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THE HEIR TO GRAND-PRÉ
by
JOHN FREDERIC HERBIN
Author of
"The History of Grand-Pré,"
"The Marshlands."
Wolfville,
N.S.
Toronto
William Briggs
1907
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand nine hundred and seven, by John Frederic Herbin, at
the Department of Agriculture.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
What the Tide Brought 5
CHAPTER II.
Dulse 15
CHAPTER III.
The Precious Stocking 27
CHAPTER IV.
Bluff Castle 36
CHAPTER V.
The Heir to Grand-Pré 46
CHAPTER VI.
Salmon 56
CHAPTER VII.
Marie 62
CHAPTER VIII.
"Blow-me-down" 71
CHAPTER IX.
The Alternative 81
CHAPTER X.
Amethyst 89
CHAPTER XI.
The Adoption 97
CHAPTER XII.
The Blue Vein 105
CHAPTER XIII.
Len 113
CHAPTER XIV.
Cross Purposes 121
CHAPTER XV.
Evangeline's Return 130
CHAPTER XVI.
The Return of Gabriel 136
CHAPTER XVII.
The Water Curse 147
CHAPTER XVIII.
Conclusion 154
THE HEIR TO GRAND PRÉ
CHAPTER I.
_WHAT THE TIDE BROUGHT._
"The moveless helm needs no ruling hand,
Because there is no wind awake to fill
The sail that idles in the sun."
"Well, Len, how is she making now?"
"Falling a little, sir."
"No sign of wind yet?"
"Not a whiff."
"How long before we will have to anchor?"
"About an hour more ebb, sir?"
On this report, the bare head, which had been slightly raised while the
interrogation was taking place, fell back into the hollow it had made
for itself on an old sail which was both couch and pillow. A well-worn
sporting coat lay between the rough cloth and the golden-brown hair and
the summer-seasoned skin of a man's face, fresh and full of the health
of youth. The figure of the young man settled into a more comfortable
position, and a light cloud of smoke rose from his pipe into the
moveless air. He lay on the roof of the cabin in the shadow of the
mainsail, now hanging out of use from the mast. The sky was hazy and
cloudless, and the whole sheet of water was white as burnished silver.
Afar off the horizon was dark in places with the mirage of hills or
marsh, showing a steamer with its smoke in a straight line upward from
its stack. The man minded not the bright sky or the reflecting sea, and
from thoughtful blue eyes glanced from time to time at the shore not
beyond half a mile distant, frequently turning a pair of powerful
binoculars upon the vari-colored bluffs and cliffs as the swift tide
bore the boat along. The warm air of June made no impression upon the
alertful if moody eyes.
"What point is that just in sight beyond the blue bluff?"
"Pierre Island, sir."
This reply brought the young man to his feet, and he gazed at the island
that came quickly out from behind the headland till it was fully exposed
to view.
Pierre Island, as now seen, sloped rather steeply from the shore side
upward, while the direct front and the whole outer portion in view was
precipitous and irregular, rising out of huge masses of broken rock and
boulders. The summit was wooded like the cliffs on either hand along the
shore followed by the boat.
Frank Winslow, geologist and student, was not of the common type. His
easy manner and almost listless movement of body came not from vacation
negligence. Nature had given his manhood a fine frame, which his own
vigorous temperament had developed with toil and training. His face gave
evidence of maturity. The calm and at times thoughtful cast of
countenance, due to the serious and studious mind that ruled it,
deceived one as to the age of the man. A student by selection and
opportunity, a life spent among books and the men of books made his
speech deliberate and his face grave. A strong mouth was only partially
concealed by a close-cut golden-brown beard and a soft moustache that
had seldom been sacrificed to the razor. At rare moments an
inexpressibly kind smile disclosed the other man, the inner soul of
Frank Winslow.
We are introduced to him thus on board the yacht _Marie_, owned and
commanded by Len Lawson. The yacht and her owner were engaged by Winslow
for the purpose of examining the trap bluffs of the shores of Minas
Basin in Nova Scotia, and to study the famous tides of the region and of
the Bay of Fundy.
