Out of the Shadows: The Saga of Caroline York: Her Days Among the Cayugas

By David J. Fogarty

Set in the New York colony of the 1760s, the story recounts the rise to prominence of one Caroline York. Newly-arrived from Ireland, she settles upon her uncle's farm to administer it. Besieged by unsolicited intrusions, Caroline repels them, only to suffer the mysterious death of her uncle,, after which she herself is kidnapped by a surly and arrogant British captain. Her daughter and husband conspire to find her. They enlist support from the one-remaining French garrison in the region, and a friendly Iroquois chieftain. Caroline is finally rescued. In turn she vows to literally clean up the New York frontier by seeking to change the status-quo between those with power and those held in subservience. Armed with a beguiling wit and charm, she becomes the mistress of deception and cunning as she prevails upon some of the major power brokers of the day. In due course she brings about needed changes in the New York socio-political structure. In so doing, she helps transform the colony into the standard-bearer of 18th century social justice, so carving out her own legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499067750

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Copyright © 2015 by David J. Fogarty.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-6776-7

                eBook           978-1-4990-6775-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 02/11/2016

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Dedication

Author’s Note

Part One Rude Awakenings

Chapter One When Strangers Meet

The War Chief of the Oscos.

Summer Rains.

An Angry Lord.

Forging Friendships.

Chapter Two Intruders in Paradise

The Captain Introduced.

His Resourceful Assistant.

Terror in the Night.

Rescue & Recovery.

Chapter Three Breaking New Ground

The Bear Chief Holds Council.

The Yorks Befriended.

Suzanne Forms A Friendship.

The Corn Festival Begins.

Chapter Four Ominous Clouds Gather

The Captain Lives.

Seeds of Contention.

Three Biographies.

Adventures on the Trail.

The Runaway.

Chapter Five Flint & Steel

Sanctuary.

A Call to Arms.

The Battle for Osco.

Requiem for the Dead.

Chapter Six Signs of Unity.

Signs of Conflict.

The New-Arrivals.

Architects of the Round Tops.

The Summit.

The Case of Caroline York.

Part Two Destiny’s Children

Chapter Seven Forging Alliances

New Partnerships.

Maple Grove.

Henri Marchand.

On The Trail.

Chapter Eight The Road to Ontario

The Campaign Begins.

The Bear Chief’s Address.

Complications.

The Boatmen.

Neatahwantah.

Chapter Nine The Contenders

Principal Concerns.

Reverie.

Prelude to Battle.

Siege by Night.

The Aftermath of Battle.

Chapter Ten Crossroads

Le General Meets Skenando.

Pointe Aux Bois Welcomes The Yorks.

The Captain Reemerges.

A Welcomed Visitor.

Matthew York.

Chapter Eleven The Searchers

Test of the Courageous.

The Captain Distressed.

Oh:nehsi:yo At Pointe Aux Bois.

Teedyuscung.

Watkins Makes A Choice.

Part Three The Changing Scene

Chapter Twelve Games of Chance

Black Jack Escapes.

The Captain’s New Adventure.

A Plot Foiled.

Probing a Mystery.

Watkins and Fawn Forever.

Chapter Thirteen Turning Point

A Plan of Action.

Lord Carleton’s Uninvited Guests.

A Grim Discovery.

Watkins Is Honored & Wed.

A Man Betrayed.

Chapter Fourteen Transitions

Black Jack on the Move.

Samuel Kirkland & Friend.

A Gathering of Principals.

Fond Farewells.

Chapter Fifteen Sometimes a Great Moment

Caroline York at Albany.

She Secures Allies.

City Hall.

Afterthoughts.

Chapter Sixteen All Things Righteous and Just

Fond Ambitions.

A Conflict Resolved.

Reunion.

Clash along the Mohawk

Chapter Seventeen In The Company of Heroes

Tragedy at the Round Tops.

Oswego Revisited.

A Display of Unity.

Defining Moments.

Caroline Is Anointed.

Epilogue

Bibliography

FOREWORD

F or the purposes of this story the narrative represents extrapolations from Suzanne York’s diary, a compilation of notes gathered with the cooperation of the leading characters of the story. Thus, Suzanne, enthralled by events on the frontier, committed her observations into text. Physically present during most engagements and encounters, she provides the single most universal source of the narrative Where she did not interview directly, she drew conclusions from third parties and hearsay. Keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and that, with few exceptions, the leading characters did not in reality e xist.

Suzanne spent a major portion of her life on the frontier among the Cayugas and interviewed the Bear Chief at length during the course of her family’s association with him and his family. She also interviewed Lt. Simmons from his prison cell. He agreed to speak with her after he became a witness for the prosecution in the trial of Captain Worthy.

She accompanied her mother on Caroline’s ground-breaking activities at Albany and beyond. The story is a culmination of the events of Caroline’s rise from obscurity and privation to a position of renowned stature in the community. It builds upon her preoccupation with the attainment of human justice, especially for the disenfranchised peoples whose paths she crossed in the Lake Country.

DEDICATION

B ack in the early 1960’s I took Freshman English at Auburn Community College, in Auburn, NY. One of my instructors was Mr. Brunell, a learned man and stem task-master. Among his students’ many assignments, he demanded a term paper of their own choosing. I thought mine a work of art, but when I received a ‘C’ I sat crushed. It was more a case of following instructions, he ave rred.

In the 1990’s I again met Mr. Brunell, in this instance in Technical Writing at Cayuga Community College(formerly ACC), in reality an English class, I made certain to follow instructions and to write an appealing report as well. This time I received an ‘A’, something that Mr. Brunell rarely gave out.

Mr. Brunell subscribed to the rules of grammar implicitly and demanded the same of his students. In short, he demanded that the finished product make sense in grammatical, if not in literary terms. He may not have taught me how to write, but I knew that as I continued I would want to create a work worthy of his approval. Unfortunately for myself he passed away before I completed this novel. Nevertheless I dedicate this work to him, for I know that he is somewhere up there looking over my shoulder, frowning relentlessly on his legions of ‘peons’ here on earth.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

F or a work of historical fiction, the question arises concerning authorship. Who, frankly, is the true author of the work? Shall it be myself, who painstakingly wrote and edited these pages over a lengthy period, or shall it be the characters in the work itself, set in the mid 18th cen tury?

