Before I left Fort Stephenson, I wrote a letter to Count de Chaumont, telling him about Paul's death and asking for news of the De Ferriers. The answer I begged him to send to Sandusky, which the British now despaired of taking. But although Skenedonk made a long journey for it twice during the half year, I got no answer. The dangerous work of the next few months became like a long debauch. Awake, we were dodging betwixt hostile tribes, or dealing with those inclined to peace. Asleep, I was too exhausted to dream. It was a struggle of the white force of civilization with the red sense of justice. I wrestled with Algonquin dialects as I had wrestled with Greek. Ottawas and Chippewas, long friendly to the French, came more readily than other tribes to agreement with Americans. Wherever I went I pushed the quest that was uppermost in my mind, but without finding any trace of Madame de Ferrier. From the measure constantly taken betwixt other men of my time and myself, this positive knowledge resulted. In spite of the fact that many treated me as a prince, I found myself an average man. I had no military genius. In argument, persuasive, graceful--even eloquent--were the adjectives applied to me; not sweeping and powerful. I should have made a jog-trot king, no better than my uncle of Provence; no worse than my uncle of Artois, who would rather saw wood than reign a constitutional monarch, and whom the French people afterward turned out to saw wood. My reign might have been neat; it would never have been gaudily splendid. As an average man, I could well hold my own in the world. Perry on the lakes, General Jackson in the southwest, Harrison in the west, and Lawrence on the ocean were pushing the war towards its close; though as late as spring the national capital was burned by the British, and a gentleman whom they gaily called "Old Jimmy Madison," temporarily driven out. But the battle on the little river Thames, in October, settled matters in the Northwest. The next April, after Leipsic, Napoleon Bonaparte was banished to the island of Elba; and Louis XVIII passed from his latest refuge at Hartwell House in England, to London; where the Prince Regent honored him and the whole capital cheered him; and thence to Paris where he was proclaimed king of France. We heard of it in due course, as ships brought news. I was serving with the American forces. The world is fluid to a boy. He can do and dare anything. But it hardens around a man and becomes a wall through which he must cut. I felt the wall close around me. In September I was wounded at the battle of Plattsburg on Lake Champlain. Three men, besides the General and the doctor, and my Oneida, showed a differing interest in me, while I lay with a gap under my left arm, in a hospital tent. First came Count de Chaumont, his face plowed with lines; no longer the trim gentleman, youthfully easy, and in his full maturity, that he had been when I first saw him at close range. He sat down on a camp seat by my cot, and I asked him before he could speak-- "Where is Madame de Ferrier?" "She's dead," he answered. "I don't believe it." "You're young. I'm going back to France for a while. France will not be what it was under the Empire. I'm tired of most things, however, and my holdings here make me independent of changes there." "What reason have you to think that she is dead?" "Do you know the Indiana Territory well?" "The northern part only." "It happened in what was called the Pigeon Roost settlement at the fork of the White River. The Kickapoos and Winnebagoes did it. There were about two dozen people in the settlement." "I asked how you know these things." "I have some of the best Indian runners that ever trod moccasins, and when I set them to scouting, they generally find what I want;--so I know a great many things." "But Paul--" "It's an old custom to adopt children into the tribes. You know your father, Chief Williams, is descended from a white girl who was a prisoner. There were about two dozen people in the settlement, men, women and children. The majority of the children were dashed against trees. It has been consolation to me to think she did not survive in the hands of savages." The hidden causes which work out results never worked out a result more improbable. I lay silent, and De Chaumont said, "Do you remember the night you disappeared from the Tuileries?" "I remember it." "You remember we determined not to let the Marquis de Ferrier see Napoleon. When you went down the corridor with Eagle I thought you were luring him. But she told us afterward you were threatened with arrest, and she helped you out of the Tuileries by a private stairway." "Did it make any stir in the palace?" "No. I saw one man hurrying past us. But nobody heard of the arrest except Eagle." "How did she get out?" "Out of what?" "The queen's closet." "She was in the garden. She said she went down the private stairway to avoid the gendarme. She must have done it cleverly, for she came in on the arm of Junot and the matter was not noticed. There stood my emergency facing me again. You had deserted. What made you imagine you were threatened with arrest?" "Because a gendarme in court dress laid his hand on my shoulder and told me I was to come with him." "Well, you may have drawn the secret police upon you. You had been cutting a pretty figure. It was probably wise to drop between walls and get out of France. Do you know why you were arrested?" "I think the groundless charge would have been an attack upon Napoleon." "You never attacked the emperor!" "No. But I had every reason to believe such a charge would be sworn against me if I ever came to trial." "Perhaps that silly dauphin story leaked out in Paris. The emperor does hate a Bourbon. But I thought you had tricked me. And the old marquis never took his eyes off the main issue. He gave Eagle his arm, and was ready to go in and thank the emperor." "You had to tell him?" "I had to tell him." "What did he say?" "Not a word. All the blood seemed to be drawn out of his veins, and his face fell in. Then it burned red hot, and instead of good friend