RECONCILIATION
We found Mme. de Sarennes awaiting us in her room, with a generous
bouillon warming over a lamp. "Hunger and faintness will not add
to your courage, my daughters; sit down and eat. We shall have need
of all our strength for the morrow," she said, cheerfully. We were
eager to discuss the events of the day, but she would not listen
to a word. "You must be good soldiers now and obey orders; eat
first, and then to bed. Angelique, do you set an example and go at
once."
"La ceremonie faite, chacun s'en fut coucher," repeated Angelique,
sleepily, as she kissed us and went. Then I turned to her mother.
"Mme. de Sarennes, I am in a difficulty. May I ask your help?"
"Marguerite, ma cherie, I am afraid I am thought a stern woman;
but you know how dear those I love are to me, and I have learned
to love you. You may speak to me as you would have spoken to your
own mother," she said, with a tenderness that went to my heart.
I arose and seated myself beside her, and with my hand in hers I
told her of my home, of my life with Lady Jane, and my devotion to
the cause of the Prince; of my pride in my only brother, and of
what I considered his desertion, which led to my girlish renunciation
and my estrangement from him. "He is the Captain Nairn who came
with General Townshend to-night. What shall I do, madame?"
"You must go to him on the morrow, my child, without hesitation.
Such a tie is too sacred to be thrown away lightly." Here she
paused, and laying her hand on my arm, said, in tones of the deepest
feeling, "Marguerite, when you are an old woman like me, I pray
you may never have to look back with regret on an opportunity for
reconciliation cast aside." She spake with such intense emotion
that I could not doubt I had unwittingly stirred some painful memory
of her past, but in a moment she recovered, and said, tenderly:
"Remember, you both lay on the same breast; you looked into the
same mother's eyes. Think of the pain it would cause her to know
that there is anything in her children's hearts towards each other,
save the love with which she filled them. But I need not say more;
I see your intent in your face. Remember, too, we need all the
interest we can command with our new guests. Now get some rest, my
child; you are worn out."
When I awakened in the morning I found the whole community astir,
for all night long the wounded had been brought in, until every
bed and corner was occupied, and even the barns, sheds, and outhouses
were filled to overflowing.
French and English lay side by side, helpless and patient. As I
crossed the hall I noticed a big Highland sergeant lying on a
stretcher, waiting until some place was found for him, with the
sweat standing in great beads on his forehead. He muttered some
kind of a prayer in Gaelic as I passed, and at the sound of the
once familiar tongue I stopped, and, bending over him, wiped away
the perspiration, and spake to him in his own language. He stared
at me in the utmost astonishment, and then swore a great oath, and
the tears filled his eyes.
I at last found a soldier who was not on duty, and by him sent a
message to Captain Nairn that a lady desired speech with him when
he was at liberty.
He returned with word that the Captain fixed eleven o'clock, and
at that hour I awaited in the parlour. As I waited I wondered that
I had ever made any question of meeting him; I could even see that
his choice of life had its defence, from a man's point of view. A
soldier is first of all a soldier, and waiting the heaviest of his
duties; though he is ready to suffer incredibly for his cause when
it is active, it is the women who keep the personal attachments
alive through the weary days when everything but hope is dead.
I spake at once on his entrance.
"Archie, I am your sister Margaret."
"My dearest Peggy!" was all he said, but he caught me in his strong
arms and nearly crushed the breath out of me. He petted and fondled
me, calling me by every dear name of childhood, until my heart was
nigh to bursting with this treasure of love lavished upon me when
I least expected it.
I was brought back to the present when he questioned me on the
reason of my being in Canada, and though it cost me a bitter struggle
with my pride, I told him the whole story of my folly. I could not
spare myself when he took me so on trust.
"And you say that Maxwell was married all this time?" he asked,
sternly.
"Yes, but--"
"There are no 'buts'!" he interrupted, fiercely. "I will kill him
on sight!"
"Archie, my brother, think what you say! I do not know that he
deceived me, and I do know I deceived myself.
"I can't help that! If he had not been there, you never would have
made the mistake. The only pity is I was not on the ground at the
time."
"But, Archie, think of me. Think what an open scandal will mean.
