It will be remembered that when M. de Valricour quitted France in order
to return to Canada he promised the Marquis de Beaujardin that he would
do his best to find Isidore, and report whatever he might learn
respecting him. In those days, however, the communication between New
and Old France was slow and uncertain enough, and it was not until the
ensuing spring that the marquis received any tidings respecting his
son. From what he then heard it could scarcely be doubted that Isidore
was in Canada, and de Valricour was able to inform his brother-in-law
not only that Marguerite had been a prisoner at Sorel, and had
subsequently escaped through the devotion of Amoahmeh, but that Jasmin
was actually a prisoner there. He was further enabled to send to the
marquis the mutilated letter supposed to have been destroyed by
Isidore, and this circumstance not only cleared away that imputation,
but proved beyond question that Isidore had had grounds for supposing
that his father had no objection to his union with Marguerite.
Full of remorse for his unjust suspicions, the marquis felt his old
affection for his son revive more strongly than ever, and when he
subsequently received further accounts to the effect that Isidore had
gone to Fort Duquesne, but that he had not since been heard of, he
could no longer restrain his ardent longing to seek out his lost son,
and do him at least some tardy justice. In the first place, however,
he proceeded to Paris in order that he might use all his influence to
ascertain how matters stood in regard to the _lettre de cachet_, and,
if possible, to obtain its revocation. To his astonishment he found
that, through the influence of Montcalm, the king's warrant had already
been cancelled; but about Isidore himself he could learn nothing, and
he consequently resolved to proceed at once to Canada in search of him.
He had, however, by this time learned by experience that any plan of
his might be thwarted if it once came to the ears of Madame de
Valricour, and without even communicating his intentions to the
marchioness, he returned home by way of Nantes, where he made
arrangements for his voyage to Quebec. This was no easy matter; it was
well known that the English fleet was already on its way up the St.
Lawrence with General Wolfe's army to undertake the siege of Quebec,
and French vessels could no longer hope to reach that place. But the
marquis was prepared to pay almost any sum for the accomplishment of
his object, and with the help of Jean Perigord the innkeeper he at last
prevailed on a certain Maitre Duboscq to undertake the task, and
endeavour at least to land the marquis as near Quebec as possible.
This being settled, M. de Beaujardin proceeded home to take leave of
his wife and inform her of his purpose.
He had reckoned without his host, and little knew that Madame de
Valricour was well informed of all his movements. No sooner had he
reached the chateau than that lady calmly informed him that she had
resolved to go out and join her husband, and would feel indebted to him
if he would write to Nantes and procure a passage for her.
Thoroughly convinced that the object of the voyage could only be to
search out or to meet with Isidore, she felt that if she allowed the
marquis to proceed alone her long cherished schemes would be wrecked at
last and she resolved, come what might, to accompany him. Argument and
persuasion were alike unavailing. There was nothing for it but to
offer to take her out in the "Pompadour." Nor was she the only person
who was destined to accompany the marquis, for on hearing of his
intention old Perigord besought him with tears in his eyes to let him
go too: "Monseigneur," said he, "I have served you faithfully from my
cradle, do not compel me to leave yon. Let me, too, see my young
master once more before I die."
It was not the first time, by a score, that Duboscq had threaded the
mazy channels of the St. Lawrence, or that he had baffled the pursuit
of an English cruiser. The "Pompadour" was a tight little ship, and
well in hand, swift, and drawing but little water, but much caution was
required, and the voyage was a long one. Passing northwards through
the Straits of Belle Isle to avoid the track of the English fleet, the
"Pompadour" made a splendid run up the St. Lawrence, eluding one
British vessel, and fairly out-sailing another, and at last came in
sight of the rugged bluffs of Cape Tourment, about a dozen leagues
below Quebec. It was, however, late in the afternoon, and as there was
no hope of their reaching Quebec that evening the "Pompadour" hove to,
and was about to anchor for the night, when Duboscq descried an English
sloop of war about a couple of miles off, right ahead and standing
towards them, and he at once went below to consult with the marquis,
who immediately returned with him on deck.
It was evident that they had been seen by the English sloop, and the
danger was imminent. The marquis took in the situation at a glance:
"The 'Pompadour' cannot escape, but we may yet do so," said he to
Duboscq. "You have done your best hitherto, and I will indemnify you
for the loss of your vessel. Lower your boat at once, and we may all
reach the shore before the Englishman comes up. We may as well be
captured on shore, if we are to see the inside of an English prison,
but we may be able to make our way by land to Quebec."
The boat was soon lowered, but it would only hold three persons besides
the two men required to row it; and Duboscq, as steersman, who, after
landing their passengers, would have to return to fetch off the
remainder of the crew. The marquis, with Madame de Valricour and
Perigord, at once stepped into the boat, and as the beach was not far
off, they were quickly rowed to the shore. "Now," said Duboscq, when
they were fairly landed, "push on into the wood straight ahead, and I
will join you there. We shall give our friends the slip after all,
thanks to monsieur's suggestion."
The little party did as they were told, and presently stopped to await
the coming of the others; but they waited in vain, and were destined
soon to find out that they had only escaped one danger to rush upon
another. From a lofty point overhanging the river an Indian scout had
watched all that had occurred. Suddenly the wood rang with a terrible
war-whoop, and half a dozen savages darted through the trees and came
upon the panic-stricken group. The chief, who was a little in advance,
sprang towards Perigord, but on perceiving that the party consisted
only of two unarmed men and a woman, stopped short, making a sign to
his followers to do the same. Then, contemptuously flinging old
Perigord down, he snatched from him an ornamented casket which he was
clutching in his hands: it was his master's strong box, which he had
rescued at the last moment, and brought away with him from the ship.
Wrenching it open the savage drew out the first thing that came to
hand: it was the ribbon and order of St. Louis.
With an exclamation of surprise he held it up and examined it. He had
seen the like once or twice before, but only on the breasts of Montcalm
and Governor de Vaudreuil.
"Whose is this? Who are you?" said he, quickly regarding the old
_chef_ with evident astonishment.
"It belongs to the Marquis de Beaujardin," replied Perigord, piteously.
"Beaujardin! Beaujardin!" answered the Indian, with increasing
amazement. "There is one of that name in the camp. Who is this
Beaujardin?"
"His father--his father!" exclaimed Perigord. "Have you seen him? Is
he at Quebec? My poor Isidore! He was lost, and we have come out here
to seek him.'
"Yes, Isidore--that is his name," replied the chief; and with that he
turned to his warriors, and spoke to them rapidly, gesticulating
vehemently all the while.
Perigord would have questioned him further, but the chief at first took
no heed of him; after some further conference, however, he once more
addressed his excited prisoner, saying, "It is well--the Frenchman
shall see his son again."
"But in one thing you are mistaken," cried Perigord, with animation.
"Yonder is his father--it is not I."
In some surprise the Indian looked first at one and then at the other,
scanning alternately the plain suit which the marquis had been
accustomed to wear on board ship, and the full dress costume in which
old Perigord invariably waited on him. But apart from these the fiery
black eyes, the dark complexion, and even the hooked nose of old
Achille, and most of all the tears which had betrayed his emotion on
hearing the name of Isidore, would have sufficed to settle the question.
"Is a chief of the Algonquins an owl that he cannot see in broad
daylight?" said the Indian, contemptuously. "Does the cunning
Frenchman think that a warrior of the red skins does not know the
difference between a wild goose and an eagle?"
Then without further parley he gave the word for the march, and the
amazed and terrified prisoners were hurried away into the woods.
[Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter VIII]