Arundel (63 page)

He waited a moment, and I wondered whether Arnold would have any answer for this. I could think of none he could make. Nor could he, it seemed; for he only popped out his eyes like grape-shot, and said nothing.

“Brother,” Paul continued, “there’s no need for a great oration. We are not talkers. We prefer to help a little and to fight a little when opportunities come. Thus we will tell the white chief certain things that have happened, so he may know he has been helped, in spite of what was said to us in Cambridge.

“Brother, the Abenaki people are a proud people, unaccustomed to be scorned when they offer help. On returning from Cambridge we would have gone into the forests to hunt deer and beaver, wounded in our feelings. But your friend Steven came to us and made an oration, telling us we must go to the Height of Land to hunt, or else be liars when we said we wished to help our white brothers, regardless of money or glory.”

My face was red when I interpreted this, and Arnold shot a sour look at me, saying, “Leave nothing out.”

“Likewise, Brother,” Paul went on, “news was spread about that one of our brothers was a spy, our brother Natanis, whom we love dearly. Men were sent to kill him; but by good fortune he was warned by your friend Steven, and so escaped to be of service to us all.

“That’s enough of that,” Paul said, drawing a roll of birch bark from his belt. “We came to the Height of Land to hunt, as we promised Steven. We found the hunting bad. Our brother Natanis drove two moose into the hands of the men who had been sent to kill him. Without those moose they’d have died.

“Six of our braves”—he read the names from the bark roll—“were sent to Sartigan to say food must be brought up river against the coming of the white men. That’s why my brother found more food in Sartigan than had ever been seen there before. Then they made canoes, so there might be enough to carry the white men across the St. Lawrence. They made eighteen canoes, tightly sewn and pitched. These are hidden on the west bank below the falls at St. Francis on the Chaudière, where the smooth water begins.

“Some of our men were used as messengers, Brother, between Sartigan and Megantic, and there were others at intervals from the meadow at Seven Mile Stream all the way around to the lake, all of our number being thus employed.” Here he read the names of the remainder of his men.

“We did not know whether we could trust the men in your army, Brother. The life of our brother Natanis was being sought. We have heard there are some among your men who have murdered Indians without cause. Perhaps this is not true. We are glad if it is not; but we had heard enough so we did not wish to go openly to them and offer our help.

“Nevertheless, Brother, there has been help given.” He consulted his bark roll again. “Our brother Natanis left a map of Dead River and the Chain of Ponds at his cabin, where soldiers found it. We built a house of bark on the shore of Lake Megantic, where it could be seen by all who came down Seven Mile Stream. You camped in that house, Brother. A good bark canoe was placed where you could find it and travel in comfort with it. When you left that house we kept a fire before it each night, so that wanderers might reach it.

“When there were men lost in the swamps your friend Steven and our brother Natanis built a fire for them in the snow and warmed them. When your guide, Hull, returned to lead the army around the swamp and to the shore of Megantic, he took them into the swamps. We followed and picked up those who fell out from exhaustion, warming and feeding them. When it was seen that many could not escape and would die in the swamps, our brother Natanis guided them to safety.

“We took twenty-two men from the swamps, Brother, unconscious or so weak they couldn’t walk, and put them by fires on the trail. We took nine men from the Chaudière after the bateaux were wrecked; men who would have died if our braves had not saved them. We picked up and warmed thirty-seven men on the path down the Chaudière when they were exhausted and near death.

“We stationed guards at the long portage around the Great Falls, and my brother was helped by them, as were many others who came after him. We provided canoes for the sick captain with the black beard. Two of our brothers paddled him from the Great Falls to Sartigan, fearing he might otherwise be wrecked and drowned.

“There are other things: the carrying of provisions to the army and the stealing of food for men who must otherwise have gone without; but there is no need to go into them. It is probable my brother knows the English have destroyed all canoes and boats on this side of the St. Lawrence, so that his army cannot cross. But we have with us our own canoes in addition to the eighteen new canoes. If my brother thinks it would be a help to him, we will take all these canoes to the St. Lawrence and set the army across in them. Also, if my brother thinks it would be a help to him, we will fight with him to take Quebec from the English. Brother, I have finished.”

Paul got up from his bearskin and moved back among his Abenakis.
It seemed to me, as I watched Colonel Arnold staring down at his clasped hands and moving his thick, broad shoulders inside his wrinkled blue coat, that although Paul’s speech had made no pretense at eloquence, it was as eloquent as any speech could have been. Therefore I was glad when he, too, made no effort at fine speaking, but spoke simply and to the point.

“Friends and Brothers,” he said to them, “I know you to be both of these things, because you are generous, like all true friends and brothers. I have been much deceived in all accounts that have been given to me concerning this expedition. Nevertheless, we have come safely to this point; and I am grateful to my friends and brothers for their help. I hope my friends and brothers will continue to help us. If they will do this we will be very much obliged to them. Likewise, we will pay them ten dollars a month and a bounty of two dollars, find them their provisions and give them liberty to choose their own officers.”

Now this was generous, and I could see Paul was pleased. He knew Natanis would remain with me, which would leave Paul to be chosen captain by his Abenakis. All of them were doubly pleased when Arnold, after shaking hands with them again, summoned Captain Oswald and made a great to-do about how these were his brothers, and would hereafter draw rations with the rest of the army, and at once be given a bounty of two dollars in hard money.

Oswald gave me a comical look and asked whether I was to receive the two dollars as well. Arnold shook his head doubtfully and said he would talk to me and Natanis in private—persuade us, perhaps, to settle for three dollars for the two of us.

So we found ourselves alone with him, and he threw himself down behind his plank table, saying bitterly that he supposed now I was satisfied making him look and feel like a fool. His eyes roamed around the room, as if looking for a stout projection on which he could chin himself and laugh down at us.

