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ADÈLE DUBOIS:
A Story
OF THE
LOVELY MIRAMICHI VALLEY,
IN
NEW BRUNSWICK.
LORING, Publisher,
319 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
A.K. LORING,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
ROCKWELL & ROLLINS,
PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS, 122 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON.
CHAPTER I.
THE DUBOIS HOUSE.
"Well, verily, I didn't expect to find anything like this, in such a
wild region", said Mr. Norton, as he settled himself comfortably in a
curiously carved, old-fashioned arm-chair, before the fire that blazed
cheerily on the broad hearth of the Dubois House. "'Tis not a Yankee
family either", added he, mentally. "Everything agreeable and tidy,
but it looks unlike home. It is an Elim in the desert! Goodly
palmtrees and abundant water! O! why", he exclaimed aloud, in an
impatient tone, as if chiding himself, "should I ever distrust the
goodness of the Lord?"
The firelight, playing over his honest face, revealed eyes moistened
with the gratitude welling up in his heart. He sat a few minutes
gazing at the glowing logs, and then his eyelids closed in the blessed
calm of sleep. Weary traveller! He has well earned repose.
There will not be time, during his brief nap, to tell who and what he
was, and why he had come to sojourn far away from home and friends.
But let the curtain be drawn back for a moment, to reveal a glimpse of
that strange, questionable country over which he has been wandering
for the last few months, doing hard service.
Miramichi,[A] a name unfamiliar, perhaps, to those who may chance to
read these pages, is the designation of a fertile, though partially
cultivated portion of the important province of New Brunswick,
belonging to the British Crown. The name, by no means uneuphonious, is
yet suggestive of associations far from attractive. The Miramichi
River, which gives title to this region, has its rise near the centre
of the province, and flowing eastward empties into the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, with Chatham, a town of considerable importance, located at
its mouth.
[Footnote A: Pronounced _Mir´imisheé_.]
The land had originally been settled by English, Scotch, and Irish,
whose business consisted mostly of fishing and lumbering. These
occupations, pursued in a wayward and lawless manner, had not exerted
on them an elevating or refining influence, and the character of the
people had degenerated from year to year. From the remoteness and
obscurity of the country, it had become a convenient hiding-place for
the outlaw and the criminal, and its surface was sprinkled over with
the refuse and offscouring of the New England States and the Province.
With a few rare exceptions, it was a realm of almost heathenish
darkness and vice. Such Mr. Norton found it, when, with heart full of
compassion and benevolence, thirty-five years ago, he came to bear
the message of heavenly love and forgiveness to these dwellers in
death shade.
The Dubois House, where Mr. Norton had found shelter for the night,
was situated on the northern bank of the river, about sixty miles west
from Chatham. It was a respectable looking, two story building, with
large barns adjacent. Standing on a graceful bend of the broad stream,
it commanded river views, several miles in extent, in two directions,
with a nearer prospect around, consisting of reaches of tall forest,
interspersed with occasional openings, made by the rude settlers.
Being the only dwelling in the neighborhood sufficiently commodious
for the purpose, its occupants, making a virtue of necessity, were in
the habit of entertaining occasional travellers who happened to visit
the region.
But, softly,--Mr. Norton has wakened. He was just beginning to dream
of home and its dear delights, when a door-latch was lifted, and a
young girl entering, began to make preparations for supper. She moved
quickly towards the fire, and with a pair of iron tongs, deftly raided
the ponderous cover of the Dutch oven, hanging over the blaze. The
wheaten rolls it contained were nearly baked, and emitted a fragrant
and appetizing odor.
She refitted the cover, and then opening a closet, took from it a
lacquered Chinese tea-caddy and a silver urn, and proceeded to arrange
the tea-table.
Mr. Norton, observing her attentively with his keen, gray eyes, asked,
"How long has your father lived in this place, my child?"
The maiden paused in her employment, and glancing at the broad,
stalwart form and shrewd yet honest face of the questioner, replied,
"Nearly twenty years, sir".
Mr. Norton's quick ear immediately detected, in her words a delicate,
foreign accent, quite unfamiliar to him. After a moment's silence he
spoke again.
