Kindred

Front matter

EP OR Es i BO Re ieee

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KINDRED By Alice Prescott Smith Author of “ Montlivet”

Contents

. I Tet tHE TruTH TO A PERSONAGE . I Try My Mask

. My SuHapow

. CONCERNING THE NAME LE CLAIRE . Fort Saint FRANcIS

Chapter I I Lie To My Solicitor

A man’s calling should shape his body. Solicitors, for example, should be short, well-paunched, and spectacled. Nor should they be beyond middle age, since ripeness of years is out of place in a position that should carry confidence, but not too great authority. I thought this out while listening to my own solicitor. He was miscast, I decided. The man was old, of great stature, and had the head of a Dante, so that it was hard to remember one need not obey him. As it was, he was rating me; worse, I was submitting to it — though I had, but that morning, found gray in my hair.

‘How can you think of leaving England at this hour?’ he demanded.

Now a man should not look like Philosophy embodied, and yet declaim stupidities. The form of his speech irritated me, yet I knew I was but sick with myself. I was hatching a great project, but could think nothing but trivialities.

‘This hour! What is sacred about this hour?’ I snapped. ‘February, 1758! A Dutchman on the throne, and men’s minds in pickle! Show me an hour since time began when England was as little worth living in as now.’

He looked troubled; he disliked rudeness and heresy. ‘But what will you do in America?’ he evaded.

I shifted. ‘There is money in the fur trade.’

He shook his head. He sat across the table from me, and his manner, and the prelude of his manufactured coughing, insisted that I hear him out. He began as if the attack were new. ‘Mr. Sargent, I entreat you, listen soberly. Remember I have known you since — well, since you had to climb to that same chair and I gave you candy that I might talk to your father undisturbed.’

I laughed. ‘Come, Mr. Claxton, you’ve no sweetmeats for me now. It’s medicine you have. What is it?’

He would not unbend. ‘I have known you since childhood,’ he reiterated. ‘Why should you desire to make more money?’

I hated this talk. The man cared for me, and I was playing a vile part with him. I walked to the window. The Strand was full of drabbled women; the London sunlight was muddy as dregged ale; the wind sat east. Why, indeed, desire anything in so gray and mad a world! I turned back.

‘But one must desire something,’ I argued.

He would not look away. ‘I have built hopes on you,’ he said. ‘All your life you have had a purpose, and worked hard. You wished a fortune. You made it. Now, I look to you — Mr. Sargent, I appeal to you — do something with your life. You have sufficient money.’

I LIE TO MY SOLICITOR 5

“The money was almost an accident,’ I returned. ‘I pursued it, yes, but the chase was the thing. That’s over. Now what? Can you supply a new goal?’

‘Our country is at war.’

I shook my head. ‘Why be shot to humble the vanity of Pompadour! What’s the Prussian Frederick to me! No, I'll wear no red coat.’

‘But our Government?’

‘The divine right of his most potent majesty, George the Second! You can hardly mean that.’ My head wagged again. ‘Can you see me at Hampton Court?’

“Then why not busy yourself with your estates, your country interests?’

I came back and stretched an arm across the table. “Look!’ I admonished. ‘As little meat as the saint’s bones in the sacristy! I was thinking, but a moment gone, that the least a man could do was to look his réle. What figure have I for a well-fed squire, content with his hounds and his borough! No, good friend, try once more if you would keep me from America and the beaver skins.’

He made his last throw with some diffidence. “Your boy — is it right to leave him? He has no mother.’

I knew he was moved to venture this. ‘I’m of little use to the boy just now,’ I said soberly. ‘He’s in good hands, and, as you know, any question about him will be referred to you.’

‘Then you mean literally that you are going to America for trade in beavers?’

“Why not?’

But he would not argue further. His old eyes sifted me, found me wanting, and there was silence between us. It was a harder moment than I had expected. Well, it would pass. I had tracked the world somewhat, and found that most things lie in circles.

“You'll keep an eye on the boy?’ I went on.

He bowed. ‘How old is the lad?’

‘Twelve years.’

