LETTERS AND SOME COMMENTS
"Do you realize that we have only a day or two longer in Annapolis?"
asked Amy, one soft afternoon in July, as she sat with Martine and
Priscilla within the walls of the old fort.
Mrs. Redmond, seated some distance from them, was sketching a bit of
far-off shore that came within her range of view. Martine had her hands
folded idly in her lap, though the sketching-block and materials that
lay beside her showed that at least she had made some pretence of work
that day.
"Yes, I realize it all too well," she responded. "I wish we could stay
here all summer."
"It has been so much pleasanter since we knew the Airtons that we shall
find it very hard to go," added Priscilla.
"Of course we might stay here the rest of the summer," replied Amy,
"only, since we had a definite route planned out it would be a pity not
to follow it."
"The other places may be very stupid," murmured Martine.
"Not Grand Pre," rejoined Priscilla. "You'll probably enjoy that far
better than Annapolis; you seem to forget that it is full of memories of
the expelled Acadians."
"Oh, yes, the Acadians; but do you know they don't seem half so
important to me as they did when we were in Clare. I've really grown
tremendously interested in those first Frenchmen, who had such an
unlucky time here at Port Royal. Annapolis has memories enough for me."
"What a fickle creature you are, Martine! Surely you haven't forgotten
Yvonne."
"No, no," and Martine sprang to her feet. "I'm only waiting for a letter
from my father and then you shall know what is going to happen to
Yvonne. Why, I've written her three times since I left Meteghan; I
thought you knew that, Amy."
"Yes, but don't excite yourself unduly, child; only, when you expressed
your indifference to Acadians I wondered whom you included. Nothing
would make me forget little Pierre. Here's a letter that I received from
him to-day."
Amy drew from her pocket a half-sheet of paper and read its contents to
her friends:--
"'MY DEAR MADEMOISELLE, AMY REDMOND,--It gives me great
pleasure to think that you and your beautiful mother and the
charming young ladies like so well our historic Annapolis. I
once it visited with my uncle, to view the fort that was
built in the days of the greatness of Acadia; it was sad to
me to know that now it belongs to the cruel English, who
drove my ancestors from their happy homes. When I am a
learned man, I shall teach history in a great school, and I
will write books to make all know the truth; but now I am
only a little boy, and I thank you for your letter and the
book you sent me that will ever keep your lovely face fresh
in my mind. So with her best duty from my mother, I
subscribe myself,
"'Your humble friend,
"'PIERRE ROBICHAUD.
"'P. S. Please write soon again.'"
Martine and Priscilla smiled at the quaint letter, with its curious
mingling of pride and humility and its touch of French gallantry.
"Pierre seems quite sure of his own future,"--and Amy replaced the sheet
in her pocket. "With his aim so firmly in view, it's quite probable that
he'll attain his ambition."
"'Best duty,'" observed Priscilla, "isn't that a strange expression?"
"It certainly isn't French; he has picked it up from some of the 'cruel'
English."
"He probably had an old-fashioned school-teacher at some time. I hope
that we'll see both Pierre and Yvonne before we return home; but now we
must keep our minds on Annapolis. I'm so afraid that you haven't got all
you might of its history."
"Oh, my dear Amy, Priscilla is just brimful of the Loyalists and their
sufferings; you ought to hear some of the stories that she has gathered
up. Show her your note-book, Priscilla."
Priscilla reddened and shook her head, while Martine continued:
"And as for me, I'm so charged with historical associations that I feel
as if I'd give them out in electric sparks if any one should rub me the
right way. Of course I know that this is not the original French fort,
but when one is dreaming, she needn't be so very particular about facts;
so if I shut my eyes, here on this very spot," and Martine suited the
action to the word, "I can see Poutrincourt and Lescarbot and all the
others who were here that long winter when De Monts had gone back to
France, leaving Pontgrave in charge. I just imagine that the old
barracks over there is the great hall where they used to have their
feasts, and I can see them all marching in with the fifteen gentlemen at
the head who sat at Poutrincourt's table, the Grand Master strutting in
front, with his staff of office in his hand and his napkin over his
shoulder. L'Ordre de Bon Temps--that was a capital idea of Lescarbot's,
to keep them all in good spirits and make each man think himself of
supreme importance for a day."
"Tell me about it," said Priscilla. "If I ever knew, I believe I've
forgotten what it was."
"That's it, my dear; you have been so very full of the much less
important English history of Annapolis that you've overlooked the more
romantic French." Then pointing toward the Basin, Martine chanted:
"'Sing on, wild sea, your sad refrain,
For all the gallant sons of France
Whose songs and sufferings enhance
The romance of the western main.'"
"Well, if this is a wild sea I wonder what you'd call the Bay of Fundy,"
said Amy, laughing.
"Oh, dear! You are so very practical; but I can't argue with you now,
for I must make Priscilla understand just what 'The Order of the Good
Time' was. During the long winter Lescarbot suggested that each of the
fifteen gentlemen of greatest importance in the settlement should be
appointed caterer for a day at a time; so they took turns, and each one
tried to outdo the others in providing as many delicacies as possible.