No one but you and me, and one other," I added--remembering le pere
Jean--"knows anything of this now."
"And what do we care about other people, Peggy? We Nairns are not
used to asking leave for our actions; and so long as you yourself
are not ashamed, I do not give a rotten nut for the rest of the
world. It is no question of the personal feeling at all; it is the
principle! I have no personal quarrel with Maxwell; on the contrary,
I like him. He was a brother to me in Louisbourg; but, thank God!
I can sink my likings and dislikings, when it comes to a case such
as this. No, no, Peggy; you'd best leave things in my hands."
"No, Archie, I will not! There has been heart-break and misery
enough over this as it is, without adding more."
"But this will wipe it all out. Cannot you understand?" he said,
with a touch of impatience.
"Archie, cannot you understand that, however clearly I regret my
own folly, I cannot in a moment stamp out the feeling in which I
have lived all these years?"
"You don't tell me you care for the fellow yet, Peggy?" he cried,
in a tone of genuine astonishment.
"I am afraid I do."
"God bless my soul! That is beyond me."
"You are not a woman, Archie."
"No, thank God I am not," he answered, without the vestige of a
smile. "Of all the wearisome things in the world, I can imagine
nothing worse than being a woman."
"And yet there are a good many who have to put up with this
weariness."
"The Lord help them! But we must not fall to quarrelling at our
first meeting; that would be altogether too much like boy and girl
again. Peggy, do you remember how we used to fight over the plovers'
nests?" and he laughed merrily at the thought. "Don't be put out
by a little thing like this. I'll not kill the gentleman behind a
hedge or in the dark; he shall have nothing to complain of, rest
assured. But I have sad news for your friends, Margaret. M. de
Montcalm died at daybreak this morning."
"Oh, Archie! We did not even know that he was wounded."
"Nor did we until late last night, for he was seen on his horse
during the retreat. He was a fine soldier."
"He was more than that, Archie. He was a man of honour and the soul
of his army--and he was very good to me," I sobbed, breaking down
at the remembrance of his chivalrous protection.
To my surprise, Archie put his arm about me. "Cry on, Peggy, my
lamb," he said, in the soft endearment of the Gaelic. And the
soldier who had so readily decided on the death of a man a moment
since, now melted at the sight of a woman's grief, and offered her
that best of all consolation, sympathy. Nothing else could so
quickly have revealed to me the wrong I had been guilty of in
holding aloof from this strong affection that had held fast in
simple, unwavering loyalty to the love of childhood. To him I had
always remained the Peggy of the old home; in his generous heart
the thought of any necessity for reconciliation had no place, for
he held himself as the head of the family, from whom protection
for the weaker must necessarily flow.
"By-the-way, Peggy," he said, suddenly, "it was you, no doubt, who
spake to one of my men in Gaelic this morning. That was Neil, son
of Angus Dubh, the tacksman on the old place, one of my best
sergeants. You did as much for him as the surgeon, and when I tell
him who you are he will think you an angel from heaven. Come when
you can and say a word to our poor fellows; they are wearying for
home like children, now they are past fighting for a bit."
Days of unceasing work now followed for all who would assist in
nursing and the innumerable little duties necessitated by the
presence of so large a body of invalids, and, to their honour, even
the most frivolous of the women took their share uncomplainingly,
making no distinction between friend and foe. The most conflicting
rumours reached us as to the movements of our army, and of the
intentions of M. de Ramesay, governor of the city, but we fortunately
had little leisure for speculation, and our doubts were ended by
the formal capitulation, on the eighteenth of the month.
After the troops had taken possession and quiet was restored,
permission was given to us to enter the town, should we so desire.
It must have been a welcome relief to la mere de Ste. Claude when
her numerous guests took their departure. The nuns of the Hotel-Dieu
and the Ursulines returned to their respective convents, and in
that of the latter Mme. de Sarennes secured rooms for the winter.
It was pitiful to see the condition of the town, for the destruction
by the bombardment had been almost complete. The Lower Town no
longer existed, and scarce a building remained along the front of
the Upper. Angelique and I wandered towards the familiar rue du
Parloir, to find but a line of crumbling walls, blackened and
roofless; before it our little isle of houses, as well as the
Bishop's Palace, lay a mass of ruin, and behind it stood the wrecked
Cathedral. Every building that could serve as a mark had suffered
in some measure, and the chapel of our convent was the only sacred
place left in this city of churches where worship could be celebrated.
