The Plowshare and the Sword: A Tale of Old QuebecTrevena, John
History
The Plowshare and the Sword: A Tale of Old Quebec
Trevena, John
Canada -- History -- To 1763 (New France) -- Fiction
The day following the duel La Salle was under the hands of the
surgeon--who, in the ignorance of that age, treated his patient for
loss of blood by letting yet more--and Roussilac was sending forth men
with the charge to find the hiding-place of the Englishman, and to fail
not at their peril. However, they did at that time fail. Not even the
cunning hunchback Gaudriole had been able to discover the habitation of
the mysterious swordsman who had dared to enter the fortress and openly
defy its officers and men.
Even the Indian might have walked behind the scrub of tangled
willow-growth over the cave-dwelling, and known nothing of it, had his
eyes or his nose failed to discern the thread of wood-smoke often
curling above the blackened crater of a hollow tree which had been
ingeniously converted into a chimney. A grass-covered knoll made the
roof of the dwelling, the entrance to which only became apparent from a
stone causeway, shelving gradually between the roots of pine trees, and
enclosed by massive logs which banked the eastern front of the burrow.
Upon the threshold of this rude home a brown boy was playing with a
wolf-hound, while awaiting his father's return from that daring visit
to the fortress.
Around him Nature thundered like a great organ. The leaden waters of
the great discharge roared where the bush made a screen which no eyes
could pierce; the falls of the Ouiataniche smoked below. Spray flew
above the scrub, bathing the dog's fur and the strong arms of the
child. The one bayed, the other shouted, to the hard north wind that
swept overhead, lashing the branches, tearing the summits of the pines,
snatching the dry wisps of grass and whirling them under the clouds.
The dark bush groaned. The great rocks bore their buffetings with
hollow protests. Ravens croaked as they swung up and down; divers
wailed from the weedy creeks. The boughs chafed, and the plumed
foliage clashed together, loosening a rain of cones and showers of pine
needles.
"I want to grow. I want to be strong," shouted the boy to his panting
companion. "I want to wear a sword and fight. I want to be a soldier
and shed blood. I want to live!"
The dog broke away barking, and rushed through the scrub. The child
ran after him, and they met upon the dripping rocks, which made a
natural fortification to the cave beyond.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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