AT BEAULIEU
Gabriel altered his course with the satisfaction of a man confirmed
in his superior judgment. "'II y a remede a tout, fors a la mort,'
madame, and this has come at the last hour," he cried, in great
satisfaction. "I suppose le pere Jean would say you were going to
Louisbourg all the time, only it would look to an ordinary sinner
like a precious long way round," and he chuckled at his jest as he
bustled about, filling every one with somewhat of his brimming
content.
Favoured by the tide and a strong wind, we made a good run during
the night, and when we awoke we were again coasting along the
peaceful reaches of the South Shore with its frequent settlements
and clearings--a pleasant change after the wilderness of the North.
Early in the afternoon, Gabriel pointed to a long point stretching
out into the river.
"That is the Beacon Point of Beaulieu, madame. A beacon is piled
there, ready for firing, winter and summer. The entrance to the
river is just on this side, and on the other is the great bay where
the porpoise fishery takes place. The manor cannot be seen from
the river; it is safe and snug from the storms, a little inland."
Before long we entered the mouth of the little river, to the right
of which stretched a broad expanse of tidal meadow, dotted with
small platforms, each supporting its load of coarse salt hay, safe
above the reach of the highest tides; to the left was the dense
pine wood covering the Beacon Point. Fields and woods wore the
sombre colours, the browns and purples of autumn, though here and
there a sturdy maple still hung out its banner of yellow or red,
lighting up the dark greens of the unchanging pines. As we advanced,
the windings of the river disclosed stretches of bare meadow and
empty fields, for the harvest had long been gathered. The whole
was set in a background of low, purple hills. But soon we caught
a new interest, as a windmill, and then a long wooden house, having
a high-pitched roof, broken by a row of pointed dormer-windows,
with a detached tower at each end, came into view.
"There, madame, that is the manor!" Gabriel announced with evident
pride, to which I made suitable return, for despite its humble
form, like a substantial farm-house, its great length and the two
towers gave to it an appearance which removed it out of the common.
Our boat was made fast to a little landing-place, and we disembarked;
but, to my surprise, no one appeared to welcome or to question us.
Gabriel led the way up to the house through a garden, which must
have been a model of neatness in summer-time, but was now stripped
and blackened by the early frosts. Though the door of the house
stood hospitably open to us, no answer came to our echoing knock.
Going round to the back proved equally fruitless, but I espied two
women working in a field at a short distance, and, bidding Gabriel
await me, I took my way towards them. I found them engaged with
spade and fork digging up reddish-looking roots, which they piled
in little heaps.
"I bring letters to Mme. de Sarennes," I said, addressing the
younger woman, who seemed confused, but whose face I could barely
see for the great bonnet which covered her head like a cowl, "but
I find no one in the house. Can you tell me what to do?"
"If madame will return and find a seat in the house, I shall bring
some one," she answered, prettily enough, and, dropping her fork,
she ran towards the house.
"What are those things you are digging up?" I asked the elder woman.
"Potatoes, madame."
"But do the people eat them?" I inquired, for I knew they were not
used in France.
"'Only the Bostonnais and cattle,' we used to say, madame, but now
the Intendant has ordered them to be planted and eaten by all."
"And they will obey?"
"'Le miel n'est pas pour les anes,' madame; those who do not, will
go hungry," she answered, laughing.
I was interested in the news, as well as in the calm philosophy
with which the innovation was accepted, and after a few more
questions I returned to the front of the house.
The room into which the entrance gave--for it was more of a room
than a hall--was large and low, with a ceiling painted white,
supported by heavy beams; it was carpeted and furnished with much
comfort--much more than one would find in a similar house either
in Scotland or France.
In a short time a young lady entered, her dark olive face well set
off by her brown hair, becomingly though simply dressed, with a
light girlish figure showing to advantage in her flowered gown.
"I am Mlle. de Sarennes, madame, and I regret that you should have
been kept waiting." She began gravely enough, but catching some
wonderment in my face, she continued, laughing merrily: "Oh, 'tis
of no use; I can never masquerade! I am Queen of the Fields, madame,
and you surprised me a moment ago, sceptre in hand," whereupon she
made me a grand courtesy, nearly sinking to the floor.
"And I am Mme. de St. Just," I answered, joining in her girlish
fun, "a poor rescued prisoner seeking for shelter; and this is my
waiting-woman and very good friend, Lucy Routh. I come to you with
letters from M. de Montcalm, trusting our presence may not prove
a burthen to you."
"But here is my mother," said the young girl, quickly. "Not a word
to her of how you discovered me; she will never acknowledge that
such a thing as field-work is necessary, though there is not a man
left to share it, except myself. We hide it from her as we would
a sin."