‘And you think he does not need you!’

I smiled. “Come, Mr. Claxton, ?m no monster. | The boy’s mine. He’s my heir, my — well, what else have I? But we’re both rather pulling at the chain. [Pve tried to shape the boy, and have only twisted him. He’s with his mother’s people now, and happy. Yes, he’s better without me for a time.’

His disapproval did not soften. ‘Is the boy — Stuart, you call him? — is he wild?’

*Wild?’ I could have laughed from a heart uncomfortably leaden. ‘No, he’s far from wild. He’s good and literal. He'll be a pillar of the Empire. But you ll see him. What else is to be gone over?’

Mr. Claxton coughed. ‘That — that matter of the ring?’

“Of course.’ I clapped my head for my thickwittedness. ‘You’ve news of it?’

‘I have found it.’

I jumped to my feet. The thought of that ring could sting like a gadfly. ‘Who has it?’

But Mr. Claxton would not hasten. ‘I said I had heard of it — not that I could get it. I cannot. I have tried.’

I LIE TO MY SOLICITOR 7

‘But where is it? My wife had it.’

“Your wife gave it away to—to a kinswoman. She — the kinswoman will not part with it.’

‘To what kinswoman?’

“A Madame de Godefroy.’

I took a turn across the room. ‘You must be mistaken,’ I said with my throat dry. ‘My wife had no kinswoman named Godefroy.’

Mr. Claxton bowed.

“Who is she?’ I stormed. ‘Who does she pretend to ber’

He drew papers from his pocket. ‘You know her. But you knew her as Hortense Le Claire. She married some six months back.’

And then indeed I walked the room to get myself in hand. The ring in itself was little; my wife’s disposal of it, much. I thought of my wife with gentleness, yet death had not destroyed her power to wound. But Mr. Claxton was watching.

‘I know Hortense Le Claire only by name,’ I said, coolly enough. ‘She’s a half-sister of my wife, you remember; her father was French. She has always lived in Paris. She cannot want the ring.’

“But she does.’

*You’ve written her?’

He tapped his papers. ‘Many times. She is a woman of decision.’

I thought a moment. A ring is a ring, but this one had been in my family since Magna Charta. I wanted it for myself, and for my boy.

“We must see this Madame,’ I decided. ‘I’m off to America as soon as possible. But we'll see this kinswoman, as you call her, first.’

‘That, too, has been tried.’

I looked up. ‘You’ve been to Paris?’

“Twice.”

I was suddenly short of words. Here was a friend, and I was leaving him with lies in my mouth. It was no light thing he had done — going to Paris for me. He was old, and the Channel passage must have tried him. Also, I had occasion to know how he dreaded any break in routine. ‘You should not have gone!’ I protested.

But he answered dryly. ‘Why not? You have been much occupied of late.’ A faint red showed on the ridge under his eyes. ‘This small matter was mine to arrange. I regret, sir, that I failed.’

‘Failed! Indeed not!’ I took the papers from him, and the parchment skin of his hands smote me. Yes, he was old. I glanced through the papers. Unquestionably my wife’s sister had decision of phrase. ‘Failed!’ I cried. ‘On the contrary. These letters pique me. I leave for Paris to-morrow.’

‘She is not there.’

‘Not there?’

‘She married,’ he reminded me. ‘She married Nicholas de Godefroy of the regiment of Auxerrois. He has been sent to Canada.’

‘She went with him?’

‘She followed him some months ago.’

“She went to Canada — to Canada,’ I murmured. My tongue was vacant, but my mind was off on a new leash, chasing forbidden business. I had to shake myself back. ‘She’s a plucky dame. Well, well, I may see her.’

I LIE TO MY SOLICITOR 9

I could see him withdraw. ‘You are going to Canada?’

But I laughed at him. ‘I am going to Boston,’ I said. ‘To the good town of Boston, owned, I understand, equally by the devil of greed and the reformed religion. Also to New Amsterdam famed for good grog, and better, beaver skins. But who knows where I may end? Unless Brigadier Wolfe works miracles, the French may put us all in chains, and take us to Canada as state captives. So I may see Madame de Godefroy in Montreal.’

