WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE

After this came varying days of hardship by land and water, and then another danger.  One day they were, crossing a great northern lake.  The land was moist with the sweat of quick-springing verdure; flocks of wild fowl rose at all points, and herds of caribou came drinking and feeding at the shore.  The cries of herons, loons, and river-hens rose with strange distinctness, so delicate was the atmosphere, and the blue of the sky was exquisite.

As they paddled slowly along this lake, keeping time to their songs with the paddles, there suddenly grew out of the distance a great flotilla of canoes with tall prows, and behind them a range of islands which they had not before seen.  The canoes were filled with men ­Indians, it would seem, by the tall feathers lifting from their heads.  A moment before there had been nothing.  The sudden appearance was even more startling than the strange canoe that crossed their track on Lake of the Winds.  Iberville knew at once that it was a mirage, and the mystery of it did not last long even among the superstitious.  But they knew now that somewhere in the north ­presumably not far away ­was a large band of Indians, possibly hostile; their own numbers were about fourscore.  There was the chance that the Indians were following or intercepting them.  Yet, since they had left the Ottawa River, they had seen no human being, save in that strange canoe on Lake of the Winds.  To the east were the dreary wastes of Labrador, to the west were the desolate plains and hills, stretching to the valley of the Saskatchewan.

Practically in command, Iberville advised watchfulness and preparation for attack.  Presently the mirage faded away as suddenly as it came.  For days again they marched and voyaged on, seeing still no human being.  At last they came to a lake, which they crossed in their canoes; then they entered the mouth of a small river, travelling northward.  The river narrowed at a short distance from its mouth, and at a certain point the stream turned sharply.  As the first canoe rounded the point it came full upon half a hundred canoes blocking the river, filled by Indians with bended bows.  They were a northern tribe that had never before seen the white man.  Tall and stern, they were stout enemies, but they had no firearms, and, as could be seen, they were astonished at the look of the little band, which, at the command of De Troyes, who with Iberville was in the first boat, came steadily on.  Suddenly brought face to face there was a pause, in which Iberville, who knew several Indian languages, called to them to make way.

He was not understood, but he had pointed to the white standard of France flaring with the golden lilies; and perhaps the drawn swords and the martial manner of the little band ­who had donned gay trappings, it being Iberville’s birthday ­conveyed in some way his meaning.  The bows of the strangers stayed drawn, awaiting word from the leader.  Near the chief stood a man seven feet in height, a kind of bodyguard, who presently said something in his ear.  He frowned, then seemed to debate, and his face cleared at last.  Raising a spear, he saluted the French leaders, and then pointed towards the shore, where there was a space clear of trees, a kind of plateau.  De Troyes and Iberville, thinking that a truce and parley were meant, returned the salute with their swords, and presently the canoes of both parties made over to the shore.  It was a striking sight:  the grave, watchful faces of the Indians, who showed up grandly in the sun, their skin like fine rippling bronze as they moved; their tall feathers tossing, rude bracelets on their wrists, while some wore necklets of brass or copper.  The chief was a stalwart savage with a cruel eye, but the most striking figure of all ­either French or Indian ­was that of the chief’s body guard.  He was, indeed, the Goliath of the tribe, who, after the manner of other champions, was ever ready for challenge in the name of his master.  He was massively built, with long sinewy arms; but Iberville noticed that he was not powerful at the waist in proportion to the rest of his body, and that his neck was thinner than it should be.  But these were items, for in all he was a fine piece of humanity, and Iberville said as much to De Casson, involuntarily stretching up as he did so.  Tall and athletic himself, he never saw a man of calibre but he felt a wish to measure strength with him, not from vanity, but through the mere instincts of the warrior.  Priest as he was, it is possible that De Casson shared the young man’s feeling, though chastening years had overcome impulses of youth.  It was impossible for the French leaders to guess how this strange parley would end, and when many more Indians suddenly showed on the banks they saw that they might have tough work.

“What do you think of it, Iberville?” said De Troyes.  “A juggler’s puzzle ­let us ask Perrot,” was the reply.

Perrot confessed that he knew nothing of this tribe of Indians.  The French leaders, who had never heard of Indians who would fight in the open, were, in spite of great opposing numbers, in warrior mood.  Presently all the canoes were got to land, and without any hostile sign the Indians filed out on the centre of the plateau, where were pitched a number of tents.  The tents were in a circle, surrounding a clear space of ground, and the chief halted in the middle of this.  He and his men had scarcely noticed the Frenchmen as they followed, seemingly trusting the honour of the invaders that they would not attack from behind.  It was these Indians who had been seen in the mirage.  They had followed the Frenchmen, had gone parallel with them for scores of miles, and had at last at this strategic point waylaid them.