The boat was moving rapidly with the outgoing tide towards the island
which both Winslow and Len were now looking upon. The whole sheet of
water was without a ripple as far as the eye could see, yet the boat
passed the shore rapidly, more quickly than a man might run who
attempted to keep abreast of the _Marie_. There was no show of hurry.
They were far enough from shore to make their passage seem slow, and
objects ahead of them appeared but a short distance away in the
deceptive brilliancy of the sea and air, while the small need of effort
on board to keep the course and the sails right made the trip dull and
slow. Thus they drifted, completely at the mercy of the tide and its
shifting currents. Sounds from unseen sources, voices of men and the
crash of loading vessels, came to their ears with strange clearness and
loudness.
"Shall we be able to get beyond the island before we anchor?" asked
Winslow, surveying the enlarging head of the brown-colored bluff in the
distance.
"Yes, sir," answered Len, with his hand on the useless tiller, and
gazing ahead with thoughtful face. "The water is falling fast, and the
tide is making inshore a little. We must make in behind the island for
anchorage till the wind comes, or till the tide rises."
"Why is it called Pierre Island, Len?"
"Pierre Gotro owns it and lives there. His father's name was Pierre, and
so was his grandfather's," continued Len, still examining the land, and
often glancing at the passing cliffs. He was reading the signs and
noting the changes of air and land. He had spent the most of his years
on the shore of Minas or on its waters, and had become a skilful sailor
and pilot, as all must who thus earn their bread. Swift currents, tidal
changes, numerous rivers and hidden rocks, and the sudden squalls of
that great inland sea make good seamen if they are spared. Len Lawson
was of this type, and Winslow tacitly acknowledged his superiority as a
"skipper," although he had had a great deal of experience in yachting.
Looking at him, Winslow caught a sudden change of expression, a lighting
of the eyes, as he discovered some familiar object on the shore of the
island. Directing his glass again to the land, Winslow saw on the long
slope of bright red beach two ox-teams moving down towards the sea. The
leading one was guided by a stalwart old man with grey beard, and deep
voice, which could be plainly heard across the water. In the cart drawn
by the second pair were two women, one past middle age, the other young.
"Look through this, Len," said Winslow, holding out the powerful glass
made for the purpose of examining inaccessible veins of mineral and
geological formations.
Len placed the glass to his eye, and the exclamation he made told how
much of a surprise the glance gave him.
"Is that Pierre, the owner of the island?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who are the women?"
"The servant and his daughter."
"What is the daughter's name, and is she the older or the younger
woman?" asked Winslow, making a mental surmise as to the cause of the
interest evinced by the young master of the _Marie_ in the people on the
shore.
"The young woman with bare head is the daughter," replied Len,
evasively.
"You did not mention her name, did you?" persisted Winslow.
"Marie," said Len, attempting to hide his evident confusion by directing
the glass to another quarter, thus turning his face from the cool eyes
of Winslow.
"A pretty name, Len; you did well in choosing it for your boat."
Len soon turned his gaze again to the island, and caught sight of the
last of the kindly smile in the eyes still looking him through. He was
loth to let the glasses leave his face, and he looked long and steadily
at the group. They were near enough now to enable them to hear the deep,
rich voice of Pierre and the lower tones of the occupants of the
following team. The oxen moved slowly down the shore in the soft red
clay and sand, the wheels thumping over the black projecting rocks at
times, sending the echoed sound along the shore. The laughter of the
girl came pleasantly to their ears as the swaying cart forced the older
woman to seize the side near her more firmly while one wheel or the
other went over a rock.
The _Marie_ had now drifted well in towards the island, while at the
same time the tide had fallen away, thus lessening the space between the
boat and the shore. Len still kept the glass to his eyes, and his eyes
on the shore till a sudden blow upon the bottom of the yacht, and a loud
scraping along her side startled him into giving his attention to
matters elsewhere.
"Only a rock, Len," said Winslow, coolly surveying the shore again with
the glass which Len had hastily restored to him. Yet not a sign of
danger had been manifest.
A little to their left the current swept between the island and the
mainland, about a mile away, while the line the boat was following would
direct them about half a mile from the outside of the island. They had
now approached so near the shore as to be within easy speaking distance
of the island folk, who had reached the edge of the water and stood
watching the yacht.