The old face across from me whitened. ‘Forgive me if I say your father was a patriot. It is strange to me that you can jest of your country’s extremities in this light way.’

I could only shake my head. ‘If I cannot fight, I can at least make money,’ I mumbled without looking at him. ‘So if the Hanoverian George gets in too hard straits I may lend him a groschen or two. There, if you like, is a patriotic excuse for my search for beaver skins.’

He would not argue further. He lighted the tapers, for the dusk had crept in, and we went over a few last papers.

‘We are parting for a long time,’ he said as we went down to the street together.

Yes, we were parting for a long time. I had a besetting impulse to tell him the truth; that he was saying good-bye to so hare-brained a fool that there was little probability that we should meet again. But I resisted. I took my leave with light phrases, and with a mind that shirked the issue. Try as I might, I could not feel the occasion weighty. I was leaving. If I did not return, what matter? I left behind a boy who was of my blood, but not of my temper, a fortune in which I felt small interest, and a friend or two who liked me for my tongue and my tobacco. It was little to show for aman’s work. No wonder I could shrug it away. Yes, it was fitting that I should talk of ancestral rings, and of the price of beaver, as if that bounded my desire. It more than bounded my accomplishment. I had worked hard, but had no anchor for my pains. A man is driftwood and a failure who, at thirty-five, can leave his home without emotion. I had little use for myself.

‘Good-bye,’ I said for the fifth time. ‘I shall bring you a suit of castors, and an Iroquois. You may sell the first in order to buy the patriotism of the second. They say a redskin does nothing except for barter.’

Mr. Claxton looked down. ‘I may not see you again,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am old. You will find your affairs in order. If you do not return at the end of a year and I am alive, I shall follow.’

He turned to go, but I grasped at his arm. ‘No, no! Don’t follow. No matter what happens, don’t try to follow.’

But he drew away from my hand, and started down the street. ‘In a year,’ his voice trailed back, ‘in a year, I shall follow.’

I looked after him, and blessed the flare of exasperation that kept my eyes from growing dim. Yet I knew his threat an empty one; for the path I was about to take was uncharted. I would leave no tracks.

Chapter II I Tell The Truth To A Personage

SAYING good-bye to Mr. Claxton did not cut all my cables; there remained a personage to interview. I met the personage that evening in Fleet Street in a small house which I owned, and which chanced to be vacant. We came to the rendezvous separately, after the skies were black. Mystery has place in the forest, but in town, in the midst of clatter and folk, and everyday concerns, it has always a touch of playacting and triviality. Yet we thought secrecy necessary. It was possible I was watched, and it was certain my visitor must account for every movement. For my visitor was Mr. Pitt.

That he, the War Minister, should have agreed to this interview, set my blood hammering. I had not dared go to him for fear of observation; now I thanked him warmly for coming to me. I welcomed him in a dark hall which smelled of dust and stagnant air, and led him to a small room where I had a table and chairs in waiting. He seated himself by the table, and I sat across from him, lighted candles between.

‘The maps,’ he demanded. It may have fretted him that I sat in his presence; few underlings took that liberty.

I drew out my papers, and smoothed them between the candles. ‘They will show you little you do not know,’ I premised. ‘It is said, Mr. Pitt, that you, who have never been in America, could find your way on that frontier without a guide.’

He had his fingers on the map. ‘I have talked with trappers and frontiersmen,’ he said absently. ‘But go over the routes with me again. Go over it as if I knew nothing. War in every crack and cranny of the world; Europe, Africa, India, America! I cannot carry all the detail. Come, map your routes, and your plans.’

It was new to see this man admit weariness and confusion. He thought lightly of me and my project, or he would have spurred himself to give fire to me. I laid my hand on the drawing. ‘It’s not needed,’ I said, ‘save to show you one small, black dot. I’ve no machine-drawn plans. I have nothing to do with your armies, and know little of them. Louisburg, Ticonderoga — they are no more than names to me. I am intent on a one-man battle. Iam going in search of Charles de Langlade.’

