OLD CHEBUCTO
So slightly had the travellers really suffered from the fire that they
soon recovered from the effects of that exciting night, yet they were
glad enough to reach Halifax and open their trunks.
"It seems better than luck that we sent these trunks ahead to Halifax.
If they had been burned--"
"We should have had great fun shopping, my dear Miss Amy Redmond,"
responded Martine; "as it is, we shall just have to pretend that we need
things when we see any startling bargains in the shop-windows."
"If you should try to replace what you have lost you could keep yourself
busy for a day or two," rejoined Amy.
"No, thank you. The things that I lost I can wait for until Christmas. I
have bought some inexpensive brushes, plain enough for Priscilla to
approve; but at Christmas--well, perhaps I can persuade papa to get
tortoise-shell, or something more elaborate than the simple silver set
that melted away at Windsor."
In this way Martine always turned aside the sympathy that the others
tried to offer her for her losses.
Fritz and Lucian had taken the travellers to the small Halifax hotel,
where they themselves had been staying for two or three days before
their sudden flight to Windsor. It was a cheerful, homelike place, and
in its little garden the girls spent more or less time resting after the
exertions of their later days in Acadia.
The fire and the events immediately following it had seemed to bring
Martine and Priscilla more closely together,--at least, for the time
their lack of sympathy was less plainly evident.
One day the two were sitting in the garden.
"I almost wish we had been a week longer in Acadia," Priscilla said.
"Why, we are in Acadia still!" rejoined Martine. "Don't speak of Acadia
as so far away."
"Oh," responded Priscilla, "perhaps all Nova Scotia is Acadia; but
really, when we use the word we mean where the French settled. Halifax
is thoroughly English. On that account I do prefer it, though Acadia was
certainly interesting."
"Thanks!" said Martine, "but I am going to prove that Halifax also was
settled by the French. Amy laughed at me yesterday when I tried to prove
my case. But listen; it was Amy herself who told me that no one had
thought seriously of making a settlement here until D'Anville's fleet
took refuge here after their defeat near Louisbourg. The ships were safe
enough, but the men died by hundreds, and were buried on the beach.
Well, after they had gone away, some sort of a petition was sent from
Boston to England, asking that a settlement and fortifications be
established to prevent the French from coming into Chebucto again and
interfering with New England ships. The English thought this a good
plan, because the Acadians at Annapolis and other places would be kept
down if there was a strong town on the coast. So, you see, if it hadn't
been for the French, Halifax might never have been settled. Have I
proved my case?"
Priscilla shook her head. She could not quite tell whether Martine was
in fun or in earnest.
"It seems to me that if Massachusetts men suggested the plan to England,
you could just as easily say that Boston men settled Halifax."
"That's just what 'Taps'--I beg his pardon--Lucian said when I explained
my theory to him. But then, he can't be expected to share my feelings
about the Acadians,--at least, not yet,--although on the whole he is
pretty sensible, isn't he?"
Priscilla found it difficult to answer this question directly, so, to
conceal her embarrassment, she propounded another question.
"Why do they call your brother 'Taps'?" she asked abruptly.
"For no reason whatever, that I could ever see. But you know how boys
insist on nicknaming one another. Mamma just hates it; and, if you
notice, I always say 'Lucian.'"
"'Lucian' is such a good name," said Priscilla.
"Yes, and don't you think that Lucian himself is a dear?"
"I like him very much," responded Priscilla, simply. She would hardly
have applied Martine's term to him, but she had found Lucian helpful and
entertaining during their three or four days in Halifax.
"I believe," continued Martine, "that I might have told you something
about Lucian before, except that I thought you might be prejudiced."
"Prejudiced!"
"Yes, a month ago you were much narrower-minded than you are now, and of
course you and Amy had heard that Fritz Tomkins had charge of a Freshman
who had been in rather bad company last year; and so if you had heard
that it was Lucian before you had seen him, why, you might have had the
queerest notions about him."
"You have the funniest way of putting things;" and Priscilla smiled
again.
"Well, really," continued Martine, "there was nothing wrong with Lucian,
only he is rather too good natured, and papa might as well give him a
smaller allowance. But I heard Fritz Tomkins telling Mrs. Redmond that
Lucian had kept a very good standing last year, but he wanted to break
off with one or two men who were not going just the right way, and they
wanted him to go to Paris and Vienna, and the only way was to plan some
other kind of a trip. But there's really no harm in Lucian."
"Oh, no," said Priscilla, "I am sure of that; he has such a good face.
It is curious that, with his blond hair and blue eyes, he still reminds
me of you, and you are almost a brunette."