The steward of the day was called the Grand Master, and fish and game
were so abundant here that often the table was supplied with food that
the King of France might have envied. In order to keep up their dignity,
they all observed a very formal ceremony, entering the hall at each meal
just as I told you a little while ago. At the close of the day, after
grace, the Grand Master removed his collar and placed it on the neck of
the one who was to do duty the next day, while they drank each other's
health in wine and recited appropriate verses. No wonder the Indians
thought it great sport to watch the white men dine, for they crowded the
hall at every meal, and Membertou, their Chief, was often at the
Governor's table."
"I hope the other Indians had something to eat."
"Oh, yes indeed; they were always well fed by the French, and well
treated; so that from the very beginning the French and Indians were on
the very friendliest terms."
"You must have done a deal of reading, Martine, you know your subject so
well," said Amy, quizzically.
"Oh, I haven't read so much," she began.
"No, it's all Balfour Airton," interposed Priscilla. "He talks like a
book, and he's discovered that he can make Martine listen to him."
"Any one would like to listen to him," rejoined Martine, "and I'm glad
to say that though he is of English descent, he doesn't consider the
English absolutely perfect."
"There, there," said Amy, throwing oil on the waters, "our acquaintance
with the Airtons has certainly added to the pleasure of us all. Balfour
seems a plucky fellow, for it can't be particularly pleasant to him to
serve as a grocer's clerk in the summer holidays."
"But he needs the money."
"Oh, yes, Martine; but I know boys who would remain idle rather than do
work that they thought a little beneath them."
"To tell you the truth," added Priscilla, "I'm afraid that the Airtons
have very little money indeed. Eunice says that there's a mortgage on
their house, and that they may have to give it up before long. Balfour
has offered to stay out of college and look for work in Halifax, but his
mother will not listen to this; she wishes him to be a lawyer like his
grandfather."
"He has a scholarship at college, and he earns more or less money all
the year, so that really his education costs his family nothing."
"I fear our conversation is too personal," interrupted Amy, "though it
has certainly been a pleasure to meet two people so free from
self-consciousness as Eunice and Balfour. That reminds me," concluded
Amy, "that I had a letter to-day from my friend Brenda, Mrs. Weston. She
is surprised that we find so much to interest us in Nova Scotia. She
made a trip this way one summer with her parents, but they travelled
rather hurriedly through the province and made their longest stay at
Halifax."
"Oh, Halifax," interrupted Martine. "Nothing but English; only fancy,"
with a true English accent, and she raised her hand toward her eye as if
holding a monocle. "If there's anything in the world I dislike, it's the
real English. Excuse me, Priscilla; I did not mean to hurt your
feelings."
"My feelings? Why, I'm no more English than you are, Martine. You won't
deny that you have some English blood in your veins?"
"Unluckily, I can't deny it; but I'm glad that they named me Martine;
that at least is un-English."
"It certainly is a queer name."
"Not queer at all, Priscilla. My grandfather was Martin, and Martine is
the French feminine for it. If I'd been a boy, I would have been named
Martin. Unluckily I wasn't, and so Martine was the best that could be
done. My elder brother had been named for my father; Lucian, you know,
is his name. I never heard any one else call 'Martine' a queer name;"
and the Chicago girl turned away petulantly.
Noting again the signs of a coming storm, already too frequent on this
trip, Amy hastened to change the subject.
"I don't know why I should have so many letters in my pocket to-day, but
since I brought my mail with me, let me read you a little from Brenda's
letter; you know her, Priscilla?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Oh, Brenda,--Mrs. Weston," cried Martine, eagerly, all trace of
annoyance disappearing from her face and voice. "I've never talked with
her, but I've seen her several times; I think she's just fine. She isn't
a bit prim and stiff like most Bostonians. Why, she has as much style as
a Chicago girl."
"My dear," interposed Amy, "remember that Priscilla and I are from the
neighborhood of Boston."
"Oh, yes, but you don't set up for style--there, I don't mean that, of
course; I only mean--"
But Martine was getting herself into deep water, and her floundering
amused Amy, although she maintained a grave face, as she said:
"Style is not confined to dress; other things are considered just as
important by the true critic. However, I'm glad that you admire Brenda,
for you'll be the more interested in her letter.
"'Your account of what you have seen in Nova Scotia is
perfectly fascinating. But you haven't told me how you like
those funny little brown fish that they call Digby chickens,
that have a flavor made up of smoked ham and salt cod; you
can fancy how surprised I was when I ordered them, for I
thought they'd be real chickens. We didn't see any French in
Nova Scotia; I can't imagine where you found them. Are they
the real thing? or do they speak with a Stratford atte Bow
accent?
"'How different this summer is from last, when we were all
so worried about Arthur and the Spanish War,--at least, I
was. It is just a year since I was so very ill, and now I am
perfectly happy. I feel quite ridiculous when they ask me to
chaperone parties of girls who are older than I until I
remember that I am really an old married woman and quite
settled.