‘I know, I know.’ He sat back in the stiff chair, and dropping study of the map, focused on me. ‘You told me this. But I see little in it. This Langlade, I understand, is a French half-breed who commands a rabble of western Indians. What more do you know of him?’

I moved nearer that the candle-light might search me, and I sought the man’s eyes. ‘This Langlade,’ I began slowly, ‘is the son of a well-born Frenchman and an Ottawa woman — daughter of a chief. He is a partisan officer, and controls from five hundred to a thousand Indians, as many men as there are warriors in the western tribes.. That is his rabble, as

I TELL THE TRUTH 18 you call it. Ottawas, Winnebagoes, Sacs, Pottawatamies — he holds them all, as you hold us here in England, Mr. Pitt, not perhaps in the hollow of his hand, but under his turned-down thumb. He holds the balance of power. Where Langlade and his rabble appear, victory follows. Take Braddock’s defeat — Langlade was responsible. He may have a rabble, but the result set Europe ablaze.’ I stopped with a jerk. I was not kindling the man with my rhetoric. ‘I don’t know why I say all this,’ I went on, ‘for I can work without your help — or even your approbation. I mean this in all courtesy. I wish nothing from you but a hearing. There is but one contingency where I would ask more.’

‘And that contingency?’

‘A remote one in your mind. The chance of my succeeding.’

He half rose. “State your plans sea Suppose you reach this half-breed — what gain?’

‘Mr. Pitt, why listen to me at all?’

He wagged his head. ‘I have heard things of you. Your credentials are as good as your plan is bad.’

“You have heard things? I can make a fair guess at what. You have heard that I was shrewd, hard, successful. That I was no man of fashion, and had no itch for government preferment.’

“Yes, I have heard these things.’

“Then let them stand as a background of sanity to my insane idea. When we talked before, I told you I wished to reach the extreme western forts of Canada. That I should go as an unauthorized spy.’

“To accomplish what?’

I pointed to the map. ‘The Indians control the West. The French forts that hold the western waterway are not garrisoned. They are protected by the local Indians. Why are those Indians French in sympathy instead of English?’

‘The Iroquois are for us?’

‘The Iroquois are not against us. That is about as much as we can claim. Where have we a commander who could lead the Iroquois on a two months’ march as Langlade leads his tribes! No, we don’t understand the Indians.’

‘And your plan?’

“It is the western tribes we need and fear. Langlade controls them. We know little of their number, their power, or their loyalty. No Englishman has been allowed to get to them.’

“And you?’

‘IT shall try. If I can get near Langlade, I shall at least learn some lessons as to handling savages.’

He pondered, nodding. ‘Would a commission help you?’

I could not withhold an impatient flick of my thumb. My explanation had been dull indeed, that he should ask such a question. ‘You have gold-barred gentlemen enough,’ I said testily. ‘No, Mr. Pitt, I am simply an unauthorized madman to whom you are indulgent. If I wore a red coat, I should be dead before a month. The frontier is a dead-line at this moment.’

‘What coat will you wear?’

“What I can. I shall start as an English trapper, then shift into French garb with the occasion.’

oe =

I TELL THE TRUTH 15

‘You can pass for a Frenchman?’

I could only smile. ‘That is to be seen. I passed my youth in a French colony, so speak the language — somewhat idiomatically. As to my accent — it’s probably British. We shall see.’

‘Humph! You have funds?’

‘Ample.’

‘Then what can I give you?’

I hesitated. ‘A listening ear. A man grows weary of being always alone with his folly — even when the folly is dear to him. I wanted you to know. I may not return — and I — well, my plan may be good for something, even if I fail. And you, too, love England.’

He gave me his hand, and we looked at each other. ‘I fear you are not likely to return,’ he said after a moment. ‘However, you are strong, lean-muscled, yet broad-shouldered — that is a conquering type. You will have much to endure.’

‘I will have much to adventure. You see this small black dot? It is Fort Saint Francis. If I can reach it, I may hope to find de Langlade.’