Here mass and vespers alternated with the services of the Episcopalian
and Presbyterian divines, and I am certain none suffered from the
near fellowship of the other.
A detachment of Archie's regiment, the Fraser Highlanders, was
quartered on us for the winter, and with them the community shared
their diminished hospitality; they, in turn, lent us their services
in collecting firewood and in drawing water, and it was surprising
to mark the good-will that was shown on both sides. Not only were
they granted full permission to smoke in the quarters assigned to
them, but the nuns, taking compassion on their unsuitable, and, in
their eyes, almost indecent, dress, fell to work at knitting for
them long stockings of the heaviest wool, which occasioned loud
laughter and much sly jesting among the men, and on our side
Angelique provoked some of the younger nuns to such merriment by
her sallies on the subject that they thereby incurred the
disapprobation of their more serious-minded elders.
For this attention General Murray sent to the Superior a most
gracious acknowledgment of his gratitude towards the community,
but it remained for the men themselves to cap the climax.
Every morning it was the practice of the Superior to make a round
of the convent, including those portions set apart for the
Highlanders, and on this duty I was in the habit of accompanying
her, as the men took a great pleasure in my Gaelic; and it was an
acceptable service to me to cultivate their good-will towards the
community by this simple favour. I knew many of them by name, and
indeed some of them could claim kinship with me, notably Neil, the
sergeant, whom I have already mentioned, a fine specimen of our
people, standing well over six feet in his buckled shoes.
One morning, as we entered the hall set aside for the men, we heard
a sharp command from the sergeant, and to our surprise we found
the men not only drawn up in line to meet us--which was a voluntary
mark of respect they paid the Superior--but now, there stood every
man in full dress, with cocked and feathered bonnet on his head,
claymore by his side, and firelock in his hand, and every pair of
sturdy legs encased in the long grey stockings knitted by the nuns.
The sergeant gravely stepped forward, and, saluting the Superior,
addressed her in his most correct English:
"Reverend madam, I am put forward on account of my rank, and not
for my poor abilities, to thank the ladies who would think so much
of us poor fellows as to be doing us this kindness this day. As
long as we live, yes, and long after we are dead, moreover, you
may be sure that Fraser's will always remember this; and when we
will be telling even to our grandchildren of Quebec and what we
did there, we will not forget to speak of your name and of the
names of the ladies under your command. And, madam, our solemn hope
is that you will never have more cause to blush at our bare knees,
saving your presence, than we will have to blush at your kindness,
madam."
Then turning quickly to me, he whispered, in Gaelic: "Speak to
her, Miss Margaret, and tell her what we would say. It is God's
own truth I am speaking when I say that we are thankful, even though
some will be wondering what put such a notion into the poor ladies'
heads." Whereupon he wheeled about and roared out his command to
the men, as if to check the grin that was spreading over his own
honest face from appearing on any other. There was an instantaneous
movement at his command, and the Superior received the full honours
of a grand salute.
She was greatly pleased, as indeed she might be, for the poor
fellows had shown their gratitude in the most honourable fashion
they knew, and she begged me to return her thanks and the assurances
of her interest in them all, which I did in terms that, however
they might have violated her ideas of rhetoric, were best understood
by the men before me:
"Neil, son of Angus, remember," I concluded, "and remember, too,
every one who hears me, that though these good sisters do not
understand us nor our ways, they have knitted their hearts' kindness
into every stitch that has gone into those stockings, and there is
not a man of you who has a mother, or a sister, or a wife, at home,
who, if she knew what had been done for you this day, but would be
down on her knees praying for these good women. In the mean time,
see you don't forget to do it yourselves!"
When I finished they were nearer crying than saluting, and I am
not sure that I was far from it myself; for, as I spake, the once
familiar hills and glens, the humble dwellings, the quiet-faced
women, the yellow-haired children, all that meant home to these
brave fellows, came before me like in a dream, and I found myself
longing for something I thought I had parted with forever.