At the words a gray-haired lady supporting herself on a cane entered.
In a few moments all explanations were made, and I received from
her a welcome scarcely less warm than that of her daughter, but
with the difference, that it was only given after she had carefully
read the letter of the Marquis de Montcalm and its enclosure.
"Your own presence would command my hospitality in any case, madame;
but these letters, and especially that of le pere Jean, change a
duty into a pleasure; it is much to have gained the friendship of
such a man. I fear, though, you will have to put up with our poor
company for some time, as my son has but left for his post in
Acadie, and I do not look for his return until the snows come; but
we will do all we can to make you happy until such time as you can
leave to join your friends."
[Illustration: "These letters change a duty into a pleasure."]
Nothing could be more charming than her address, even though it
bore a trace of condescendence; but that was merely the reflection
of an older school of manners, to which I had been well accustomed
in Lady Jane.
As soon as we had settled these matters, I agreed with Gabriel that
he should go on to Quebec, there to obtain some necessaries of
which I stood in much need, as did poor Lucy.
"You do not expect to find shops there, surely!" laughed mademoiselle.
"But my friend Mme, de Lanaudiere will gladly undertake the buying
of the material, and we will make such shift for the fitting as is
possible here."
So we were installed as guests, and on the morrow Gabriel was
despatched on his important errand; before he returned we had taken
our places as members of the little household.
Mlle. de Sarennes--Angelique, as she insisted on my calling her--would
not consent to my helping in the fields, so Lucy and I took charge
in the house, where Lucy did marvels in the kitchen, even to
eliciting approbation from Mme. de Sarennes, which Angelique assured
us was praise indeed, for her mother was a housekeeper of the school
which did not acknowledge that excellence of performance called
for anything beyond a refraining from criticism. How could I be
other than content? I was surrounded by a daily round of interest,
almost of affection, and, most precious of all, by a gentle courtesy
which accepted me as a guest without question or curiosity as to
my past. Le pere Jean had answered for me, and that was enough.
When Gabriel returned I paid him for his services, though it was
only when I had assured the honest fellow I was amply able to do
so that he consented to receive anything from me. When he was
leaving me he charged me with great earnestness:
"Madame, should you need me at any time, either by day or night,
all you have to do is to light the beacon. If by night, let it
burn brightly; if by day, do as you saw le pere Jean, and go on
repeating it, until you see the answering smoke from the Island,
or my sail."
"But, my good Gabriel, I am not likely to trouble you, as when I
go from here it will be by land, and in a different direction."
"'Qui dit averti, dit muni,' madame; no one can tell what may
happen, and it may do no harm to know you have one near at hand
who would be proud if you called on him for help."
I was greatly touched by his thoughtfulness, a frank offer coming
direct from the heart of a brave man to a woman whom he fears may
some day be in need of his service.
"Gabriel, is every one kind in Canada? I do not know why I should
meet with such care."
"We are all saints, no doubt, madame; but that is not the reason!"
he returned, gaily, and set off for his boat.
After his departure our life together went on without interruption.
By the end of November the whole country was covered with snow,
which we hailed with delight, for it meant the speedy arrival of
M. de Sarennes, and then--Louisbourg! I had often seen snow as a
child at home in Scotland, but there it meant storm and desolation,
and, alas! only too frequently suffering and death to man and beast;
while here it came as a beauty and a blessing, welcomed by all.
Angelique took us over miles of snow-covered fields and through
woods that had a charm of softness unknown in summer-time, until
we could manage our snow-shoes without mishap.
"You must harden your muscles and exercise your lungs for the
journey you have before you," she declared, "and not shame my
training when you take the high-road with Charles."
Like her mother, she was never tired of talking of M. de Sarennes.
He was their only pride, and never was son or brother more precious
than was their Charles to them, so I looked forward with keen
satisfaction to the day I should start under his care.
They hoped for him by the New-Year, and we all busied ourselves in
preparation for the little feast which we agreed should be delayed,
if necessary, to welcome his return.
On the last night of the year we sate together about the fire,
Angelique laughing and chattering incessantly; her mother sitting
with her spinning-wheel, her wedding-gift from the Marquis de
Beauharnois--a dainty construction of mahogany tipped with ivory
and silver--whirring peacefully, as with skilful fingers she guided
the fine flax from her spindle; Lucy at a little distance knitting
methodically; and I expectant, excited by Angelique's unrest.
"Ah, Marguerite, what a shame Charles must tack on that odious
'madame,' every time he addresses you!" exclaimed Angelique, merrily.
"Had I my way, I'd banish the 'madame,' as I would banish every
one who has a claim on you, and keep you all for our very own. What
nonsense! to have other people in the world when we want you so
much! Stay with us! I'll marry you myself; I'm sure I'm worth all
the men in the world put together!"