As Priscilla paused for a moment, the latch of the iron gate clicked
sharply, and as a step sounded on the flagged walk, Martine rose quickly
to her feet.
"Why, Mr. Knight!" she exclaimed, and in a moment Priscilla, too, was
welcoming the new-comer.
"But we thought you in New Brunswick!"
"So I was a day or two ago. Certain business has brought me now to
Halifax, and it is rather singular that we should be staying at the same
hotel. I saw your names on the book this morning, and wondered if I
should see you before my departure."
Mr. Knight's manner was so unaffected that Martine at once reproached
herself inwardly for having imagined that he had run away from Wolfville
to escape Mrs. Redmond's party.
"I am to be here only a day or two," he continued, "but if there's
anything I can do--"
"In the way of rescuing," interrupted Martine.
"Oh, please," he protested, "don't mention that; it was so slight."
"You know," continued Priscilla, "we've been rescued once more,--at
least I have been, for really it was Martine who was the rescuer." And
then, when the young man seemed mystified by their words, the two had to
tell him the story of the Windsor fire, of which, it seemed, he had not
heard.
After Mr. Knight had congratulated them on their escape and condoled
with them on their losses, he said:
"In case I have no other chance, I must tell you that my chief regret in
leaving Wolfville so unexpectedly was the fact that I had no chance to
show you through Acadia College, or tell you much about it. I know that
that was one of the things Balfour had in mind when he wrote to me that
I should present Acadia College in the best possible light."
"Oh, indeed," responded Martine, with a slight touch of impatience, "we
have heard quantities about it,--that it offers the same advantages to
women as to men; that a great many distinguished college men in the
'States,' as you say down here, were graduates of Acadia; that it has a
lovely situation, and plenty of time to grow," she concluded suddenly,
for, after all, though truce had been declared, Martine could not resist
the opportunity of teasing Mr. Knight.
"I saw Balfour Airton," continued Mr. Knight, apparently undisturbed,
"when at Annapolis the other day, and he is to be one of the
distinguished graduates of Acadia."
"Did he say so?" Martine did not try to conceal her genuine surprise.
"Oh, no; Balfour thinks of nothing now but hard work, and he's likely to
have his share of it the next few years."
A little later Mr. Knight excused himself for leaving the two, on the
plea of letters to write, and during the two remaining days of his stay
they saw little of him.
"He's afraid that he may have to rescue us again," Martine confided to
Amy, though secretly she was a little piqued by his indifference. Fritz
and Lucian, however, pronounced Mr. Knight a brick, and spent one
afternoon with him in a long tramp to a place called Herring Cove, the
description of which filled the girls with envy.
During their whole stay in Halifax, however, the boys went off on few
excursions by themselves.
"You have been left too long to your own devices," Fritz would say,
solemnly shaking his head, "and the punishment for your rash deeds is
that you are now to be forever in our care and protection. Until you are
safely back in Boston I hardly dare let you out of my sight, for fear of
fire and flood."
"Do you consider this sail-boat especially safe just because you are in
it?" asked Priscilla. "If my mother could behold us now she would think
us in the greatest danger. In spite of spending all her summers at the
edge of the sea, she is always afraid of a sail-boat."
"But I would rather run some risk than miss this sail around the
Northwest Arm. In fact I wouldn't have missed it for the world;" and Amy
glanced gratefully in Fritz's direction, for it was he who had planned
this particular excursion, and had gained Mrs. Redmond's rather
reluctant consent. "This narrow arm of the sea is so picturesque," she
continued, "with its wooded shores, and the harbor is so interesting
with its islands and its shipping."
"Just like any harbor," cried Martine.
"Oh, I don't know. One has a sense of its greatness here. No wonder even
the Micmacs called it Chebucto, which I believe is a word of theirs for
'Great harbor.'"
"Please, Amy, this is a pleasure trip with no instruction. You mustn't
tell us the size of the dry dock, nor the number of guns mounted on
George's Island or on York Redoubt, or on any other of the harbor
fortifications."
"Nor the time of day," retorted Amy, looking at her watch, "though all
the same, Captain Fritz, it is time to turn about, for I absolutely
promised that we'd be at home by five o'clock."
"Your word is law," responded Fritz.
"Tell me a little history," urged Lucian; but Amy refused to do anything
but enjoy the sail, and Martine, looking at her closely, wondered if she
had taken her words as criticism.
"There's one bit of harbor history that I shall speak of," said Lucian,
as they turned homeward. "No, Martine, you needn't try to stop me.
Everybody remembers Captain Lawrence and his 'don't give up the ship.'