In the text are passing references to Suzanne York and her journal in which she penned accounts of her life on the frontier. She was physically present alongside the major player, her mother, during her rise from obscurity to celebrity. For purposes of story development, I have attempted to solve the question of authorship:

Suzanne wanted to memorialize her mother’s ascension within the 18th century colonial New York community. It is a story of success over failure, of good over evil, a story of a prescient and determined woman who longed to open opportunities for those who may never be able to scratch out a better way of life on their own, given the tenor of the times.

Suzanne drew from sources from within the milieu in which she found herself. Principally she interviewed the major players with whom she and her mother commiserated. All contributed either directly or indirectly by word-of-mouth. After compiling all relevant findings, Suzanne secured the assistance of a publisher, most likely in Albany, who published her journal to coincide with her mother’s 55th birthday in 1791, the year in which the family settled in what eventually evolved into Auburn, NY.

In keeping with the story’s development, I gathered up Suzanne’s accounts and turned them into a story of historical fiction: that which may have happened in another place at another time, a story which redirected the authentic narrative of the period, encompassing the work assigning heroes and villains throughout. With my guidance, the major players speak. I have put into final form that which they individually contributed to the life and times of Caroline York, the overall leading character of the novel.

D.J.F. 05-05-13

" . . . Brothers . . .

We must unite all our tribes into one band of brothers. In that way we shall be able to keep our enemies from our land . . . And you. Cayugas, whose habitation is the ‘Dark Forest’ and whose home is everywhere, shall be the fourth nation, because of your superior cunning in hunting. You five great and powerful nations must unite and have but one common interest and no foe shall be able to disturb or molest you. If we unite, the Great Spirit will smile upon us. Brothers, these are the words of Hiawatha; let them sink deep into your hearts. Admit no other nations and you will always be free, numerous and happy. Remember these words. They are the last you will hear from Hiawatha."

S.C..Kimm:

The Iroquois: A History of the Six Nations of New York(1900).

Press of St. Pierre W. Danforth, Middleburgh, NY, pgs: 14-15

PART ONE

RUDE AWAKENINGS

CHAPTER ONE

When Strangers Meet

The War Chief of the Oscos.

Summer Rains.

An Angry Lord.

Forging Friendships.

P fffffft!! The slender, reeded missile sliced silently through the early morning mist rising from the cool, clear stream. Arching ever-slightly, it crested, then bore down on its unsuspecting target with deadly accuracy. In an instant, the bottom-feeding wood duck emitted a muffled gasp and disappeared briefly below the surface of the water, only to rise up feet first, bobbing in the wake set off by its final, frantic attempt at fl ight.

The Bear Chief, sachem of the Osco village nearby, known by several appellations, yet to a chosen few as Sans Sourire–the one who does not smile–came forward to retrieve his quarry. Methodically he parted the camouflage of fern boughs surrounding him and stepped out into the radiant morning. Gliding effortlessly over the forest floor, he bent quickly, snatched up his inert prize, and, placing it in a pouch made of deer intestine, traced his footsteps back into the dense, verdant undergrowth from whence he issued. Pausing to press a wood grouse freshly taken into his pouch, he muttered indiscernibly and continued northward along a moccasin-worn footpath.

Approaching a meadow thick with tall grasses, the Bear Chief assumed a steady pace, undeterred by yearling deer gathering to graze. Knowingly beyond the reach of his arrow, they nonetheless cast a wary eye in his direction as they tested the wind for signs of danger. He bristled under the warmth of the sun on his uncovered shoulders. Before he reached home, the sun would bear down upon him unmercifully, this day in the middle of the ‘Season of the Growing Corn’. Pausing, he covered his neck and shoulders with a cloth, knotting it under his chin, then resumed his gait. He looked for the familiar ash tree, a sign that he neared home, the ash tree upon which he carved the symbol of his clan, The Bear, in his youth. Finding it, he stopped long enough to trace the ageless etching with his index finger, knowing that two leagues separated him from his family on the shore of Lake Osco. Ever-conscious of his surroundings, he remained vigilant.

Ahead on the footpath, something luminescent caught his eye. The sun’s piercing brightness danced from the shiny object, blinding him. His curiosity aroused, he halted and knelt, creeping furtively forward. Embedded in the folds of leafy grasses, he discerned not one, but two iridescent tiny spheres, so vivid that they seemed to beckon to him. Creeping still, he reached out tentatively to fasten upon two small stones, gleaming: the color of the sun itself. He half-expected to receive a solid burn, but found himself gingerly holding them. To his astonishment, they did not burn. They retained their luster. He dropped them and picked them up playfully, rolling them in the hollow of his hand, blowing upon them softly, finally dropping them into the pouch at his waist. Securing his catch about the waist, he rummaged through the bag at intervals to ensure himself that the two treasures remained undisturbed. Resuming his walk, he believed the brilliant stones a gift from the Lord of the Forest, a reward for his having cared for the land, the forest, and its creatures since becoming War Chief of the Oscos.

Walking with confidence, the Bear Chief took note that the stream he followed rose up from a valley cut through the low-lying hills many ages ago. Communing with Nature in this manner refreshed him. Narrow from where he stood at its inlet, the stream gradually flowed into a crystal blue lake of some six leagues in length. The lake ran north and south in a ribbon-like pattern and at its northern terminus rolled to a stop against a sandy beach bestrewn with fine white sand. A stream, serving as the lake’s outlet, wound briskly to the north-west through richly-populated woodlands, a stronger and deeper version of its grass-choked southern counterpart or inlet.