He bent above the drawing. ‘A pitifully blank sheet,’ he groaned. ‘No English settlements west of the Miami. So this is your fort. How will you reach it?’ |

‘A Frenchman would go up the Saint Lawrence,

~~ then down through the Great Lakes. That way is barred to me. I must follow the Ohio River to the Illinois country, then go north to the Fox River. Fort Saint Francis is at the mouth of the Fox.’

‘Why is Langlade there? I thought he was second officer at Mackinac.’

‘He is. But he is also superintendent of the Indians for the division of La Baye. Then, too, he is a fur-trader. I may find employment with him. It’s all a gamble.’

He nodded at that. ‘A losing gamble, I’m afraid. I can’t quite see what you’re to gain in proportion to your risks. You’re taking large hazards.’

‘Very large,’ I agreed. ‘But a gamester is at his best with the odds against him. And I suppose I am a gamester — it’s the vice of our age. If I do not throw the dice at Ranelagh Gardens, it’s because I wish larger stakes. What I gain, lies mainly in the fall of the cards— probably nothing. But I can lose nothing.’

“Your head!’

‘I hope not. And you'll agree it’s a gain if I can sow revolt among Langlade’s followers. Every warrior I draw from him will save us a scalp or more.’

“You spoke of the chance of your needing me.’

I groped for words. ‘The chance is slight. My successes, as you see, will be the invisible sort. Yet — who can tell? Should I succeed, should I, for instance, be able to deflect a tribe to our standard, I should like assurance that Pll not be interfered with. That Pll not have to account to officialdom.’

He laughed rather sadly. ‘You’re looking far ahead. Yes, I promise you free rein, provided, always, that I’m still in a position to promise anything. No one else knows your plans?’

“No one is my confidant. Pve had to get a great deal of information — that may have caused comment. But among my associates here in London,

I TELL THE TRUTH 17 such schemes would not be believed of me. I’m known — well, you know how I’m known.’

He smiled. ‘An odd mixture!’ he said under his breath, and passed to other matters. We talked somewhat gravely. Mr. Pitt was said to be eloquent to every one on the poorest occasion. I saw none of it that night. We talked as friends, and one does not show rhetoric at the hearthstone. Also I think that he looked at me as already a dead man, and the thought saddened him. But we had much to say and it was late when we blew out the candles, and groped together to the door.

“You leave no address?’ he asked, as we paused outside.

“A Boston one with my solicitor. I expect no news.’

He studied me in the starlight. ‘Then there’s no woman in your life. I should have known that by your readiness to jump over the moon in this fashion.’

“No, there’s no woman.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said lingeringly. ‘A man works in freer air without a woman. And this is too much a petticoat war, as it is. Maria Theresa, Pompadour, Elizabeth of Russia — their skirts are round my feet at every turn. Well, don’t vaunt your independence. You may be bound hand and foot on the other side.’

This was poor jesting. ‘If I have kept free in London,’ I said, ‘you would not commend me to a squaw! Though they are said to be docile, and might make good propagandists. If I bring back a Pocahontas, Mr. Pitt, I promise she shall wear the colors of your ministry.’

And so we parted.

Chapter III I Try My Mask

THREE months later I lay on my stomach on the ground, using a forest pool as mirror. I was an odd Narcissus, but a complacent one. My face pleased me. It was bronzed and weather-worn, and might have belonged equally to Frenchman or Abyssinian. Many weeks of forest life had given me the vagabond’s mask; the ruddy, clear-veined, English look was gone.

I had reason for this attack of selfconsciousness. My Indians reported that a white man and two Indians were in camp around the bend of the stream. We had not seen a white man in weeks, and were now well in the territory of the Illinois. So the man around the bend must be French. This was the moment I had been waiting. Up to this point my fantastic journey had gone smoothly; three months had marched in arranged programme — the voyage, the stay in Boston, the weeks of forest journeying; al! had unrolled like papyrus manuscript, benign Fate holding the scroll. But all this had been prelude, preparation. Now the lights were ready, the curtains drawn, and I must strut on the stage in my new role. I peered again into the pool. Yes, I looked the woodsman. If my wits were as well suited as my clothes, I might venture on civilities with my woodland neighbor.