Well, do you know that he died here in Halifax? The 'Shannon' brought
the 'Chesapeake' as a prize into this very harbor where we are now
sailing. It was the first Sunday in June, 1813, and the town was in the
greatest excitement. The news of their coming went quickly through the
town, and every one who could get hold of a small boat pushed out to see
the ships. The men were swabbing the decks, and the scuppers ran red
with blood."
"Don't, Lucian," cried Martine.
"Oh, but this is history, and the kind you should remember. The
'Shannon' had set out from Halifax but a short time before, and when the
two ships met in Boston Harbor they fought a fierce duel. The 'Shannon'
had less than a hundred in killed and wounded, and the 'Chesapeake'
nearly two hundred, all in about twenty minutes; so no wonder it's
called one of the bloodiest fights on record. The ships must have been a
sight to the quiet Haligonians. Then," continued Lucian, "Captain
Lawrence and Lieutenant Ludlow were buried with high honors in the old
English burying-ground here, and there was a great procession from the
King's Wharf, with the coffins covered with our flags, and six British
post captains bearing the pall."
"You'll have to visit the grave, Amy," said Martine, mischievously.
"Can't be done. An American brig with a flag of truce came for the
bodies in August, and they were carried back to their native country."
"How in the world did you remember so much?" asked Martine. "I never
realized before that you took an interest in history."
"This is the result," retorted Lucian, "of travelling with an
intelligent companion," and he pointed to Fritz.
"No, I didn't do it; don't blame me," rejoined Fritz. "He ran across a
history yesterday, or book of annals, or something of that kind, and
naturally the mention of the 'Chesapeake' and the 'Shannon' interested
him."
"Enough said--in excuse," replied Martine, while Priscilla added, "I
wonder if we shall visit Melville Island before we go. You know that is
where they kept the American prisoners during that war. I had a
great-grand uncle who was taken prisoner, and I've always remembered
that he was at Melville Island, Halifax. My mother has his diary."
"Why, that is interesting," said Amy. "Perhaps it may sound like wishing
ill to my forebears, but I'd even be willing to have had a relative or
two imprisoned here, just for the sake of having a closer association
with Halifax."
"That's a very silly remark, Miss Amy Redmond," cried Fritz,
disapprovingly.
"Yes," added Martine; "I might as well wish that some of my French
ancestors had been among the exiled Acadians, so that I could take a
deeper interest in Clare. Not that I need a deeper interest--but that
reminds me," and she turned to her brother. "It's strange, Lucian, that
I hadn't thought to tell you before, but I believe I've found some new
relations in Nova Scotia; at least, I hope so. Do you know whether we
had any Tories in our family?"
"Tories! I should hope not," and Lucian's voice rang with patriotism.
"Oh, they are all dead now, so don't excite yourself. But two things
equal to the same thing are sometimes equal to each other. We are
certainly cousins of Mrs. Blair's. You'll admit that?"
"Yes, worse luck to it," grumbled Lucian. "She is such a--such a--"
"You mean so conventional," interposed Martine, sedately; "but that's
very proper for a Bostonian. Well, Mrs. Blair's name is Audrey Balfour
Blair."
"Why not?" asked Lucian.
"Well, we met a girl this summer whose grandmother's name was Audrey
Balfour, and what I want to know is--are we related to her?"
"To the grandmother?" exclaimed Lucian. "How in the world should I know?
and if we are, what's the difference? Probably the old lady's dead by
this time. Most grandmothers are."
"Oh, Lucian, do be serious."
"You'd better be serious yourself--say, look out for the boom, or you'll
lose your head as well as your temper."
"I haven't lost my temper. There, I'm glad we're putting in for shore
now, if Lucian is going to be so disagreeable."
Thus the conversation drifted from Audrey Balfour, and for the present
Martine's question was unanswered.
This afternoon was only one of several that they spent on the water, and
when the conditions were favorable, sometimes Amy, sometimes Martine,
had a chance to show her skill as skipper, while the boys approved or
made suggestions, and Mrs. Redmond and Priscilla sat back, trying not to
show the timidity that they felt.
On shore as well as at sea they found much to occupy them, and as
conditions for picture-taking happened for the time to be particularly
favorable, each one added largely to her own collection of photographs.
Each of the girls had a camera with her; but at first Priscilla had been
the only one really zealous for photography.
When they visited the Citadel Lucian and Fritz had managed to intimidate
them by telling them of the fearful fate that might be theirs should
their cameras be seen in its neighborhood; so the cameras were hidden
until the girls were far from what Martine called "the sacred
precincts," until, indeed, the sight of a redcoat on Barrington Street,
standing where the sun illuminated his whole figure, caused her to shout
in delight:
"There, my camera, quick, Lucian. Here's my chance to catch one of those
crazy little caps. How do they manage to make them stay on one ear?