The conference was short.  The French ranged in column on one side, the Indians on the other, and then the chief stepped forward.  De Troyes did the same and not far behind him were Iberville, the other officers, and Perrot.  Behind the chief was the champion, then, a little distance away, on either side, the Indian councillors.

The chief waved his hand proudly towards the armed warriors behind him, as if showing their strength, speaking meanwhile, and then with effective gesture, remarking the handful of French.  Presently, pointing to his fighting man, he seemed to ask that the matter be settled by single combat.

The French leaders understood:  Goliath would have his David.  The champion suddenly began a sing-song challenge, during which Iberville and his comrades conferred.  The champion’s eyes ran up and down the line and alighted on the large form of De Casson, who calmly watched him.  Iberville saw this look and could not help but laugh, though the matter was serious.  He pictured the good abbe fighting for the band.  At this the champion began to beat his breast defiantly.

Iberville threw off his coat, and motioned his friends back.  Immediately there was protest.  They had not known quite what to do, but Perrot had offered to fight the champion, and they, supposing it was to be a fight with weapons, had hastily agreed.  It was clear, however, that it was to be a wrestle to the death.  Iberville quelled all protests, and they stepped back.  There was a final call from the champion, and then he became silent.  From the Indians rose one long cry of satisfaction, and then they too stilled, the chief fell back, and the two men stood alone in the centre.  Iberville, whose face had become grave, went to De Casson and whispered to him.  The abbe gave him his blessing, and then he turned and went back.  He waved his hand to his brothers and his friends, ­a gay Cavalier-like motion, ­then took off all save his small clothes and stood out.

Never was seen, perhaps, a stranger sight:  a gentleman of France ranged against a savage wrestler, without weapons, stripped to the waist, to fight like a gladiator.  But this was a new land, and Iberville could ever do what another of his name or rank could not.  There was only one other man in Canada who could do the same ­old Count Frontenac himself, who, dressed in all his Court finery, had danced a war-dance in the torch-light with Iroquois chiefs.

Stripped, Iberville’s splendid proportions could be seen at advantage.  He was not massively made, but from crown to heel there was perfect muscular proportion.  His admirable training and his splendidly nourished body ­cared for, as in those days only was the body cared for ­promised much, though against so huge a champion.  Then, too, Iberville in his boyhood had wrestled with Indians and had learned their tricks.  Added to this were methods learned abroad, which might prove useful now.  Yet any one looking at the two would have begged the younger man to withdraw.  Never was battle shorter.  Iberville, too proud to give his enemy one moment of athletic trifling, ran in on him.  For a time they were locked, straining terribly, and then the neck of the champion went with a snap and he lay dead in the middle of the green.

The Indians and the French were both so dumfounded that for a moment no one stirred, and Iberville went back and quietly put on his clothes.  But presently cries of rage and mourning came from the Indians, and weapons threatened.  But the chief waved aggression down, and came forward to the dead man.  He looked for a moment, and then as Iberville and De Troyes came near, he gazed at Iberville in wonder, and all at once reached out both hands to him.  Iberville took them and shook them heartily.

There was something uncanny in the sudden death of the champion, and Iberville’s achievement had conquered these savages, who, after all, loved such deeds, though at the hand of an enemy.  And now the whole scene was changed.  The French courteously but firmly demanded homage, and got it, as the superior race can get it from the inferior, when events are, even distantly, in their favour; and here were martial display, a band of fearless men, weapons which the savages had never seen before, trumpets, and, most of all, a chief who was his own champion, and who had snapped the neck of their Goliath as one would break a tree-branch.

From the moment Iberville and the chief shook hands they were friends, and after two days, when they parted company, there was no Indian among all this strange tribe but would have followed him anywhere.  As it was, he and De Troyes preferred to make the expedition with his handful of men, and so parted with the Indians, after having made gifts to the chief and his people.  The most important of these presents was a musket, handled by the chief at first as though it were some deadly engine.  The tribe had been greatly astonished at hearing a volley fired by the whole band at once, and at seeing caribou shot before their eyes; but when the chief himself, after divers attempts, shot a caribou, they stood in proper awe.  With mutual friendliness they parted.  Two weeks later, after great trials, the band emerged on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, almost without baggage, and starving.