and benefactor, I saw myself a convict. His big staring blue eyes came out of a film like an owl's, and shot me through. I believe he saw everything I ever did in my life, and my intentions about Eagle most plainly of all. He bowed and wished me good-night, and took her out of the Tuileries." "But you saw him again?" "He never let me see him again, or her either. I am certain he forbade her to communicate with us. They did not go back to Mont-Louis. They left their hotel in Paris. I wrote imploring him to hold the estates. My messages were returned. I don't know how he got money enough to emigrate. But emigrate they did; avoiding Castorland, where the Saint-Michels, who brought her up, lived in comfort, and might have comforted her, and where I could have made her life easy. He probably dragged her through depths of poverty, before they joined a company bound for the Indiana Territory, where the Pigeon Roost settlement was planted. I have seen old Saint-Michel work at clearing, and can imagine the Marquis de Ferrier sweating weakly while he chopped trees. It is a satisfaction to know they had Ernestine with them. De Ferrier might have plowed with Eagle," said the count hotly. "He never hesitated to make use of her." While I had been living a monk's studious, well-provided life, was she toiling in the fields? I groaned aloud. De Chaumont dropped his head on his breast. "It hurts me more than I care to let anybody but you know, Lazarre. If I hadn't received that letter I should have avoided you. I wish you had saved Paul. I would adopt him." "I think not, my dear count." "Nonsense, boy! I wouldn't let you have him." "You have a child." "Her husband has her. But let us not pitch and toss words. No use quarreling over a dead boy. What right have you to Eagle's child?" "Not your right of faithful useful friendship. Only my own right." "What's that?" "Nothing that she ever admitted." "I was afraid of you," said De Chaumont, "when you flowered out with old Du Plessy, like an heir lost in emigration and found again. You were a startling fellow, dropping on the Faubourg; and anything was possible under the Empire. You know I never believed the dauphin nonsense, but a few who remembered, said you looked like the king. You were the king to her; above mating with the best of the old nobility. She wouldn't have married you." "Did she ever give you reason to think she would marry you?" "She never gave me reason to think she would marry anybody. But what's the use of groaning? There's distraction abroad. I took the trails to see you, when I heard you were with the troops on Champlain. I shall be long in France. What can I do for you, my boy?" "Nothing, count. You have already done much." "She had a foolish interest in you. The dauphin!--Too good to sit at table with us, you raw savage!--Had to be waited on by old Jean! And she would have had me serve you, myself!" He laughed, and so did I. We held hands, clinging in fellowship. "I might not have refused your service; like Marquis de Ferrier." The count's face darkened. "I'll not abuse him. He's dead." "Are you sure he's dead this time, count?" "A Kickapoo is carrying his scalp. Trust my runners. They have traced him so much for me they know the hair on his stubborn head. I must go where I can have amusement, Lazarre. This country is a young man's country. I'm getting old. Adieu. You're one of the young men." Some changes of light and darkness passed over me, and the great anguish of my wound increased until there was no rest. However, the next man who visited me stood forth at the side of the stretcher as Bellenger. I thought I dreamed him, being light-headed with fever. He was unaccountably weazened, robbed of juices, and powdering to dust on the surface. His mustache had grown again, and he carried it over his ears in the ridiculous manner affected when I saw him in the fog. "Where's your potter's wheel?" I inquired. "In the woods by Lake George, sire." "Do you still find clay that suits you?" "Yes, sire." "Have you made that vase yet?" "No, sire. I succeed in nothing." "You succeed in tracking me." He swam before my eyes, and I pointed to the surgeon's camp-chair. "Not in your presence, sire." "Have you lost your real dauphin?" I inquired. "I have the honor of standing before the real dauphin." "So you swore at Mittau!" "I perjured myself." "Well, what are you doing now?" "Sire, I am a man in failing health. Before the end I have come to tell you the truth." "Do you think you can do it?" "Sire"--said Bellenger. "Your king is Louis XVIII," I reminded him. "He is not my king." "Taken your pension away, has he?" "I no longer receive anything from that court." "And your dauphin?" "He was left in Europe." "Look here, Bellenger! Why did you treat me so? Dauphin or no dauphin, what harm was I doing you?" "I thought a strong party was behind you. And I knew there had been double dealing with me. You represented some invisible power tricking me. I was beside myself, and faced it out in Mittau. I have been used shamefully, and thrown aside when I am failing. Hiding out in the hills ruined my health." "Let us get to facts, if you have facts. Do you know anything about me, Bellenger?" "Yes, sire." "Who am I?" "Louis XVII of France." "What proof can you give me?" "First, sire, permit a man who has been made a wretched tool, to implore forgiveness of his rightful sovereign, and a little help to reach a warmer climate before the rigors of a northern winter begin." "Bellenger, you are entrancing," I said. "Why did I ever take you seriously? Ste. Pelagie was a grim joke, and tipping in the river merely your playfulness. You had better take yourself off now, and keep on walking until you come to a warmer climate." He wrung his hands with a gesture that touched my natural softness to my enemy. "Talk, then. Talk, man. What have you to say?" "This, first, sire. That was a splendid dash you made into France!" "And what a splendid dash I made out of it again, with a gendarme at my coat tails, and you behind the gendarme!" "But it was the wrong time. If you were there now;--the French