"'It is all I can do to prevent Arthur's going to the
Philippines; he really has the war fever, and I wonder what
will come of it all. Next month he is to make an address at
some reunion of Spanish War Veterans; doesn't it seem absurd
to call him a veteran? Tim McSorley is at Manila. Maggie is
down here at Rockley with us this summer, and you haven't an
idea how useful she is. My mother says that the way she does
things is recommendation enough for the Mansion School, and
that if Julia needed to earn money she would make a small
fortune training girls.
"'I had a letter yesterday from Happy Hill,--you know that's
the name of the farm where she has the girls this summer.
They are nearly all new girls, who do not interest me as
much as the others who were there my year. Norah is with
Julia this summer; but there, I'm telling you things that
are no news to you, and in fact I have very little news of
any kind to write; but I hope you'll give my love to your
mother and Priscilla, and Miss Stratford and I only hope
that you are as strict with them as you can be some times,
when you want people to get all the information they can out
of a trip.
"'Oh, that reminds me. I hear that Fritz Tomkins is in Nova
Scotia; you do not mention him in your letter, but you must
be delighted to have him with you. Of course four women can
get along perfectly well, but if anything should happen, it
is so much better to have a man in your party; and Fritz is
so like a brother that I'm sure you can make him very
useful. With love to all,
"'Sincerely,
"'BRENDA WESTON.'"
Amy had read the whole letter aloud without realizing how personal it
was, for her original intention had been only to read that part relating
to Nova Scotia.
"That sounds just like Brenda," she said to the girls, "and I'm glad
that she's so happy, for last summer was a miserable one for her."
"It was for all of us," murmured Priscilla.
And then Amy suddenly realized that the Spanish War was a subject too
sore for her to touch on in Priscilla's presence.
"Come," she said, "one last look at old Port Royal. We shall have
several farewell calls to pay to-day and to-morrow, and we may not have
time to return to the Fort."
"Amy," said Martine, "I know I'm very stupid, but I'd really like to
know where Port Royal ends and Fort Anne begins. Some one told me that
this is really Fort Anne, but you always speak of it as Port Royal; so
just to gratify my curiosity I'm willing to listen to a little more
history."
"Then I'll give you as much, or rather as little, as I can to make you
understand some of the happenings at this Fort in the early days. I am
sorry that I cannot go at all into details about the many sieges and
expeditions against the Fort in the seventeenth century. The quarrels of
D'Aunay and Charles de La Tour form a most exciting series of episodes,
and you must read them at length in Parkman or some other history.
Although theirs was not warfare between French and English, La Tour was
a Huguenot, and in a general way the English were on his side. In fact,
he once came down to Boston and interested Winthrop and others in his
cause. In the end I suppose La Tour may be considered to have been the
conqueror; at least, he survived D'Aunay, and later married for his
second wife D'Aunay's widow. Port Royal was captured by Cromwell's fleet
in 1654, and a few years later, in the reign of Charles II, was given
back to France. In 1690, when England and France were again at war, De
Menneval, the governor of the Fort, had to surrender to Sir William
Phipps, and the account of this expedition you will surely read
sometime, for Phipps was a New Englander and his career most
interesting."
"The New Englanders seem to have had a special spite against Acadia,"
said Martine; "so it isn't strange, Priscilla, that you have inherited
part of it."
"Oh, no, I haven't; only if I must choose I naturally prefer what is
English to what is French."
"After all that Phipps thought he had accomplished," continued Amy,
"Acadia was again handed back to France; but I will pass over other
attacks to remind you of what you have doubtless read many times in your
school histories, that, when the Treaty of Utrecht settled the wars
between Queen Anne and Louis XIV, Acadia was given to the English. Since
that time the fort has been Fort Anne and the town Annapolis."
"It's no wonder," said Martine, "that the Acadians hardly knew whom to
obey, when they'd been handed over from one side to another so often."
"This does account for much of the misunderstanding that finally led to
their deportation. They trusted too implicitly in the French King, and
for a long time vainly hoped that he would conquer the English and make
them again his subjects."
Hardly had Amy finished when a boyish voice was heard crying,
"Good-morning, good-morning. Is it really true that you're starting
North to-day?"
"No, not to-day; we have still a day or two left before we set out for
Grand Pre; we are going over to see your mother this afternoon."
"I'm glad of that," responded Balfour, "for I'm to have a day off, or
rather an afternoon, and I wanted to be sure of your plans."
Balfour did not explain that he had asked for this special holiday in
order to have some time with his new friends.
"You won't spend the whole afternoon with my mother," he began
awkwardly,--"at least, not all of you,--and so I thought that perhaps
some of you would go for a drive with me."
"I am going to stay with Eunice," said Priscilla; "it will be our last
day together."
Martine said nothing.
Then Balfour turned to Amy:
"Would not you and Miss Martine drive with me? I can take you to one or
two out-of-the-way places that you probably haven't visited."
"Surely," responded Amy, "that will be delightful. I can go, and with
pleasure. As for Martine, she must speak for herself."
Amy had no doubt as to Martine's desire, so that it was hardly necessary
for her to await a reply.
"Why, of course," replied Martine; "there's nothing I'd like so well."