be had.
Intoxicants were the only popular specific. Men drank to prevent
contracting ague, drank again, between rigors, to cure it, and yet
again to brace themselves during convalescence.

But if the effect of rum as a beverage had strong allurement for the
white man, it made an absolute slave of the Indian, who never hesitated
for a moment to undertake any task, no matter how hard, bear any
privation, even the most terrible, or brave any danger, although it
might demand reckless desperation, if in in the end a well filled
bottle or jug appeared as his reward.

Of course the traders did not overlook such a source of power.
Alcoholic liquor became their implement of almost magical work in
controlling the lives, labors, and resources of the Indians. The
priests with their captivating story of the Cross had a large influence
in softening savage natures and averting many an awful danger; but when
everything else failed, rum always came to the rescue of a threatened
French post.

We need not wonder, then, when we are told that Father Beret made no
sign of distress or disapproval upon being informed of the arrival of a
boat loaded with rum, brandy or gin. It was Rene de Ronville who
brought the news, the same Rene already mentioned as having given the
priest a plate of squirrels. He was sitting on the doorsill of Father
Beret's hut, when the old man reached it after his visit at the
Roussillon home, and held in his hand a letter which he appeared proud
to deliver.

"A batteau and seven men, with a cargo of liquor, came during the
rain," he said, rising and taking off his curious cap, which, made of
an animal's skin, had a tail jauntily dangling from its crown-tip; "and
here is a letter for you, Father. The batteau is from New Orleans.
Eight men started with it; but one went ashore to hunt and was killed
by an Indian."

Father Beret took the letter without apparent interest and said:

"Thank you, my son, sit down again; the door-log is not wetter than the
stools inside; I will sit by you."

The wind had driven a flood of rain into the cabin through the open
door, and water twinkled in puddles here and there on the floor's
puncheons. They sat down side by side, Father Beret fingering the
letter in an absent-minded way.

"There'll be a jolly time of it to-night," Rene de Ronville remarked,
"a roaring time."

"Why do you say that, my son?" the priest demanded.

"The wine and the liquor," was the reply; "much drinki