"Sheer off, boy! sheer off! if you don't want to ground," called out
Pierre. At the sound of his voice the cattle walked fearlessly into the
water.
Len sounded with an oar, and found that the sand was just under his
keel.
Springing to the bow of the boat, he again reached for bottom, and
putting all his weight on the oar, turned the boat's head away from the
shore. Winslow was in a moment following his example at the stern, and
their united strength gave a slight outward motion to the heavy boat.
Another slight scraping sound told them how near they were to being
aground, and they exerted all their force to escape the danger that
threatened them at every moment.
"It's all against us, sir, there is a breeze coming," cried Len, flushed
with his exertions. "It will drive us on, if we don't strike before it
comes."
The next moment the boat struck again, and came to a standstill. Len let
down the sail, which fell with a rattle, and tried to force the boat
off into deep water. In his attempts his oar slipped off the rock on
which they had lodged, and he fell with a splash into the water. As the
rock was beneath him he was only waist deep in the water, and with no
little difficulty, because of the force of the tide, he got back into
the boat again.
The speed of the current was more apparent as it rushed by the side of
the _Marie_, now firmly held, and listing slowly towards the shore as
the tide fell.
Pierre meanwhile was urging his oxen slowly towards the helpless young
men. The water was up to the hubs, and the animals seemed to enjoy the
cool current gliding past them up to their bellies.
"Well, Len, you are as good as anchored for this tide, and some of the
flood," said the old man from the cart. "You are listed right, and you
can run to good harbor to-night if you are not stove in."
The young man made no reply, but stood looking down the side of the
injured boat, for he found that she was leaking, and waited for a chance
to examine her side.
It was not long before he was able to step down to the rock, which now
stood out of the water, and showed the position held by the boat, and
the extent of the damage she had received.
"She leaks pretty bad, sir," he said to Winslow, "I don't think we can
leave here for a couple of days."
"All right," said Winslow, quietly; "I can spend the time here, about
the island and under the cliffs."
Pierre now stood near the rock, and with Len was examining the damaged
side of the craft.
"You can't get her right in less than two days, Len, as you will have to
get her out of this as soon as you can."
"I will stay here till you are ready, Len," said Winslow, "if Mr. Gotro
will permit me to go over his island."
"The shore is free to all," answered the old man.
"Can you put me up? Any small room will serve for the few hours I will
spend in it," asked Winslow.
"We never keep people, sir," said Pierre, kindly. "At the house on the
mainland there are several Americans staying, and they can keep you
there."
"You will have to cross by the stone ford in about an hour, or you can
cross over in a boat at half flood," explained Len.
"I think I will examine the rear of the island first, where the
formation is so broken," said Winslow. "What do the veins contain?"
"You will find minerals of different kinds there. Many people come here
and carry away a great deal of stone of different colors, which they
seem to consider valuable. I send several boxes of it away every spring,
after the frost comes out of the cliff and lets down the specimens. The
rock is dangerous and overhangs very much, and is loose and broken. The
best veins are above, where it is not easy to get to them. Those below
have been broken out and are not so good."
"I can see the beautiful coloring of the veins from here, through my
glass. Have the cliffs never been climbed?"
"Not often. I would advise you not to attempt it, sir," said the old
man, seriously.
"I thank you, Mr. Gotro," returned Winslow, "I do not think I shall be
tempted to climb. I am more interested in studying the formation than in
securing specimens, if I can find any that are fairly good below."
"Our visitors carry away about everything that is worth taking," said
Pierre, with a smile.
"I can well believe it," laughed Winslow, as he stepped to the shore and
walked towards the island.
A cool breeze was now coming up out of the west, and the pleasant sound
of the rippling water on the beach, and the sunshine flooded the broad
space between the cliffs and the island, lighting up the red sandstone
walls and the colored faces of the wooded hills, falling upon the right
and left into the soft blue haze of the distance.
The laughter of the young woman, or the sound of the boat being set to
rights, were borne to the ears of Winslow as he took his way upward. The
blood coursed freely in his veins, and as he looked about him he found
his eyes pleased, and in his breast a contentment and luxurious calm
seemed to find place. He felt the joyousness of his fresh and strong
manhood, and he turned to the nature about him the reflection of the
bright light of his warm eyes and glowing face.