I told him that all our misunderstandings had been due to Treeworgy—the man I knew to be Hook: that Hook had been responsible for my father’s death and would have killed him with his own hands if he had not been bound by the letter of the Ten Commandments; that he would have been happy to be responsible for my death as well.

“What I want to know,” I said, “is how you came to learn of Treeworgy? Who recommended that this army use bateaux to travel up the Kennebec? Who told you Natanis was a spy?”

“I can see,” he said, popping out his eyes at me, “that you think there’s a connection between these things; but there isn’t. It’s all quite simple. While I was at Ticonderoga with that boor Ethan Allen, who has just been sent to England in irons, which may enable him to learn a few lessons in politeness, I opened a correspondence with friends in Quebec and Montreal, having this expedition in mind and wishing to learn the sentiment in both towns.

“Treeworgy came up the lake in a canoe, carrying letters from two Tories in the Plymouth Company who had it in mind to run away to England. My men captured him; and after I had looked at the letters and found he had been a clergyman, I sounded him as to carrying messages for me. He agreed, provided I sent nothing contrary to the interests of his employers and remained silent concerning his former calling; for he said he was shamed to have left it.”

“That man was shamed of nothing,” I said. “He hated all the world. As soon as he hated a man he tried to send him to hell fire by the quickest road. Paul Higgins says he left the ministry because he hated God for not being quick enough at punishing the unrighteous.”

“It may be,” Arnold said. “Nay,” he added hastily, seeing me begin to simmer, “it must be! At any rate, he seemed to me like a heaven-sent opportunity, and I believed him. What’s more, he returned with answers to my letters.”

“Who did you write to?”

“Old business acquaintances; fine men. Halsted, Gregory, Maynard, Mercier, Manir, your old friend Guerlac—”

“There!” I shouted in triumph. “I was sure of it! Guerlac!”

“No, no!” Arnold said. “Guerlac had nothing to do with it. I asked him nothing save the feelings of the French toward us; and this he told me, very simple and straightforward.”

“Who told you about the bateaux?” I asked. “And about Natanis?” “Why, now,” he said, opening his eyes wide, “that’s something I shouldn’t tell; nor would I, if I hadn’t treated you so badly. It was Captain William Gregory I asked about the Kennebec and the Chaudière, thinking he might know it or know of someone who knew it. When his reply came back, there was a secret message under the wafer: a message that this was best known to John Woodward, who had access to government papers; that letters would reach him at the inn Le Chat Qui Pêche, the Fishing Cat.”

“And Eneas. How did you learn of him as a messenger?”

“He was with Treeworgy, paddling him, when Treeworgy returned with answers to my letters. What do you think? That he betrayed me? Or was he captured, as he claimed?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try to find out. And who is Woodward? Do you know Woodward?”

“Only through letters,” Arnold said. “I had letters about him from Gregory. Gregory vouched for him; and I know Gregory. A fine gentleman: as dependable as the tides!”

“But it was Woodward, a man you don’t know,” I persisted, “who told you Natanis was a spy?”

Arnold narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes: it was Woodward who said that nothing but a bateau could live in the quick water of the upper Kennebec and Chaudière; that Colonel McLean had received reports from Natanis: reports on all persons traversing Dead River in both directions. Reports written in French and signed.”

“But you didn’t know Woodward! How could you take his word about Natanis?”

“Because he sent me the proof!” Arnold said impatiently. “He sent me a copy of one of Natanis’s reports: also one of his receipts for the pay he received from the British—a receipt for a month’s pay.”

“How much did he get a month?”

“Two shillings,” said the colonel, laughing.

I told this to Natanis, who shrugged his shoulders. “I think I was overpaid,” he said.

I spoke to him severely, reminding him that joking had already got him into trouble.

“Yes, Steven,” he said, “you’re right! Tell this colonel there must be something wrong with the story, because I can’t write.”

“He says it’s a lie,” I told Arnold. “He can’t write in French, or English either.”

The colonel gnawed at his nails, glowering at me with a dark, bulbous face. “By God!” he shouted, banging the table with the flat of his hand, “I’ve been had, and I’ll admit it; but I’ve beaten him, whoever it was, at his own game, if it was his game to keep me from reaching Quebec. We’re here, and we’re as good as at Quebec. To the devil with all this chattering! Go puzzle it out for yourself. If you find Treeworgy, shoot him with my blessing. If I find John Woodward, I’ll give him something he won’t forget!”

I was starting out with Natanis, glooming over my failure to get at the bottom of this affair, when the colonel shouted after me.

“Here! Haven’t you any sense? Haven’t you any demands to make at all, seeing I’ve near ruined you, and raised the devil with your honor?”

“No. Treeworgy’s going to pay for all that. Besides, you couldn’t
hurt my honor with my friends: not with Natanis and Phoebe—”

At this I bethought myself. “Yes, there
is
something! Phoebe—you remember Phoebe?”

Arnold shouted with laughter, slapping his thigh. “Why shouldn’t I remember her! Clever little hussy!”

“No,” I said, “she’s no hussy: only a simple nuisance, but a good girl. Her husband died in the swamp by Maple Leaf Pond: he wasn’t just right inside, I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Arnold said, staring at me in a fixed, wide-eyed way that struck me as odd. “Very sorry. What’ll she do now?”

“That was one of the things I had in mind. Will you take her in your headquarters to cook for you? Then she’ll be out of the way of some of these devils with us.”

“I will. That’s doing no one a favor but myself.”

“One other thing,” I said. “Until we fight I’d like to be free to look for Treeworgy; and when we fight I’d like to go along behind you, with Natanis, or with Morgan’s men.”

“Anything! Anything!” he snapped, seeming to be suddenly exasperated. “Now get out of here and let me go to work!”