This vibrant outlet he named Osco. Lush vegetation lined its banks, home to many species, many of which regularly graced his dinner table. At the height of the summer season the outlet became a river and inevitably overflowed its banks, the waters flooding lowlands. This outpouring of the outlet he attributed to the intercession of a vengeful Lord of the Forest, who longed to punish His subjects for waging war upon each other over many centuries. Moreover, the Lord left behind a permanent sign of his ire, the Bear Chief believed, for He carved Lake Osco in the shape of a sinuous serpent which became apparent when viewing the lake from a great height. It is the early People’s lust for blood that brought the Lord to trace the serpent with His finger into the fertile soil that formed the lake bed. Once the lake bed filled with rainwater, the ominous form of the serpent rose and took shape. It remained manifest forever, a perpetual stain upon the People for having decimated entire villages over the years. Try as they may to redeem themselves with good deeds, the Lord of the Forest did not allow the People to forget their insidious past. Hence the serpentine lake with its slippery shores retained its sinuous form for all to see forever. The Lord wished to teach the People that Good and Evil are not strangers to each other—that out of one may spring the other. In the lore of the People, man is forever in a struggle with Nature to win the Lord’s forgiveness. In thought and action he tries to lead a worthy life, his sole tool in placating a vengeful Lord, and he, the Bear Chief, had been chosen to model the good life for his People, lest great misfortune befall them. For the few occasions in which the Lord of the Forest rewarded good deeds, the satisfaction of having gained His good grace is worth the effort in attaining it, according to the lore of the People— the People of Osco— the People of the Swamp—the Cayuga. For the Bear Chief, the brilliant stones represented one of the few occasions in which the Lord of the Forest recognized the attainments of his subjects, the People, in an otherwise imperfect universe.

Cresting a small hill, the Bear Chief sprinted down its opposite flank to enter yet another verdant meadow on the final leg of his journey. The fortress-like palisades of his village rose up to greet him, their spires protruding boldly to rival the height of the surrounding forest oaks. Soon the gates of Osco would sweep open to welcome him and his day’s catch. Colombe Blanche would roast his grouse and duck for their evening’s supper, a ritual he looked forward to with great anticipation, in as much as supper represented that part of the day when all family members came together in a cohesive unit.

Osco itself rose from the forest floor, the creation of hardy laborers, well-adapted in the art of converting the wilderness into a village fit for habitation. With stone implements, they transformed lofty pines and maples into dwellings. Pitched rooftops prevented precipitation from dampening both the hearth and human spirit. The women of Osco made certain to keep the home fires perpetually burning, sheltering coals by day and breathing new life into them by night. In his lodge, this task fell to his adored wife, Colombe Blanche, the White Dove. At her call their two young sons, Raven and Little Bear bounded eagerly to her side to assist her with affairs of the hearth.

At Osco the lodges encircled the central or great campfire, an oval-shaped pit formed from smooth stones placed in concentric layers. He and his family inhabited the lodge closest to the great campfire, for he held an exalted position within the Confederation. Initially, laborers carried the stones from the banks of the Osco, the robust stream, flowing nearby. Its banks furnished not only the stones, but the sand with which to buttress the stones. From the waters fishermen pulled out perch, pike, trout, clams, oysters, and the occasional frog. Geese and duck frolicked in the deeper water and deer came down from the hills to drink. A self-sufficient community, Osco drew its sustenance from the surrounding river and woodlands, giving the Bear Chief a sense of fierce independence in this pristine and wild land.

Upon entering the village, the Bear Chief greeted several women laboring beside the campfire near his lodge. They carried water over the shoulder in casks made of woven rushes. With a ladle they transferred hot stones from the campfire to the water in the casks until the water heated sufficiently. Next, they carried the casks to the stream to pour over garments to be washed, drawing them tightly over the smooth stones. They pounded and kneaded the garments, scoured them with the hot water and rubbed unwanted particles out of them. Upon rinsing the garments in the cool, clear waters of the stream, they allowed them to dry in the warm sun on racks made of saplings.

Coming to a halt beside his lodge, the Bear Chief called boldly: Venez mes enfants!–Come my children!"

The sound of rushing footfalls, combined with children’s laughter, emanated from his lodge. Two raven-haired young boys dashed into the bright afternoon to take up places at their father’s side. Tugging gently at his buckskin leggings, they gazed imploringly upward into the stern countenance of the man who rarely smiled, who conversed little, yet one whose stamp bore the hopes and aspirations of his People. His sons gripping him tightly about the waist, the Bear Chief afforded them a thin, crisp smile, a gesture which brought joy to the cherubic faces, a prelude to an attempt to abscond with his catch, he well knew. Uncomfortable in the role of shielding the family’s supper from preying hands, the Bear Chief jostled for position, shifting to left and right. Suddenly the boys bolted for the familiar wood pile, bent over in laughter. Confused, yet alarmed, the Bear Chief searched his pouch in vain, knowing implicitly that once again he fell victim to his sons’ chicanery. Tauntingly the boys held out the grouse to him from a safe distance. A defeated Bear Chief complimented the boys for their guile, abiding by the rules of their self-serving game. Approaching them, he exuded confidence that his wood duck remained secure, strapped tightly to his girdle. He held it aloft to them, calling in defiance: Have you forgotten something, my children?

Their total victory aborted, the boys turned to consoling each other, after which they took turns scolding each other in mock derision for having failed to purloin their father’s secreted catch. Abandoning these tactics, they playfully exchanged blows, yet when the blows grew menacing, the boys broke into antics: Little Bear imitated a wounded duck in retreat and Raven called out in his version of a duck in distress. Growing weary of these maneuvers, the boys broke out in laughter and ran back to their father. Hugging the Bear Chief, they attempted to fracture his stern countenance with their laughter. Maintaining his composure, the Bear Chief ceremoniously dropped his duck into Little Bear’s outstretched hand, the customary ending for all such encounters. Turning briskly, he headed back toward his lodge.

Never fear, father. I will give this one a good send-off, the boy called, scampering off with his prize. Raven followed in hot pursuit and the Bear Chief tossed him the grouse. Together the boys ran off to the stream to wash the catch, the final segment of an act played out with regularity.

From within her lodge Colombe Blanche anticipated the laughter and commotion of her two sons, knowing that their arrival at her table lay moments away. She glowed with pride whenever she conjured up memories of her sons. Stepping out into the brilliant sunshine, she paid them a fond greeting, accented by her broad smile. Bursting with enthusiasm, the boys bounded to their mother’s side, thrusting their prizes to her breast, while showering her with hugs of affection. Presently the Bear Chief appeared. Colombe Blanche entwined her hand in his and together they stood apart from the boys, admiring them from a distance, while gazing into each other’s eyes. With every summer season, Colombe Blanche and her husband made note of their sons’ eagerness to partake of all the benefits which Nature held in reserve for them, in a sense reliving their own youth through the eyes of their children. The boys’ vivacity, they believed, kept them youthful in mind and body, one of the incontrovertible benefits to raising children. They stood together savoring the moment, fixing it in their memory. Changing course, the boys scampered off to engage in a new adventure before supper commenced.