"Be sensible, my daughter! be sensible," interrupted Mme. de
Sarennes, in her unruffled voice. "I cannot think how you find such
nonsense amusing."
"Now, maman, be fair! Do you know any man in the whole world, except
Charles, you like better than me? There! There! I told you! And my
mother has the very best taste in the world--eh, 'Mademoiselle'
Marguerite?" And the madcap jumped up, and running over to her
mother, embraced her in spite of her remonstrances.
In the midst of this turmoil a soft knock was heard, and we all
sprang to our feet.
"Come in! Come in!" called Angelique, running to the door; but it
opened before she could reach it, and there, in the bright light,
stood an Indian holding his snow-shoes in his hand.
As soon as I saw him I could not repress a cry of terror, for he
was the very chief from whom le pere Jean had rescued me.
"Do not be alarmed, Marguerite. He is Luntook, my son's man. He
always brings word of my son's return."
The Indian explained to Angelique, in his broken French, that his
master had but sent him to announce his coming, and paid not the
slightest attention either to Lucy or myself. As soon as he had
answered Angelique's eager questionings, he took himself off again,
and we began our preparations.
"He will be here in an hour!" sang Angelique, as she danced about
the room like a mad thing. Fresh wood was piled on the fire; the
table was set with the best linen and silver, and loaded with every
delicacy we had prepared; candles were placed in each window, of
which the heavy wooden shutters were thrown back, and soon the
whole house was a blaze of light.
Into all this entered the long-expected guest, who, after tenderly
embracing his mother, was caught in a whirl of kisses and questionings
showered on him by Angelique. Suddenly she released him, crying:
"But stop, Charles! you make me forget myself. Here is Mme. de St.
Just, for whose sake, most of all, we have been waiting for you."
While I acknowledged his salutation, Angelique rattled on: "She
has waited for you all this time to take her to Louisbourg, she
and her waiting-woman. Where is Lucie? Oh, she has gone--frightened
by the Indian, no doubt. She--I mean Marguerite--is so glad you
have come. When do you go back?"
"Not to-night, at all events, ma belle. I'm sure even madame would
not ask that. In any case not until I've tasted some of these good
things. We can boast no such table at Mire."
With much laughter we gradually settled down. When M. de Sarennes
had doffed his outer wrappings and appeared in a close-fitting suit
of some dark blue stuff, I thought I had seldom seen a handsomer
type of man, and did not wonder at the pride his womenkind displayed.
He was very tall, had a dark olive face like his sister, great
flashing eyes, and black hair that rolled handsomely off his
well-shaped forehead; and I could easily imagine that more usual
clothing would transform him into a prince among his fellows.
Before taking his place at table he left us for a little to see
after his men, who were provided for in the kitchen. When he
returned, he said:
"Luntook, my Indian, tells me that it was he who carried you off,
madame. He had taken you for English women, and even now can scarce
be persuaded he was mistaken, though he gave you up to le pere
Jean."
"We are English women, monsieur."
"And you would go to Louisbourg?" he asked, I thought sharply, with
a flash of his great eyes.
"Yes, monsieur," I said, quietly.
But he said nothing further, beyond assuring me that the Indian
was thoroughly trustworthy, and I need be in no fear of him.
Thereupon we sate down to table, and as her brother ate, Angelique
related to him our story, or, rather, a merry burlesque of our
adventures, at which he laughed heartily.
"Well, madame, I have news for your waiting-woman, at least; though
why she should run away when she must be dying to hear it, is more
than I can imagine. Tell her that her son arrived safely at
Louisbourg, where he was soon a hot favourite with every one in
the garrison, and most of all with the Chevalier de Maxwell." Here
he paused to raise his glass, looking hard at me the while. To my
distress, the tell-tale blood leaped to my face at the unexpected
mention of that dear name. "Being a stirring lad and much attached
to me," he continued, without apparently noticing my confusion,
"he begged to be allowed to join me on an expedition. We were
surprised by the English, and he was slightly wounded--oh, nothing,
I assure you, madame, a mere scratch!--and carried off a prisoner,
but no doubt is even now as great a favourite with them as he was
with us. Should they come to look us up in the spring, I doubt not
he will be found in their ranks. At all events, he is with his
friends, and is safe."
So rejoiced was I to hear this news for Lucy's sake, that I excused
myself and withdrew to my room, where I found the dear, patient
soul on her knees, awaiting whatever tidings I might bring.
"Oh, my dear mistress," she said, quietly, when I had told her all,
"I have prayed and hoped, but at times my poor faith would almost
fail me; and even now, when trembling at what I might have to bear,
His message comes, that all is well with the child."