"Dubois,--that is your name, is it not? A French name?"
"Yes, sir, my parents are natives of France".
"Ah! indeed!" responded Mr. Norton, and the family in which he found
himself was immediately invested with new interest in his eyes.
"Where is your father at the present time, my dear child?"
"He is away at Fredericton. He has gone to obtain family supplies. I
hope he is not obliged to be out this stormy night, but I fear he is".
She made the sign of the cross on her breast and glanced upward.
Mr. Norton observed the movement, and at the same time saw, what had
before escaped his notice, a string of glittering, black beads upon
her neck, with a black cross, half hidden by the folds in the waist of
her dress. It was an instant revelation to hint of the faith in which
she had been trained. He fell into a fit of musing.
In the mean time, Adèle Dubois completed her preparations for the
tea-table,--not one of her accustomed duties, but one which she
sometimes took a fancy to perform.
She was sixteen years old,--tall already, and rapidly growing taller,
with a figure neither large, nor slender. Her complexion was pure
white, scarcely tinged with rose; her eyes were large and brown, now
shooting out a bright, joyous light, then veiled in dreamy shadows. A
rich mass of dark hair was divided into braids, gracefully looped up
around her head. Her dress was composed of a plain red material of
wool. Her only ornaments were the rosary and cross on her neck.
A mulatto girl now appeared from the adjoining kitchen and placed upon
the table a dish of cold, sliced chicken, boiled eggs and pickles,
together with the steaming wheaten rolls from the Dutch oven.
Adèle having put some tea in the urn, poured boiling water upon it and
left the room.
Returning in a few minutes, accompanied by her mother and Mrs. McNab,
they soon drew up around the tea-table.
When seated, Mrs. Dubois and Adèle made the sign of the cross and
closed their eyes. Mrs. McNab, glancing at them deprecatingly for a
moment, at length fixed her gaze on Mr. Norton. He also closed his
eyes and asked a mute blessing upon the food.
Mrs. Dubois was endowed with delicate features, a soft, Madonna like
expression of countenance, elegance of movement and a quiet, yet
gracious manner. Attentive to those around the board, she said but
little. Occasionally, she listened in abstracted mood to the beating
storm without.
Mrs. McNab, a middle-aged Scotch woman, with a short, square, ample
form, filled up a large portion of the side of the table she
occupied. Her coarse-featured, heavy fare, surrounded by a broad,
muslin cap frill, that nearly covered her harsh yellow hair, was
lighted up by a pair of small gray eyes, expressing a mixture of
cunning and curiosity. Her rubicund visage, gaudy-colored chintz
dress, and yellow bandanna handkerchief, produced a sort of glaring
sun-flower effect, not mitigated by the contrast afforded by the other
members of the group.
"Madam", said Mr. Norton to Mrs. Dubois, on seeing her glance
anxiously at the windows, as the wild, equinoctial gale caused them to
clatter violently, "do you fear that your husband is exposed to any
particular danger at this time?"
"No special danger. But it is a lawless country. The night is dark and
the storm is loud. I wish he were safely at home", replied the lady.
"Your solicitude is not strange. But you may trust him with the Lord.
Under His protection, not a hair of his head can be touched".
Before Mrs. Dubois had time to reply, Mrs. McNab, looking rather
fiercely at Mr. Norton, said, "Yer dinna suppose, sir, if the Lord had
decreed from all eternity that Mr. Doobyce should be drowned, or
rabbed, or murdered to-night, that our prayin' an' trustin' wad cause
Him to revoorse His foreordained purpose? Adely", she continued, "I
dinna mind if I take anither egg an' a trifle more o' chicken an' some
pickle".
By no means taken aback by this pointed inquiry, Mr. Norton replied
very gently, "I believe, ma'am, in the power of prayer to move the
Almighty throne, when it comes from a sincere and humble heart, and
that He will bestow His blessing in return".
"Weel", said Mrs. McNab, "I was brought up in the church o' Scotland,
and dinna believe anything anent this new-light doctrine o' God's
bein' turned roun' an' givin' up his decrees an' a'that. I think it's
the ward o' Satan", and she passed her cup to be again refilled with
tea.