A full head below her husband in height, Colombe Blanche rested her head against the Bear Chief’s chest: she, the supple willow to him: the mighty oak. She exuded a bubbling warmth which drew all to her, even the most irascible. On the surface she struck a bold contrast to her taciturn, yet noble mate. Silently the Bear Chief pressed the two golden orbs into her hand. She blushed scarlet, recognizing the gesture as a sign of her husband’s true affection. Touching the stones to her ears, she smiled in appreciation, eliciting a terse, yet touching commentary from the man she loved:

Your smile makes the stones shine ever-deeper.

Holding each other in firm embrace they dispelled all thoughts of supper, thinking only of each other. Joining hands, they departed the lodge and walked slowly side by side along the path leading away from the village toward the stream where the boys often frolicked. En route the fully-developed trees effectively blocked the sun’s rays and cast dark shadows upon the luxuriant, verdant landscape at all hours of the day. Man and wife relished these stolen moments together, during which their conjoined physical and sensual presence conveyed that loving sentiment which mere words failed to communicate. Colombe Blanche broke the silence between them:

Oh, to be young again, she murmured.

In my eyes you are forever young. Do not forget.

Ahh! You speak too late my husband, but I welcome the thought, she laughed lightly.

Squeezing her hand, he gazed at the heavens, and, in that instant the skies turned gray and the towering branches along the path creaked and swayed menacingly. He announced concern for the boys and leaving Colombe Blanche behind him, set out boldly over the path. Slowing, he allowed her to overtake him.

So much for small surprises, she heard herself say, running to him.

Suddenly, squalls started up, blowing sheets of rain headlong, bringing visibility to a minimum. The gray skies turned darker. The warmth of the day turned to coolness. The once refreshing vapors grew harsh and combative. Standing fast, the Bear Chief and Colombe Blanche called out for the boys to no avail. Mounting an eroding bank of the swollen Osco, they strained to peer through the turbulence of driving rain and wind. At length they concluded that the boys abandoned the region in order to seek shelter further ahead. The familiar path, cleansed of all human traces, bore no signs of the boys’ footfalls. The pair struggled past fallen trees, the carcasses of which began to accumulate around them.

The cave! They fled to the cave! Colombe Blanche shouted, thoroughly frightened.

Quickening the pace, the pair joined hands in order to gain stability before the driving rain. Forging ahead, they straddled obstacles, finally abandoning the path altogether. They sought the large earthen mound or cave which the boys regularly visited during the summer season. Structurally it provided a suitable refuge for those seeking shelter, Colombe Blanche recalled. It lay hidden from view a few lengths beyond the bank of the Osco, standing in a grove of trees and surrounded by tall bushes. Open to the elements, the mouth of the cave stood agape: a source of temptation for the novel explorer. The region itself lay populated by mounds, the Bear Chief recalled, approaching the cave. He remembered that further downstream giant mounds rose like sentinels in a region where, according to legend, an ancient race lived. Stories from his youth told of people living within the mounds. Certainly they once lived upon the mounds, he concluded, for they constructed them into cone-shaped towers or abutments from which to observe distant points of interest. When very young, his father brought him to the mounds where he marveled at the symmetry of the structures and imagined himself carrying on intercourse with the ancient people. From that point on, he developed a strong attraction for the region in which he lived. This cave before him, carved into the swollen earth by a mysterious hand, bore an uncanny relationship to the mounds of his youth, most of which he committed to memory, when he dreamed of them far into the night, probing their mysteries from deep within the warm confines of his bearskin blanket.

Colombe Blanche urged him and he shouted into the mouth of the cave, his deep voice leaving no doubt that someone of stature stood at the entrance. There followed an eerie silence, after which he released yet another report: Raven! Little Bear! It is all right, children. We are here, Colombe Blanche called plaintively.

Treading cautiously, the Bear Chief stepped through a stand of saplings sprouting rakishly about the cave’s mouth. He startled a fawn seeking shelter from the storm. It withdrew deeper into the grotto, rather than dash out into the blinding rain. The Bear Chief noted the path taken by the fawn and summoned Colombe Blanche. Side by side they set forth, calling the boys’ names, while conjuring up macabre images of the cave’s interior. Expecting the unexpected, they crept through tight passages, the dampness and musty odors invading the senses. Groping slippery walls and side-stepping obstacles, they plodded ahead where little light befriended them. More than once immutable objects refused to yield to the touch. The way proved harrowing and, receiving no response to appeals, the pair believed themselves at the mercy of forces more durable than they were able to muster. Forging ahead of her husband, Colombe Blanche stopped abruptly and gave a start:

Ah, there you are, my children. She gave an audible sigh of relief.

Est-ce que tout va bien, mes enfants?–Is everything all right, my children?" the Bear Chief called, coming forward. He came up quickly before his sons, finding them huddled in a corner of the cave, sobbing, small hands covering frightened faces. Swiftly, he swung the boys around to face him, waiting until they captured his eyes boring in on them. They appeared at once elated and frightened. A sobbing Raven peered out from between his fingers:

I am so sorry, father. Beside him Little Bear sat motionless, eyes fixed upon his father.

The Bear Chief thumped Raven vigorously about the shoulders and the boy ceased sobbing. (Later, under Colombe Blanche’s counsel, he understood the manner of his son’s vulnerability and his own willingness to demonstrate aggressively). Colombe Blanche came to stand between her husband and the boys, at which point the Bear Chief swept Raven up to his chest and rocked him gently from side to side, an exercise he resurrected since the days of the boys’ infancy. Raven calmed appreciably and his father spoke soothing words to him. Colombe Blanche reached for Little Bear’s hand and, together with her husband, gently rocked the boys back and forth between them. At length Colombe Blanche gave a sign to her husband who guided his sons to the orifice of the cave from whence, bridging the threshold, the beleaguered party dashed out into the incessant and driving maelstrom.

Everyone breathed more easily, now that the dank restrictions of the cave lay well at their backs. The change of venue allowed Colombe Blanche a moment to recall her innermost thoughts during the rescue. She shivered, not so much from the coldness, but from the fear of losing her sons. Now challenging the elements, the Bear Chief stooped to swing the boys up to his bosom. In a single maneuver he secreted Raven and Little Bear beneath the ample folds of his buckskin trail jacket. The taut hide of the jacket repelled water and its soft lining provided warmth, two qualities essential to a garment destined for wear out-of-doors. The boys calmed down, secure within their father’s mantle of protection, emitting little squeals of contentment, confident of reaching home soon. Infrequently they peered out from their haven of safety to test the surroundings, ever-mindful of their father’s stern glance.