The winter proved unusually severe, and the suffering of the troops
and the few people of condition who remained was excessive, but
there was no disorder to speak of, and the hardships were borne
uncomplainingly. From time to time we had news of our army encamped
on the Jacques Cartier, not only by the legitimate channel of the
foraging and reconnoitring parties, but even by means of some who
carried on a business of trafficking between the two camps, the
greed of gain triumphing over war and famine, and even over ordinary
patriotism. It was reported that M. de Levis had said he would eat
his Christmas dinner in Quebec under his own flag; but he was not
given to such empty boasts, that I had ever heard, and the day
passed unmarked for us save by the services in our chapel.
Towards the end of January, Archie came to me with a letter. "There,
Peggy, this, I take it, should go into your hands, as it is addressed
to your care. It is fortunate that Maxwell governs himself like a
gentleman in some things, for if he had attempted to send his letter
by any underhand means it might have placed you in an unpleasant
position, and even exposed me to suspicion. Listen to this--I wish
I could write like the fellow:
"CAMP ON THE JACQUES CARTIER,
22 _Jan'y_, 1760.
Sir,--I have the honour to be known to your Excellency's brother,
Lord Elibank, and though Fate had thrown me on the side opposed
to your command, I venture to beg your courtesy in remitting
the enclosed letter to the care of Mme. de St. Just, at present
in your lines. I have left it unsealed, should you deem it your
duty to peruse it, but I give you my word of honour it contains
nothing but the most private matters affecting one in whom Mme.
de St. Just is interested. Should your regulations, however,
forbid such a favour, I beg that you will burn it yourself, and
I will none the less hold myself to be,
Sir,
Your very obliged and humble servant,
Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel.
To the Hon'ble James Murray,
Commanding in Quebec.'
"I give you my word, Peggy, the general would allow such a letter
to pass did it contain all the treason between here and Mozambique.
He bids me give it you with his compliments, and assure you that
not only is it unread, but that should you wish to answer it under
the same restriction as to news, he will enclose your reply the
first time he has occasion to communicate with the French general."
The letter was addressed to "Mistress Lucy Routh, in the care of
Mme. de St. Just," and much as I shrank from opening it, I did so,
as it might contain matters which concerned their son. And so it
proved. The letter read:
"22 _Jan'y_ 1760.
Dear Lucy,--I send this, trusting to the courtesy of General
Murray that it may reach your hands safely. I was so suddenly
called away that there was much left unsaid when we parted, and
there has been no time for personal matters since. In the event
of anything happening to me, I wish you to impress on Christopher
that Mr. Drummond, the banker of Charing Cross, holds in trust
a small sum deposited there for me by my cousin, the late Lady
Jane Drummond. I have placed my will in the hands of M. de
Vaudreuil, and whichever way things fall out, this will serve
as a receipt, and insure its delivery. I would be glad to know
of your well-being.
Hugh Maxwell."
I sent for Christopher, who was not with us but stationed at the
General Hospital with others of his regiment, and made known the
matter to him, and through the general he sent to his father his
acknowledgments and the news of Lucy's death.
I was pleased at the consideration of which the letter was proof,
and it was a satisfaction to hear Archie's acknowledgment of Hugh's
charm; but beyond this the letter awoke in me no farther feeling,
and I was surprised to find I could look at his writing and read
his words with so little emotion. The truth is, I was living in a
new world; the discovery of my brother's love, the revelation of
Mme. de Sarennes's affection towards me, had gone far to fill the
hunger and emptiness of my life, and the old spell which had so
long dominated every thought and aspiration was no longer paramount.
Then, too, the long strain of feverish hope and unrest, the
disappointments and dangers, through which I had passed, had rendered
me peculiarly sensible to the charm of the quiet convent life by
which I was surrounded. Therein I found work into which I threw
myself with ardour, and was encouraged by the Superior towards that
way of peace upon which the convent doors gave entrance. Could I
once determine to cut myself free from the unrest and struggle of
the world, I felt that before me opened a life of usefulness which
promised amends for all suffering and atonement for all error. My
life had so far been lived for myself alone, and I saw about me
women who had attained happiness through a complete sacrifice of
self. Could I only be sure I had the strength, was not the same
reward held out to me?