A Little Girl in Old Detroit by Amanda Minnie Douglas (e reader comics .txt) 📖

came up to the vessel, poled around to the shore side, when she was suddenly lifted up by strong arms and caught by other arms with a motion so rapid she could not have struggled if she had wished. And now she was set down almost roughly.

"Welcome, my fair demoiselle," said a voice whose triumph was in no degree disguised. "How shall I ever thank you for this journey you have taken to meet me? I could have made it pleasanter for you if you would have consented a little earlier. But a willful girl takes her own way, and her way is sweet to the man who loves her, no matter how briery the path may be."

Jeanne Angelot was stunned. Then her worst fears were realized. She was in the power of Louis Marsac. Oh, why had she not thrown herself into the river; why had she not seized the knife with which they had been cutting venison steak yester morn and ended it all? She tried to speak--her lips were dry, and her tongue numb as well as dumb.

He took her arm. As if deprived of resistance she suffered herself to be led forward and then down a few steps. He opened a door.

"See," he said, "I have arranged a pretty bower for you, and a servant to wait upon you. And now, Mam'selle Angelot, further refusal is useless. To-morrow or next day at the latest the priest will make us man and wife."

"I will never be your wife alive," she said. Every pulse within her shrank from the desecration.

"Oh, yes, you will," and he smiled with a blandness that was maddening. "When we are once married I shall be very sweet and gentle. I shall wait with such patience that you will learn to pity me at first. My devotion will be so great that even a heart of marble could not resist. Mam'selle, the sun and the rain will wear away the stoutest rocks in time, and in the split crevices there grows some tiny flower. That is the way it is with the most resolute woman's heart. And you are not much more than a child. Then--you have no lover."

Jeanne stood spellbound. Was it possible that she should ever come to love this man? Yet in her childhood she had been very fond of him. She was a great puzzle to herself at this moment. All the old charms and fascinations that had been part of the lore of her childhood, weird stories that Touchas had told, but which were forbidden by the Church, rushed over her. She was full of terror at herself as well as of Louis Marsac.

He read the changes in her countenance, but he did not understand her shrinking from an abhorred suitor, nor the many fine and delicate lines of restraint that had come to hedge her about, to impress a peculiar responsibility of her own soul that would be degraded by the bondage. She had seen some of it in other girls mated to coarse natures.

"My beautiful bird shall have everything. We will go up to the head of the great lake where my father has a lodge that is second only to that of the White Chief. I am his only son. He wishes for my marriage. Jeanne, he will give thee such a welcome as no woman ever had. The costliest furs shall be thine, jewels from abroad, servants to come at the bidding of thy finger--"

"I do not want them!" she interrupted, vehemently. "I have told you I do not want to be the wife of any man. Give me the freedom you have stolen from me. Send me back to Detroit. Oh, there must be women ready to marry you. Let me go."

Her voice had a piercing sweetness. Even anger could not have made it harsh. She dropped on her knees; she raised her beautiful eyes in passionate entreaty.

There was much of the savage Indian in him. He would enjoy her subjugation. It would begin gently, then he would tighten the cord until she had paid back to the uttermost, even to the blow she had given him. But he was too astute to begin here.

"Thou shalt go back in state as my wife. Ere long my father will be as big a magnate as the White Chief. Detroit will be proud to honor us both, when we shall be chiefs of the great copper country. Rise, Star of the Morning. Then, whatever thou shalt ask as my wife shall be granted to thee."

She rose only to throw herself on the pile of hemlock cushions, face downward to shut him out of her sight. Was he some strange, evil spirit in a man's shape?

Noko, an old woman, waited on her. If she knew Chippewa or French she would not use them. She cooked savory messes. At night she slept on the mat of skins at the door; during the day she was outside mostly. The door was bolted and locked beside, but both bolt and lock were outside. The window with its small panes of greenish glass was securely fastened.

Jeanne could tie a band about her neck and choke herself to death. It would be horrible to strangle, and she shuddered. She had no weapon of any kind. The woman watched her while she ate and took away all the dishes when she was through.