Bent upon reaching Osco, the Bear Chief advanced his pace. He struck out parallel to the stream, formerly a thin, placid ribbon, now a torrent of rushing waters. He took note of the waterway’s new depth and the strength of the swift-flowing waters. Swollen to the extreme, the Osco sought its own pathway, pushing lesser bodies aside, and carving small islands out of once sturdy banks. The little party passed several such islands of various sizes, large and small. One bloc in particular impressed the Bear Chief because of its great size, a mass of earth torn from its bank and deposited with upheaval in the middle of the waterway. It brought with it branches and small trees, even sizable rocks, which wedged themselves firmly against it.

The little party paused in order to contemplate the practicality of taking temporary shelter in the face of the driving rains. Huddled together for warmth, the Bear Chief and Colombe Blanche gazed upon the dark skies for signs of an abatement of conditions. Disappointed, they pressed on, determined to reach home before complete darkness overtook them. Shaking from the cold, they trod on, heads bent into the wind and blinding rain. Husband and wife confessed concerns about the ultimate safety of the boys and themselves, indeed their family structure as they had come to love and cherish it. To this extent the Bear Chief kept watch for the slightest vestige of relief along the way.

Again he called a halt. His eyes rarely departing from the raging waterway, he came to a full stop in mid-stride. There, in the midst of the tempestuous stream, hemmed in by floating blocs of earth, a figure, a form driven by its own strength, rose into view. Amorphous for the most part, the form clung to one of the large rocks stemming from the giant bloc he spied moments earlier. Parts of the form moved, indeed, waved appendages toward him and uttered strange guttural sounds. Twisting and writhing on the bloc, the form began to assume the outline of a human, a man waving arms frantically at him, a man staring wide-eyed through the thick mist which hung suspended before them. Leaving his family on the muddy shore, the Bear Chief struck out over the bank in search of stable footing from which he may better observe the pitiful creature that met his gaze. In the next instant a voice called to him in French, a voice forlorn, yet pleading:

Attention! Aidez-moi! Suivez!–Hello! Help me! Come on!"

The Bear Chief responded: Stripping off his jacket he gave it to Colombe Blanche, instructing her to wrap the boys in it. Beneath he wore a deerskin tunic, tight-against the chest, water-resistant. He must save this man, he shouted to Colombe Blanche, plunging into the chilling waters. Strong strokes propelled him toward the victim, who tore apart from the rock to which he precariously clung, and groped the waters in an attempt to reach his rescuer. Pausing, the man divested himself of his tunic, whereupon he slipped beneath the waters. Emerging, he fastened upon a stout log in his path. It rolled beneath his weight, however, leaving the chilling waters to swallow him whole.

Once again the man emerged from beneath the surface. Splashing through the waters, he came upon what the Bear Chief determined to be an underwater shoal. He attempted to mount it and lunge himself forward to the more shallow waters near the shore. More than once he failed to secure solid footing, slipping from the shoal into the waters, growing increasingly more weak and desperate. The Bear Chief meanwhile, well-possessed of the man’s plight, reversed course, retreating to the shore, from which he launched a plan:

He called to Colombe Blanche to secure a strong sapling, one from among the many which succumbed to the fierce winds. Diving into the waters, he relied on his keen sense of touch to ferret out the man. He found him floundering on the shoal, which showed signs of washing away. Quickly he unfastened the rawhide belt about his waist and brought out the fishing line he always carried deep within the pouch at his waist. Treading the waters, he tied the two together, making of the whole a line of considerable length. Breathing deeply, he dived beneath the surface where he fashioned a noose in the rawhide belt, the better to fling over the man’s shoulders, a maneuver which he employed with ample dexterity upon surfacing. The man, desperate, yet willing, drew the noose around his waist and allowed the Bear Chief to pull him to shore with a series of well-executed back-strokes. The unrelenting rains devastated the shore, however, sending a great portion of it into the churning waters, leaving behind thick mud, a viscous, intractable layer of saturated earth that repelled solid footing. With a second calamity looming before his eyes, the Bear Chief summoned another plan:

Following her husband’s instructions, Colombe Blanche gathered the boys about her. The trio, always eager to meet a challenge, set off to gather stones of medium size—a great many stones. They came from an exposed hillside, having been torn apart by high winds and rising waters. Many stones collected freely at the base of the hillside, a development which did not escape the keen eyes of the Bear Chief during his flight through the devastated region. He formed a detail. Heading it, he, along with Colombe Blanche and his sons, carried stones of various shapes and sizes to the muddy river bank. They constructed a bridge of sorts, placing the stones tightly together in the mud, spreading them into a walkway, one beside the other, each stone edging yet closer to the stricken victim. At length the Bear Chief beckoned the man to fall upon the stones, whereupon he pulled him over the sleek surfaces by means of the rescue line which the man secured about his shoulders. Raven and Little Bear came to their father’s aid, for the mud had reached the level of the man’s thighs. The three, in applying the sum of their combined strength, slowly pulled the man free from the certain death trap into which he had descended. The man ended by sliding over the stones, coming to rest on them face-up, trimmed with mud, shaken and unrecognizable, yet alive.

Colombe Blanche knelt beside the prostrate form. She rejoiced when finding a heart-beat. Backing away, she yielded to her husband who inspected the man’s limbs, mouth, and eyes. Save for the man’s general appearance, he appeared in good form, the Bear Chief noted to his family. Regarding the man with interest, the Bear Chief spoke:

You indeed enjoy the Good Life. You have no injuries.

The mud-caked victim solemnly responded: Thank you, Fearless One.

The little party gasped, for only close allies of the Bear Chief knew him by this name. The Bear Chief stooped to inspect the man more closely, who sat up to accommodate him.

My old friend, Chien Aboyant, the Bear Chief exclaimed. He allowed himself to partake of a bit of humor:

Good afternoon, Monsieur. What brings you out on such a fine afternoon?

I wanted to catch my dinner in the stream, Fearless One. By the way, I lost my fishing pole.

