smile, but thought it not wholly untouched by sadness, as she attempted answer.

"We will hope for the best; yet, Monsieur, we are still deeply buried in the wilderness. Ay! worse--in the country of our enemies. You may not comprehend the full truth of this, but Spain lays claim now to all this great river, with the country bordering it. O'Reilly has already despatched soldiers as high as the mouth of the Ohio, to guard its passage; so there is peril lurking before us, as well as behind."

"O'Reilly has sent soldiers northward? How know you this, Eloise?"

"It was common talk in the town. I saw with my own eyes the departure of one expedition. It was composed of a captain, with twelve soldiers, destined for the Ohio. I have heard that twice since others have been despatched northward, although to what points was unknown."

"The saints defend us! 'tis indeed serious. I supposed the boat which passed contained all the Dons on the upper river, but if this be true we may have to desert the stream, and take to the eastern trail on foot. _Sacre_! I like it not! What say you, you sphinx of an English borderman? Knew you this all along?"

"It is news to me," I answered soberly. "But if three expeditions have already been despatched north, there is little hope the land routes have been forgotten. Beyond doubt every trail, white or Indian, leading toward French or English settlements, is by now patrolled by the Dons. Nor can we hope to gain passage by surprise. That man-of-war boat will spread far the rumor of your escape, so every Spaniard between here and the Ohio will be on the lookout for our coming."

I imagine the same thought stole into the mind of both, how easily we two, travelling light, might press our way through that scattered line of guard, and attain the upper Ohio; how easily, only for the danger and distress to which so desperate an attempt would expose her. She alone ventured to give the idea utterance.

"Messieurs," she said earnestly, her calm brown eyes uplifted to our faces, "I have been considering this for an hour past. I know you would experience small trouble eluding the Spaniards, or even cutting your way through them, were I not with you. Yet this is not beyond remedy. I had sincerely hoped to prove of service when I usurped the slave's place in the boat; instead, I am an encumbrance, a weakling whom you must protect at the risk of your own lives. Fortunately it is not yet too late to leave you free; it cannot be many miles back to New Orleans, and the current would bear me swiftly downward. I have loyal friends in the town to hide the daughter of Lafrénière, should the Spaniards wage war against a woman, and surely some means would open whereby I might make the shores of France. Perhaps I should be there in advance of you. What say you, Messieurs, to such proposal? Would it not be best?"

The indignant feeling which swept me as I listened to this speech hardly needs dwelling upon. Yet I held my tongue. It was the privilege of De Noyan to make answer.

"_Parbleu_!" he cried, seemingly forgetful of caution in instant enthusiasm. "You have as good a head as heart, Eloise. _Sacre_! never before did I realize the treasure in my keeping. You gauge well the wishes of a soldier; 't is not pleasant to one of my blood and training to lurk thus in the shadows like a skulking spy. _Bish_! nor do I love this toll at the oars--'tis the work of slaves. I would prefer trusting all to the rapier, writing with its point a Frenchman's message of defiance. Holy saints! I am already half inclined to say yes to your proposal; yet Benteen, what word have you to speak regarding this plan?"

"That if she goes back to New Orleans, I make the town in the same boat," I answered shortly, angered by his flippant words and tone. "'Tis a plan not to be seriously considered a moment, Chevalier. If carried out it would merely place Madame de Noyan in the power of Cruel O'Reilly. I doubt if the sacrifice would preserve our worthless lives. She can only return by means of the boat; with that gone, we should be compelled to plunge, unprovisioned, into a trackless wilderness, feeling our way blindly for hundreds of leagues through unknown, savage tribes. If we survived their cruelty we should be crazed with hunger and fatigue long before our eyes were gladdened at sight of the upper Ohio. I do not say such a journey could not be made, but I retain vivid memory of one such trip, nor will I lightly seek another. I imagine, Captain, you have small conception of the horrors of the black forests, when you choose recklessly to plunge into their depths."

"I served against the Creeks," he announced somewhat sullenly.

"So I heard, yet that was mostly boys' play; armored men pitted against naked savages. You would discover different foemen among the mountain tribes to the north and east. Do not suppose I question your courage, but I realize the dangers, as you cannot from your town life, while as to Madame de Noyan, she will be safer here with us than with those black brutes in New Orleans."

"You refuse to be comrade with me then?"

"Ay, if such comradeship involve the desertion of your wife."

"Desertion!" The term stung him. "_Sacre_! 'tis not a word to be lightly flung in the face of a French cavalier. Did I not already owe you the debt of life, Monsieur, I might endeavor to teach you a lesson in etiquette."

"I permit your overlooking all obligations, if you desire to indulge in such an experiment," I retorted, no wise unwilling. "I am no brawling roisterer, but have never been above giving and receiving blows."

I judged from the glint of his eyes, and the manner in which he juggled his sword hilt, he had grave purpose of backing up his pretty words. I should rather have enjoyed giving the doughty gentleman a sudden bath alongside, had not Madame hastily calmed our hot blood with sober speech other own.

"Hush, Messieurs," she commanded quietly, her eyes upon my face, instantly shaming me. "It is not meet you should quarrel. There are better ways in which to strike blows for me than that. As to my going on with you, or returning alone, that may all be discussed when we make camp again at daylight. Then we will settle the matter coolly, not in the heat of anger. You are both my friends, nor would I awaken between you any cause for controversy."

De Noyan laughed.

"_Sacre_! 'tis the accursed night got into our blood," he exclaimed. "The very air seems poisoned with horror, while my back aches so with pulling this oar, I would esteem it relief to fight with my best friend. It was hard fortune that the boy Alphonse happened in track of that Spaniard's bullet. With three in the boat there would be some rest from the toll."

"I see solid ground yonder," I said, pointing as I spoke to the shadowy bank ahead. "We might run the boat's nose in, and stretch our cramped limbs on shore. There is little to be gained endeavoring to work with wearied muscles."

"_San Juan_!" he returned, brightening instantly to the suggestion. "'Tis the first word of good sense reaching my ears this cursed night of folly. Head her in under the shade of yonder bush, Eloise, until I see if I can stand upright once more."