The cabin was not large, but arranged with much taste. The sides were covered with bark and long strips of Indian embroidery, and curious plates or tiles of polished stone secured by the corners. On one side a roomy couch raised above the floor, fragrant with newly gathered balsam of fir and sweet grass, and covered with blankets of fine weaves, and skins cured to marvelous softness. Two chairs that were also hung with embroidery done on silk, and a great square wooden seat covered with mottled fawn skin. Bunches of dried, sweet herbs were suspended in the corners, with curious imitation flowers made of dainty feathers, bits of bark, and various colored leaves.

Sometimes she raged like a wild creature in her cage. She would not speak when Louis entered the room. She had a horrible fear of his blandishments. There were days and nights,--how many she did not know for there was the torture of hundreds comprised in them. Then she wept and prayed. There was the great Manitou Touchas and many of the Indian women believed in; there was the good God the schoolmaster had talked about, and the minister at the chapel, who had sent his Son to save all who called upon him, and why not be saved in this world as well as the next? In heaven all would be safe--yes, it was here that people needed to be saved from a thousand dangers. And there was the good God of the Church and the Holy Mother and all the blessed saints. Oh, would they not listen to one poor little girl? She did not want to die. All her visions of life and love were bounded by dear Detroit, La Belle Detroit.


"O Holy Father, hear me!
O Blessed Mother of God, hear me!
O Precious Son of Mary, hear me!"


she cried on her knees, until a strange peace came to her soul. She believed there would be some miracle for her. There had been for others.

At noon, one day, they came to a landing. There was some noise and confusion, much tramping and swearing. She heard Marsac at the door talking to Noko in French and the woman answering him. Her heart beat so that it well-nigh strangled her. But he did not come in. Presently the rumbling and unloading were over, and there was no sound but the oscillation of the vessel as it floundered in the tide with short beats, until the turning, and then the motion grew more endurable. If she could only see! But from her window there was nothing save an expanse of water, dotted with canoes and some distant islands. The cabin was always in semi-twilight.

There was a fumbling at the door presently. The bolt was drawn, the lock snapped; and the door was opened cautiously. It was neither Noko nor Marsac, but some one in a soft, gray blanket, with white borders. The corner was thrown over her head. She turned stealthily, took out the key, and locked the door again on the inside. Then she faced Jeanne who had half risen, and her blanket fell to the floor.

A handsome Indian girl, arrayed in a beautiful costume that bespoke rank in the wearer. Across her brow was a fillet made of polished stones that sparkled like jewels. Her long, black hair nearly reached her knees. Her skin was fine and clear, of a light bronze tint, through which the pink in her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were larger and softer than most of her race, of a liquid blackness, her nose was straight and slim, with fine nostrils, and her mouth like an opening rose, the under petal falling apart.

She came close to the white girl who shrank back terrified at the eyes fixed so resolutely on her.

"You are the French girl who wants to marry Louis Marsac," she hissed, between her white teeth.

"I am a French girl, Jeanne Angelot, and he stole me from Detroit. I do not want to marry him. Oh, no! a thousand times no! I have told him that I shall kill myself if he forces me to marry him!"

The Indian girl looked amazed. Her hands dropped at her side. Her eyes flickered in wavering lights, and her breath came in gasps.

"You do not want to marry him?"

Her voice was hoarse, guttural. "Ah, you lie! You make believe! It cannot be! Why, then, did you come up here? And why has he gone to L'Arbre Croche for the priest he expected?"

"I told you. He hired some Indians to take me from Detroit, after his boat had left. I would not go. I did not want to marry him and said '_no_' dozens of times. They took me out in a canoe. I think they were Hurons; I did not understand their language. Somewhere--I do not know where we are now, and I cannot remember the days that passed, but they met the trader's boat and put me on it, and then I knew it was Louis Marsac who had stolen me. Has he gone for a priest? Is that what you said? Oh, save me! Help me to escape. I might throw myself into the bay, but I can swim. I should not like to die when life is so sweet and beautiful, and I am afraid I should try to save myself or some one might rescue me. Oh, believe it is no lie! I do not want to marry him."

"You have another lover?" The eyes seemed to pierce her through, as if sure of an affirmative.

"I have no lover, not even in Detroit. I do not like love. It is foolish and full of hot kisses, and I do not want to marry. Oh, save me if you have any pity! Help me to escape!"

She slipped down at the Indian girl's feet and caught at the garment of feathers so smooth and soft it seemed like satin.

"See here." The visitor put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a small dagger with a pearl hilt in which was set jewels. Jeanne shuddered, but remained on her knees, glancing up piteously.