The Bear Chief tossed him the fishing line he employed in his friend’s rescue: Is this satisfactory, Monsieur? Are you all right, my old friend? This is not the place for you. The Lord of the Forest is angry this day, but has chosen to spare us his wrath.

He may have chosen a better way to show His kindness, the little man quipped, sarcastically.

The object of the Bear Chief’s concern, Le Chien Aboyant, bore the label of The Barking Dog. Although he came into the world bearing the appellation Great Bear, only a few knew him by that name. The name of Barking Dog took precedence among his fellow villagers, stemming from an observation which Colombe Blanche made one afternoon years earlier. Apparently a bear wandered into the village in search of food. Chien Aboyant confronted the beast. Setting up a commotion, he terrified the animal, causing it to abandon all attempts at securing a ready meal. According to Colombe Blanche, Aboyant approached the animal, barking wildly, much in the manner of a wolf. He gesticulated wildly. Intermittently he made bird-like calls and rolled his head forcefully from side to side. His bizarre conduct succeeded in driving the bear from the village, never to return, whereupon the little man danced a two-step at the beast’s departure and broke out in peals of laughter. Colombe Blanche sought to give a single label to Aboyant’s conduct. Discarding several choices, she settled upon ‘Chien Aboyant’ and communicated her choice to her husband. In the days which followed, the little man invoked parts of his repertoire at unannounced intervals, much to the entertainment of those around him. It became a part of his ‘uniform,’ she believed, and she and others looked forward to his ostentatiousness whenever he appeared in crowded places. He did not disappoint them.

In preference to walking heel-to-toe, the man himself tended to bounce along, occasionally swinging his arms from side to side across the mid-section, his neck bobbing to and fro. To the uninitiated he appeared bewildering, an unknown entity, someone to be feared and subsequently avoided. ‘Small wonder that the bear fled,’ Colombe Blanche recalled. Suspicions of his mental state traveled through the village, but no one judged him dangerous and children grew accustomed to his erratic posturing and eventually such black rumors dissipated, leaving Aboyant unencumbered and free to carry on with his gyrations.

Short and lean, but with a massive head and chest, Aboyant sported a bulbous nose which turned red when he became excited. He maintained a broad, some say, voluptuous smile, and shoulder-length hair, shaggy, yet clean. He piled his hair into a bun on top of his head, fastening it together with a strand of sinew. Fond of wearing headpieces or hats, he often made several changes in them during the course of any day.

* * *

Aboyant rose tentatively. Supporting his diminutive form against a tree, he extracted a crumpled piece of cloth-material from the girdle at his waist. He passed his hands over the surface in an effort to smooth it before pulling up the sides to reveal its true form: a hat. A rather tall head piece, he shook it and gently shaped the crown before placing it on his head. Drawing the hat over his temples, he wedged it against his ears and smiled at his audience who uttered not a word, lest they disturb the chain of events which the little man brought to bear on them. He followed with a quick two-step, keeping within the bounds of a circle which he inscribed on the soggy river bank. While he danced, Colombe Blanche confided to her husband that Aboyant reminded her of a bag of mixed nuts, for pulling them from a sack, you find a different one with each attempt. Despite his eccentricities, Aboyant stood as one of the Bear Chief’s staunchest allies in the village. He performed the roles of confidante, spy, and guardian of the boys with such ease that husband and wife tolerated his infrequent displays and outbursts without rancor.

Aboyant terminated dancing in order to attend to matters of grooming. He plucked extraneous matter from his hair and wiped away seemingly layers of drying mud. All the while his temperament diminished from frivolity to that of stoic seriousness. His rapt audience prepared themselves by exchanging glances with each other, whereupon Aboyant delivered a series of orations which simultaneously startled them and piqued their curiosity:

The river has claimed two victims, Fearless One. Without waiting for a reaction, he started off along the shore. There are two humans caught in the river. They are holding fast to floating islands.

They are of les peaus blancs,—white skins—of whom we have heard stories, Fearless One.

Stepping lively along the river bank, Aboyant gestured out upon the waters, a mere shade their former ferocity.

He shouted to the Bear Chief to follow and ran to secure a vantage point from which to support his claim. Presently he halted abruptly, turned to the river and pointed: Follow my arm and look closely, Fearless One.

The Bear Chief peered into the river. With the sun having chased away the gray clouds of the morning, he discerned a man and a woman clinging precariously to a log, which sat upon a bloc of earth ripped from its foundations and tossed into the waters. A boulder rendered the bloc immobile, hence preventing it from moving into the current, itself a factor of considerable force. Clearly the lives of the man and woman lay in peril and once again the Bear Chief struggled to devise an effective plan of rescue.

He judged that sheer fright, coupled with stubborn resolve, combined to keep the couple alive in a rapidly-deteriorating situation. He knew that he must intervene in this, another test thrust upon him by the Being who held tight reins over all of His children. He questioned merely the quick succession of incidents in which he was called upon to serve. In his mind’s eye the Supreme Master trusted in his prowess to assist the less fortunate and he intended to become worthy of His trust. He began to ponder a decision, choosing from several which raced through his thoughts on that foreboding day.

The desperate victims clung fast to the pitching log, which lay wedged against the boulder. The man, upon glimpsing the Bear Chief, tried without success to reach shore under his own power. The woman, young and distraught, called out to him in French, whereupon the Bear Chief put a plan into motion: Turning to Aboyant, he instructed him to select a tall and supple sapling from among the many which fell during the storm. To his relief, Aboyant produced two small knives from his girdle, and both men began stripping away excess branches. Soon, only a naked spar remained, some ten meters in length, capable of supporting great weight. The men cradled the heavy piece between them, half-dragging it to the river bank where, standing it on end, they toppled it into the river, taking care to secure one end hard against the bank with their feet. A wall of white water leaped upward dousing both victims who, overcome with elation, burst forth in joyous acclamation.

The Bear Chief and Aboyant mounted the sapling fore and aft. Lying face down, they set their arms to paddling the spar forward, much in the manner of canoeists. Intercepting the strong current, they reached the stricken man without incident. Entering the waters, the Bear Chief instructed the man in French to latch onto the spar. Behind him the young woman translated for the man, who, at that point, became infused with the will to live. Sitting astride the spar, he allowed Aboyant to paddle him to the safety of the shallows. Meanwhile, the Bear Chief swam to the young woman’s side. They struck up a brief conversation which ended with the Bear Chief placing her on her back, grasping her apparel and swimming steadfastly back to shore, cargo in tow. The man, upon reaching shore, collapsed and lay motionless. Soon the young woman joined him. She sat on the bank, stiffened and shaking, while Colombe Blanche covered her with some of her garments.