Quick, before he moves, or sees us," and then the click of a spring
showed that she had accomplished her aim.
* * * * *
One dull afternoon Amy and Priscilla, wandering about, found their way
into the Parliament building, and after admiring the stately old
portraits in the rooms of the historical society, spent an hour or two
over some of the old books and papers in the archives. This was
especially gratifying to Priscilla, because she was thus able to satisfy
her curiosity about the exiled Loyalists. Their sufferings seemed all
the more real when written out in detail in these old manuscript
volumes, and as she read, she sighed. The sigh was not wholly for the
miseries of the past. That very morning she had received a letter from
Eunice that had set her thinking.
"I am so glad [wrote Eunice] that you like Halifax. But it
there--in the capital of our Province? Sometimes it seems as
if I should never go anywhere, though Balfour says that he
will send me to college, that I can depend on that. But that
will be only to Acadia, and I shall have to wait so long,
until he has a law practice--and when will that be? Besides,
he thinks now that he may have to stay out of college a
year, if not give it up altogether. It's the mortgage on the
house. There's some kind of trouble about it, and Balfour is
determined not to let it go. It would just break mother's
heart. But I oughtn't to make this a complaining letter,
when one of the pleasantest things this summer--or any
summer--has been my acquaintance with you,--and the others,
too, of course, though I didn't know them so well. Please
give them my love, but the most for yourself.
"Your affectionate
"EUNICE."
Now Eunice was really so fond of Priscilla that nothing was farther from
her thoughts than to make her friend unhappy. Yet such was Priscilla's
sympathy for her Annapolis friend that the remembrance of the letter
made her feel sad, even as she sat with Amy in the old library.
"If papa had only lived," she thought, "I could have asked him to do
something, but now,--why, Eunice herself would be surprised to know how
little pocket money I have. Not that Eunice wants anything, but it would
be so delightful to pay off that mortgage, and then make sure that
Balfour could get through college, and then see him put Eunice through
college, and then perhaps she could come up and take post-graduate work
with me at Radcliffe." Then, amused at the rapidity with which her
thoughts were running away with her, for Priscilla had not yet passed
her own finals for college, she laughed aloud. Unexpectedly the clouds
had been chased away.
"Priscilla," said Amy, "I am delighted to hear you laugh. You have been
altogether too quiet to-day. Surely you are not homesick again."
"Oh, no, not homesick, only thinking."
"Tell me then, so that I may laugh too,--unless it's a secret."
"Oh, no, it's hardly worth mentioning; besides, it has ended in a
foolish wish--if only I had money like Martine!"
"Martine cares little for money," responded Amy, with some sharpness.
This was not the first time that she had thought Priscilla too ready to
criticise Martine.
"I know that. She is surely very generous, only it would be so easy to
do things for others if one had as much money as she has."
"I know what you think, Priscilla; but still Martine's way of spending
money is not altogether extravagance. She has had more in her hands than
most girls we know, and rich Chicagoans are fonder of spending than
hoarding. It's in the air. Martine does not care for money in itself,
but for what money buys."
"But she surely throws it around without getting full value."
"That's a matter of temperament."
"Yes," but Priscilla's voice sounded as if she were not sure of this. To
herself, indeed, she was saying, "It is strange that Martine has not
talked of making plans for Yvonne. Ah, if I had as much in my power I
certainly wouldn't let Eunice worry about mortgages and going to college
and all that kind of thing."
"Priscilla, Priscilla, wake up," cried Amy, a moment later. "Look at the
citadel. It's hard to realize that this is the greatest fortress in
America, and that only a few generations ago it was nothing but a
stockade, a defence against the Indians."
"A few generations ago!" repeated Priscilla. "Why, it must be--"
"A bare hundred and fifty years, my dear child, since the English ships
with their two or three thousand settlers came sailing into the harbor."
"A bare hundred and fifty years," echoed Priscilla, "and yet that is
rather a long time, and Halifax isn't a large city yet."
Before Amy could reply she felt her arm seized from behind. Turning
about, she found herself face to face with Martine, who held a letter in
her disengaged hand. Priscilla, not hearing the steps, had walked on a
little before she discovered that Amy was not with her. But a moment
later she too faced about, and, as her eye fell on Martine, she could
not help seeing that the latter was holding her finger on her lips with
a warning glance at Amy, as if between the two there was some secret
understanding.