Adèle, who had noticed that Mrs. McNab's observations had suggested
new solicitudes to her mother's mind, remarked, "What you said just
now, Aunt Patty, is not very consoling. Whoever thought that my father
would meet with anything worse than perhaps being drenched by the
storm, and half eaten up with vermin in the dirty inns where he will
have to lodge? I do not doubt he will be home in good time".
"Yes, Miss Adely, yes. I ken it", said Aunt Patty, as she saw a firm,
defiant expression gathering in the young girl's countenance. "I'd a
dream anent him last night that makes me think he's comin".
"Hark!" said Adèle, starting and speaking in a clear, ringing tone,
"he has come. I hear his voice on the lawn".
Murmuring a word or two of excuse, she rose instantly from the table,
requested Bess, the servant, to hand her a lantern, and arrayed
herself quickly in hood and cloak.
As she opened the door, her father was standing on the step, in the
driving rain, supporting in his arms the form of a gentleman, who
seemed to be almost in a state of insensibility.
"Make way! make way, Adèle. Here's a sick man. Throw some blankets on
the floor, and come, all hands, and rub him. My dear, order something
warm for him to drink".
Mrs. Dubois caught a pile of bedding from a neighboring closet and
arranged it upon the floor, near the fire. Mr. Dubois laid the
stranger down upon it. Mr. Norton immediately rose from the tea-table,
drew off the boots of the fainting man, and began to chafe his feet
with his warm, broad hand.
"Put a dash of cold water on his face, child", said he to Adèle, "and
he'll come to, in a minute". Adèle obeyed.
The stranger opened his eyes suddenly and looked around in
astonishment upon the group.
"Ah! yes. I see", he said, "I have been faint, or something of the
kind. I believe I am not quite well".
He attempted to rise, but sank back, powerless. He turned his head
slowly towards Mr. Dubois, and said, "Friend Dubois, I think I am
going to be ill, and must trust myself to your compassion", when
immediately his eyes closed and his countenance assumed the paleness
of death.
"Don't be down-hearted, Mr. Brown", said Mr. Dubois. "You are not used
to this Miramichi staging. You'll be better by and by. My dear, give
me the cordial,--he needs stimulating".
He took a cup of French brandy, mixed with sugar and boiling water,
from the hand of Mrs. Dubois, and administered it slowly to the
exhausted man. It seemed to have a quieting effect, and after awhile
Mr. Brown sank into a disturbed slumber.
Observing this, and finding that his limbs, which had been cold and
benumbed, were now thoroughly warmed, Mr. Dubois rose from his
kneeling position and turning to his daughter, said, "Now then, Adèle,
take the lantern and go with me to the stables. I must see for myself
that the horses are properly cared for. They are both tired and
famished".
Adèle caught up the lantern, but Mr. Norton interposed. "Allow me,
sir, to assist you", he said, rising quickly. "It will expose the
young lady to go out in the storm. Let me go, sir".
He approached Adèle to take the lantern from her hand, but she drew
back and held it fast.
"I don't mind weather, sir", she said, with a little sniff of contempt
at the thought. "And my father usually prefers my attendance. I thank
you. Will you please stay with the sick gentleman?"
Mr. Norton bowed, smiled, and reseated himself near the invalid.
In the mean time, Mr. Dubois and his daughter went through the rain to
the stables; his wife replenished the tea-urn and began to rearrange
the table.
Mrs. McNab, during the scene that had thus unexpectedly occurred, had
been waddling from one part of the room to the other, exclaiming,
"The Lord be gude to us!" Her presence, however, seemed for the time
to be ignored.
When she heard the gentle movements made by Mrs. Dubois among the
dishes, her dream seemed suddenly to fade out of view. Seating herself
again at the table, she diligently pursued the task of finishing her
supper, yet ever and anon examining the prostrate form upon the floor.
"Peradventure he's a mon fra' the States. His claithes look pretty
nice. As a gen'al thing them people fra' the States hae plenty o'
plack in their pockets. What do you think, sir?"
"He is undoubtedly a gentleman from New England", said Mr. Norton.