At a word from their mother, Raven and Little Bear scampered off to find comestibles for the stricken pair. In their absence Aboyant carried water to them, his hat a suitable receptacle. Weakened, the man and young woman sat still, inured to their surroundings, save for swallowing handfuls of berries and imbibing water lightly. The members of the little party made no effort to disturb them, although the daylight grew dimmer under the gray skies of the early afternoon. The man began to cough incessantly, his flesh a pale blue. Colombe Blanche urged her husband to act quickly: He moved behind the man, and instructing Aboyant to hold him upright, began to compress the man’s chest, coming down firmly across the ribs with fists clenched. The man coughed all the more, whereas the Bear Chief pulled him to his feet, doubled him over at the waist, and approaching him from the rear, compressed the victim’s chest in a series of rapid strokes. He released him to Aboyant who sat him on the bank and proceeded to buffet him about the cheeks and jaw with open hand. The man’s flesh took on a rosy hue and he struggled to rise. Standing, the Bear Chief instructed him to breathe deeply and to cough and heave in a single motion. This the victim did without fail, once the young woman rendered her translation from the original French.

The Bear Chief, betraying no emotions, walked his charge back and forth over the bank. At intervals he administered well-placed blows with open hand across the shoulders, and through translation, ordered the man to walk in short steps, lifting the knees near the chest. The round of applications proved successful, for the man exhibited renewed strength. However, both he and the young woman shivered from exposure to the cold waters, a condition which set the little party to collecting firewood. They found it in the form of dried, bleached shreds of wood, long lying dormant in rushes apart from the beaten path. Light and porous, the remnants burned easily, the warmth of the fire most pleasing to the man and his companion. Aboyant placed the pieces in a four-tiered rectangle over the bank and everyone gathered around to luxuriate in a bit of calmness and tranquility. With the fire emitting a robust glow, Colombe Blanche awaited an opportunity to open discourse with the pair.

The immediate crisis having ended, the Bear Chief lay exhausted upon the bank beside the fire. The boys scrambled to his side to comfort him and to their surprise the young woman accompanied them.

Est-ce qu’il va bien?—Is he all right? She asked, in French.

Her response struck the little party with astonishment, for they did not expect such concern to be offered by a stranger, much less a peau blanc. Aboyant applied his nimble fingers to the Bear Chief’s neck and shoulders, whereupon the young woman joined him. Together they soothed the Bear Chief with firm manipulations, a maneuver which brought him to sit upright to voice appreciation. He spoke somewhat languidly:

L’homme. Est-ce qu’il va bien?—The man. Is he all right?

Colombe Blanche beamed with satisfaction and the boys tousled each other, leaving Aboyant to maintain a stern profile. The stricken man, however, although breathing steadily, slumped backward upon the bank. Aboyant alternated between breathing into his throat and manipulating his cold hands and feet. Laboring diligently, he watched for the sickening blue pallor to leave his extremities. The sun began to shine and light vapors graced the little party, making of Aboyant’s task a renewal, not a chore. The young woman came to face the prostrate man and, throwing herself upon him, shouted: Papa! Reveilles-toi.! Je t’en prie! —Father! Wake up! I beg of you!

Aboyant brought the man to his feet and, gripping him from behind, applied a powerful scissors-like compression to the abdominal region. In response the man doubled over at the waist, coughed, and released heaps of foreign particles mixed with bile, into the river. He continued at will, giving Colombe Blanche and the boy the occasion to look away, lest they become ill. A blow applied to the shoulders brought the man upward. Turning about he faced the little party head on, a robustness flooding his cheeks. He muttered unintelligibly, sufficient for the young woman to burst forward to his side, exclaiming:

Il est sauvé. Mon Dieu! Merci à tout le monde!—He is saved! Good Heavens! Thank you everyone!

The little party repaired to the shelter of a stand of giant maples, a lone stand which withstood the summer storm. There, the Bear Chief made a visual inspection of the scene about them. The customary path along the river lay strewn with fallen trees, interspersed with pools of wind-driven water. There lay no retreat along that route, he reasoned and he began to select alternatives from among a narrow list of choices. Raven and Little Bear huddled with their mother. Unknown to their father, they asked Colombe Blanche to bring the man and young woman home with them. She conferred with her husband who agreed with the boys’ wishes with one exception: the man appeared too lame to support his own weight. Aboyant proposed supporting the man between himself and the Bear Chief at the shoulder, half-walking and half-pulling him. To Aboyant’s delight the Bear Chief adopted the plan and no sooner did they wedge the man between them but the full body started forward, bound for Osco. The Bear Chief fixed his gaze upon the land, looking for a clear patch over which he may launch a sustained march back to Osco. For the most part the land rose in gentle drumlins along the river. Residue piled up from the summer rains lay in profusion at their base. He decided to skirt the drumlins altogether and began a wide and circuitous path around them, a route leading through thickets and brambles. In retrospect, the storm disrupted not only his family’s daily intercourse, but that of other endemic residents of the region: Before him a fox scurried with her kits in search of shelter. Deer, losing much forest cover, congregated in a broad meadow ahead. The little party spoke not at all, the crunching of footwear in the underbrush the sole testimony to their presence. Passing in front of a small, innocuous cave common to the region, the party disturbed a family of wolf cubs. The little creatures howled in fright for their mother. Scrambling inside the orifice, they glared suspiciously at the advancing party. Little Bear reported that the land beneath his feet writhed with snakes. He shrank back from them, leaving Colombe Blanche to explain that they held something in common with the snakes: fleeing the wild river. She gripped her son’s hand and spoke to Raven, who in turn grasped the young woman by the hand and the march resumed.