Yet I did not go at once. I lingered. I looked at my four Indians lolling in the sun, and at my bales of merchandise piled high against a tree. We had kindled a fire in this spot, so it was home. It was all peaceful, wooing. In fifteen minutes, if my tongue betrayed me, I might be shot. I tried to drive my mind from thoughts of danger, but I could not but remember wire hoops I had seen on bushes — small hoops with scalps stretched on them to dry. I pulled myself together.

‘Cochon,’ I called, ‘I’m going to the camp around the bend.’ Cochon, a giant Miami, rolled to his feet, and came to me. He was a camp-following Indian of a low type, and spoke enough French to act as interpreter. He liked his nickname. He knew nothing of pigs, but the rounded syllables pleased him as might a feather in his hair. He picked up his gun.

*I will go with Monsieur.’

Now I had thought to take Cochon, but his readiness made me hesitate. I did not know these Indians, having come upon them only the week before. I had made many shifts of escort. Leaving Boston as an Englishman, I had, by various devices, changed something of my identity with each relay of guides, until I had gradually slipped into my French guise. I had worked slowly, with infinite pains, and felt I had contrived the changes of skin with some skill. So I was convinced it would be difficult to connect John Sargent of London with Auguste Le Claire, petty trader among the western tribes.

I had taken the name of Le Claire in some idleness, since I knew it well, and it came easily to my tongue.

My wife’s mother had married a Le Claire as her second husband and had gone with him to France. My wife was a child of the first marriage, and was left in school in England. I had never known the Le Claire family, but they had often irritated me. They could lend me their name in payment.

I kept Cochon standing while I pondered what to do. Ii I were denounced as English by this Frenchman whom I was going out to meet, Cochon would probably kill me. He would fear I might dig out his eyes to make devil soup; rumor having warned him of that English habit. No, if I were to be unmasked, the smaller the audience the better. I sent Cochon away, and looked to the priming of my gun..

I crept around the bend, knowing the Frenchman had probably discovered me long ere this, and had me well under observation. I was unsure of my woodcraft, and saw eyes in the trees. I schooled my face for the encounter.

But I acted my mummery to the leaves and the air. When I parted the bushes I came upon a group as quiet and unsuspecting as if it were a summer day upon the Thames. I drew back. The white man was lying on the ground, asleep apparently. His back was toward me, and all I could see was the curve of his long body, and his outflung arm. Some feet down the river two Indians patched a battered canoe.

I hardly know why I did not go forward at once, but the picture held me. The afternoon was heavy with spring, and the rough camp into which I was looking was dropped into a bed of young ferns and springing grasses. The Indians worked quietly, their low gutturals hardly a murmur, and the air was so sweetly still it seemed I could hear the breathing of the sleeping man.

The man lay easily, and I watched him with a certain envy. He was meanly dressed, in tattered, grease-soaked rags, but his body was lithe and young. I felt stiffly awkward as I looked at the line of his shoulder, his waist, his thigh. No sleeping leopard would have been fairer of proportion. Pliant France, stolid England! He turned a little, and I grudged him the smooth fluency of even his sleeping movements. Yet I must imitate. I must try for that Gallic suppleness of mind and body.

I suppose my fixed attention waked him. He suddenly sat up, faced about, and with no preliminary start or ejaculation, gazed at me silently.

And I, on my side, could make no sound. I had looked on many marred faces, but never on one so terrible. Half the man’s face was gone. I was not new to hideous sights, but this one found me unprepared. I had been thinking of grace and beauty, and now this met me in the gentle softness of the forest spring. I stood dumb, my hands cold, and no words in my throat.

So the man spoke first. ‘Then I am as terrible as that.’ He spoke in French. The marvel was that he could articulate, but he did it fairly well. I went to him, and out of my confusion said a child’s speech —a woman’s. ‘I am sorry,’ I mumbled stupidly.