people are so changeable--" "I shall never be there again. His Majesty the eighteenth Louis is welcome. What the blood stirs in me to know is, have I a right to the throne?" "Sire, the truth as I know it, I will tell you. You were the boy taken from the Temple prison." "Who did it?" "Agents of the royalist party whose names would mean nothing to you if I gave them." "I was placed in your hands?" "You were placed in my hands to be taken to America." "I was with you in London, where two royalists who knew me, recognized me?" "The two De Ferriers." "Did a woman named Madame Tank see me?" Bellenger was startled. "You were noticed on the ship by a court-lady of Holland; a very clever courtier. I had trouble in evading her. She suspected too much, and asked too many questions; and would have you to play with her baby on the deck, though at that time you noticed nothing." "But where does the idiot come into my story?" "Sire, you have been unfortunate, but I have been a victim. When we landed in New York I went directly and made myself known to the man who was to act as purveyor of your majesty's pension. He astonished me by declaring that the dauphin was already there, and had claimed the pension for that year. The country and the language were unknown to me. The agent spoke French, it is true, but we hardly understood each other. I supposed I had nothing to do but present my credentials. Here was another idiot--I crave your majesty's pardon--" "Quite right--at the time, Bellenger." --"drawing the annuity intended for the dauphin. I inquired into his rights. The agent showed me papers like my own. I asked who presented them. He knew no more of the man than he did of me. I demanded to face the man. No such person could be found. I demanded to see the idiot. He was shut in a room and fed by a hired keeper. I sat down and thought much. Clearly it was not the agent's affair. He followed instructions. Good! I would follow instructions also. Months would have been required to ask and receive explanations from the court of Monsieur. He had assumed the title of Louis XVIII, for the good of the royalist cause, as if there were no prince. I thought I saw what was expected of me." "And what did you see, you unspeakable scoundrel?" "I saw that there was a dauphin too many, hopelessly idiotic. But if he was the one to be guarded, I would guard him." "Who was that idiot?" "Some unknown pauper. No doubt of that." "And what did you do with me?" "A chief of the Iroquois Indians can tell you that." "This is a clumsy story, Bellenger. Try again." "Sire--" "If you knew so little of the country, how did you find an Iroquois chief?" "I met him in the woods when he was hunting. I offered to give you to him, pretending you had the annuity from Europe. Sire, I do not know why trickery was practiced on me, or who practiced it: why such pains were taken to mix the clues which led to the dauphin. But afterwards the same agent had orders to give you two-thirds and me only one-third of the yearly sum. I thought the court was in straits;--when both Russia and Spain supported it! I was nothing but a court painter. But when you went to France, I blocked your way with all the ingenuity I could bring." "I would like to ask you, Bellenger, what a man is called who attempts the life of his king?" "Sire, the tricks of royalists pitted us against each other." "That's enough, Bellenger. I don't believe a word you say, excepting that part of your story agreeing with Madame de Ferrier's. Put your hand under my pillow and find my wallet. Now help yourself, and never let me see you again." He helped himself to everything except a few shillings, weeping because his necessities were so great. But I told him I was used to being robbed, and he had done me all the harm he could; so his turn to pluck me naturally followed. Then I softened, as I always do towards the claimant of the other part, and added that we were on the same footing; I had been a pensioner myself. "Sire, I thank you," said Bellenger, having shaken the wallet and poked his fingers into the lining where an unheard-of gold piece could have lodged. "It tickles my vanity to be called sire." "You are a true prince," said Bellenger. "My life would be well spent if I could see you restored to your own." "So I infer, from the valuable days you have spent trying to bring that result about." "Your majesty is sure of finding support in France." "The last king liked to tinker with clocks. Perhaps I like to tinker with Indians." "Sire, it is due to your birth--" "Never mind my birth," I said. "I'm busy with my life." He bowed himself out of my presence without turning. This tribute to royalty should have touched me. He took a handsome adieu, and did not afterward seek further reward for his service. I heard in the course of years that he died in New Orleans, confessing much regarding myself to people who cared nothing about it, and thought him crazy. They doubtless had reason, so erratic was the wanderer whom I had first consciously seen through Lake George fog. His behavior was no more incredible than the behavior of other Frenchmen who put a hand to the earlier years of their prince's life. The third to appear at my tent door was Chief Williams, himself. The surgeon told him outside the tent that it was a dangerous wound. He had little hope for me, and I had indifferent hope myself, lying in torpor and finding it an effort to speak. But after several days of effort I did speak. The chief sat beside me, concerned and silent. "Father," I said. The chief harkened near to my lips. "Tell me," I begged, after resting, "who brought me to you." His dark sullen face became tender. "It was a Frenchman," he answered. "I was hunting and met him on the lake with two boys. He offered to give you to me. We had just lost a son." When I had rested again, I asked: "Do you know anything else about me?" "No." The subject was closed between us. And all subjects were closed betwixt the world and me, for my face turned the other way. The great void of which we know nothing, but which our faith teaches us to bridge, opened for me.