The journey led to smaller drumlins, less statuesque than their larger neighbors, yet objects of concern nonetheless, for one never knew what lay on the opposite side of a drumlin. Where the waters pooled, flooding occurred and small marshes sprung into being. Insects, idle throughout much of the spring season, rose from the murky bottoms to leap and fly before the faces of the travelers, the mosquito among them. Perhaps to escape the winged pests, the little party hastened down the far side of a lesser drumlin. Clumped together at the base stood a growth of low-cropped blackberry bushes. A mother bear and her two cubs occupied themselves sampling the treats, unaware of intruders. The travelers stumbled upon them after pausing to gather their bearings. The mother bear charged the troupe, knocking the once-stricken man to the ground. She may have slaughtered him save for the intervention of Aboyant. The little man struck up a dance before the bear, all the while shouting at the top of his voice and putting on and removing his hat in rapid fashion. The bear stopped short of making a kill and, rising to full height, swayed back and forth, nose sniffing vigorously, seemingly captivated by the gyrations of the creature before her. With the troupe frozen in step to his rear, Aboyant tossed the headpiece to the animal who swooped it between her giant paws. Driving it between her jaws, the mother bear gnashed at the hat, rending it mercilessly, before stomping off to share the scraps with her cubs. Cautiously the travelers retreated to the far side of the drumlin, where pausing, they collected their thoughts before pushing on.

Another drumlin brought yet another adventure: At its base a rather innocuous opening invited the curious among the little troupe. Raven and Little Bear eagerly dashed forward to explore it. Squatting on all fours, they peered inside: defying warnings from their mother. When Raven skimmed the inner surface with a hand, he recoiled in fright, for a nest of bats flew out in wild abandon, screeching as they sought to escape the intruder. Finding his footing, the startled Raven retreated behind his brother who laughingly pushed him aside. Both boys ran to their father. Hands on hips, the Bear Chief uttered not a word, his stern countenance carrying a message of its own.

Look! I still have the stones, Colombe Blanche announced, seeking to mitigate the boys’ fears.

The young woman approached Colombe Blanche. She remarked that les pierres d’or—the golden stones—held great value in the hearts and minds of some men, avaricious men, who have fought wars over such pieces. She ended by cautioning her benefactor to keep knowledge of the stones well within the confines of her family. Colombe Blanche regarded her with interest. Saying nothing in reply, she dropped the stones into her pocket, but the words of the young woman carved a path into her memory. Her husband, meanwhile, spent a quiet period of meditation in which he thanked the Supreme Being for sparing his family and staunch ally, Aboyant, the vagaries of Nature. He lingered momentarily on the man and young woman, asking for the wisdom to set them on a straight course during their stay with him. To him the young woman appeared willing to embrace a new chapter in her life and he hoped to be able to assist her in fulfilling her ambition.

The weary party pressed on doggedly. Presently the Bear Chief called a halt. Turning to address his adherents, he spoke in French, out of deference to the young woman. She in turn came forward to serve as translator for the once-stricken man who stood beside her.

We seek higher ground. Our usual paths of retreat are flooded. The marsh lands will rise up to consume us. We will mount the hill which rises up before us. Let us rest for a while. We have not long to travel. He sat cross-legged before the little troupe, eyes straining ahead, leaving the others to form seating arrangements.

The young woman approached him, her pleasant countenance depicting concern. She spoke in French: Thank you, Sir, for what you have done for us. Let me speak for my father. His name is James… James York. I am his daughter, Suzanne. We have journeyed a long distance through this country, but we know little about where we came from and nothing of where we are now. The Bear Chief listened intently to the tall, thin young woman of perhaps sixteen seasons with the hair of corn silk and a splash of des mouches—freckles— beneath her blue eyes. Her words drew the others around her. She moved to her father’s side, and, stroking his hair, asked:

Is he going to be all right? She studied her father’s face and tears formed in her eyes.

He is the only one I have left in the world. My mother is gone. My brother is far away. I am not able to go on.

Colombe Blanche dwelt on Suzanne’s every word and the boys exchanged glances. The Bear Chief rose. Approaching James York, he inspected him briefly, touching the man’s forehead and listening to his heartbeat. He located James’s pulse and turned to Suzanne to speak:

He is shaken from his encounters. His signs of life are good. With food and rest he will recover fully.

Raven and Little Bear surrounded their father: We have something to give to the man. They brought forth a handful of grouse’s eggs purloined from the mother hen who squawked loudly nearby. They placed the eggs into James York’s hand, retiring under a mischievous smile. Aboyant, ever-prepared to challenge new frontiers, snatched an egg, and cracking it, drank its contents outright, smacking loudly in satisfaction. The young woman broke out in laughter, her genuine mirth serving to dispel the austerity of the moment. Reaching beyond Aboyant, she opened an egg for her father who consumed its contents before holding one out for his benefactor, the Bear Chief. With deference the Bear Chief refused to deny the man a well-deserved meal. He walked apart from the little troupe. Studying the landscape, he turned to face everyone, poised to speak:

We are not far from home, but the way may be wrought with danger. You newcomers among us are with friends. We will guide you as matters dictate and see to your well-being as long as you stay among us. James York’s demeanor remained unchanged, yet with the young woman, Suzanne, his words resonated full of hope and she allowed a tear of joy to drop to her cheek.

During this brief respite Suzanne explored her thoughts on the adventure which befell her in light of the people with whom she found herself. She bore a true attraction to these denizens of the forest. She rendered them a gregarious and generous folk, bound by a strong sense of family and community. The term ‘stranger’ is not germane to their lexicon, she mused, and she found herself safe and secure with them, long-lost relatives who longed to introduce her to their ways on the frontier. She welcomed an opportunity to live with them, communing with them as one does with a friendly neighbor, she, the eager student, always probing, always learning. Perhaps the storm generated a new beginning or sense of direction marking the next stage of her life. She hoped it to be one of wonderment.

The Bear Chief introduced his family and Aboyant to Suzanne and her father, James. He described Osco to them and disclosed his host of appellations, reserving the name of ‘Bear Chief’ until the end. He explained that he bore several names, alluding that people of her race maintained the same practice. Upon hearing his name, the quixotic Aboyant launched himself into a series of somersaults, bringing a round of applause from Suzanne and heroic shouts from the boys. Aboyant offered Suzanne his hand in greeting. She marveled at the soft touch. It exceeded her expectations for one who stripped saplings barehanded. His voice, a soft baritone, unnerved her. She anticipated a gruff, guttural bass to counter balance the small, lithe body. Dancing in an imaginary circle, Aboyant repeated her name, drawing out the syllables slowly, until he achieved the desired effect of causing everyone to break out in laughter, the silent James notwithstanding. At the height of Aboyant’s hilarity, Suzanne broke away from her new companions to