In the wilds of the Upper Saguenay! By the lake that, in this
narration at least, shall have no name. It is long, narrow, winding at
its southern extremity; at its northern, it is expanded pool-like among
forest-covered heights the reflection of which darkens and apparently
deepens it where its waters touch the marginal wilderness! In camp by
the margin of the lake, beneath some ancient pines, rare in that
region, and surrounded by the spicy fragrance of balsam, spruce and
cedar, that came to us warm from the depths of the seemingly
illimitable forest behind us!
What a day, that one of our arrival! We journeyed by steamer across
Lake St. John. We came by canoe on the river, by portage; and again by
canoe on river or lake, as it happened. We camped for one night in the
open. On the second day there were several portages; many of our camp
belongings were borne on the backs of sturdy Montagnais, friends of old
Andre, and led by Andre the Second, a strapping youth of sixty. There
followed a journey of nine miles up the lake, our lake; and, then, at
last, in the glow of sunset, we had sight of old Andre coming to
welcome us in his canoe that floated, a "brown leaf", on the golden
waters! I heard the soft grating of the seven keels on the clear
shining yellow sands of a tiny cove--and Mr. Ewart was first ashore,
helping each of us out, welcoming each to this special bit of his
beloved Canadian earth.
"Our home for ten weeks, Miss Farrell," he exclaimed, giving me both
hands. "Steady with your foot--you must learn to know the caprices of
your own canoe--"
"My own?"
"Yes, this is yours for the season; we don't poach much on one
another's canoe preserves here in Canada. This is our fleet."
"The whole seven?"
"Yes; Andre the First and Andre the Second have three between them, big
ones; you, Jamie and I have one each, and there is one for Mrs. Macleod
if she will do me the honor of allowing me to teach her to paddle."
"This is great, mother!" said Jamie who had not ceased to wring old
Andre's hand since the two found firm footing. "But first I must teach
her to swim, Ewart."
Poor Mrs. Macleod! I doubt if her idea of camping out was wholly
rose-colored at that moment, for she was tired with the excitement, and
constant travel in canoe and on foot of the last two days.
"The camp will be the safest place for me at present," she said, trying
to appear cheerful, but glancing ruefully at the three rough board
huts, gray and weather beaten.
"You 've done nobly, Mrs. Macleod, I appreciate your effort; and if you
'll take immediate possession of the right hand camp--it's yours and
Miss Farrell's--I hope you will find a little comfort even in this
wilderness. I 'll just settle with these Montagnais comrades, for
after supper they will be on their way back to Roberval." Jamie
interrupted him to say:
"Mother, here 's Andre, Andre, mon vieux camarade. This is my mother,
Andre; I told you about her last year."
Old Andre's hand, apparently as steady as her own, was extended to meet
Mrs. Macleod's. I saw how expressive was that handclasp. The only
words she spoke were in her rather halting French:
"My son's comrade--he is mine, I hope, Andre."
What a smile illumined that parchment face! It was good to see in the
wilderness; it was humanly comprehensive of the entire situation.
"This is Miss Farrell," said Jamie; "she lives with us, Andre, in
Lamoral."
Never shall I forget the look, the voice, the words with which he made
me welcome.
"I have waited many years for you to come. I am content, _moi_."
He heaved a long sigh of satisfaction. I think only Mrs. Macleod heard
the words, for Jamie had run up to the camp. Andre took our special
suit cases and carried them to the hut.
We took possession and found everything needed for our comfort. Tired
as we were, we could not rest until we had unpacked and settled
ourselves with something like regularity for the night. And, oh, that
first supper in the open! The sun was setting behind the forest; the
lake waters, touched with faint color on the farther shore, were
without a ripple; the ancient pines above us quiet. And, oh, that
first deep sleep on my bed of balsam spruce! Oh, that first awakening
in the early morning, the glory of sunrise, the sparkle and dance of
the lake waters in my eyes!
Oh, that joy of living! I experienced it then in its fulness for the
first time; and my sleep was more refreshing, my awakening more joyful,
because of the near presence of the man I loved with all my heart.
It was a new heaven for me--because it was a new earth!
While dressing that first morning, Andre's welcoming words came back to
me: "I have waited many years for you to come." And the look on his
face. What did he mean? I recalled that Jamie quoted him, almost in
those very words, when he told us of that episode of "forest love"
which bore fruit in the wilderness of the Upper Saguenay.
Why should he welcome me with just those words? How many years had he
"waited"? Had there been no woman in camp since then? It was hardly
possible. I determined to ask Mr. Ewart, as soon as I should have the
opportunity, if there had been women here before us, and to question
Andre, also, as to what he meant by his words, but not until I should
know him better. He would tell me.
And Andre told me, but it was after long weeks of intimate acquaintance
with the forest and with each other; after the fact that I was becoming
all in all to the master of Lamoral, was patent to each of my friends
in camp. I saw no attempt on Mr. Ewart's part to hide this fact. I
believe I should have despised him if he had. Yet never once during
those first five weeks did he mention my journal. Rarely was I alone
with him; twice only on the trails through the forest; once in the
canoe to the lower end of the lake and on the return; that was all.
Never a word of love crossed his lips--but his thought of me, his
manner, his care of me, his provision for my enjoyment of each day, his
delight in my delight in his "camp", his pleasure in the fact that I
was not only regaining what I had lost by the fearful illness of the
year before--Doctor Rugvie told him of that--but storing up within my
not over powerful body, balm, sunshine, ozone, and health abundant for
the future.
And what did I not learn from him! And from Andre with whom I spent
hours out of every day! What forest lore; what ways of cunning from
the shy forest dwellers; what tricks of line and bait for the
capricious trout, the pugnacious _ouananiche_, the lazy pickerel! What
haunts of beaver I was shown! How I watched them by the hour, lying
prone in my Khaki suit of drilling,--short skirt, high laced-boots,--my
feminine "bottes sauvages" as Andre called them,--and bloomers,--from
some cedar covert.
Those five weeks were one long dream-reality of forest life, and this
was despite flies and mosquitoes which we treated in a scientific
manner.
One of the Montagnais brought us the mail once a week from Roberval.
The first of August he brought up a telegram that announced the Doctor
would be with us the next day. Mr. Ewart decided to meet him at the
last portage. Andre the Second went with him. They would be back just
after dark that same day, he said. Andre the First was left to reign
supreme in camp during his absence.
"I am only as old as my heart, mademoiselle; you know that is young,
and you make it younger while you are here," he said that afternoon,
when he and I were trimming the camp with forest greens for the
Doctor's coming, and Jamie was laying a beacon pile near the shore,
just north of the camp where there was no underbrush or trees. Andre
told us its light could be seen far down the lake.
After supper I lay down in my hammock-couch, swung beneath the pines at
the back of the camp. As I rocked there in the twilight, counting off
the minutes of waiting by my heartbeats, I heard Jamie and Andre
talking as they smoked together, and rested after the exertions of the
day.
"How came you to think of it, Andre?"
"How came le bon Dieu to give me eyes--and sight like a hawk?"
"But why are you so sure?"
"Why? Because what I see, I see. What I hear, I hear. It is the same
voice I hear in the forest; the same laugh like the little forest
brook; the same face that used to look at itself in the pool and smile
at what it saw there; the same eyes--non, they are different. I found
those others in the wood violets; these match the young chestnuts just
breaking from the burrs after the first frost."
"But, Andre, it was so many years ago."
"To me it is as yesterday, when I see her paddling the canoe and
swaying like a reed in the gentle wind."
"And you never knew her name?"
"No. She was his 'little bird', his 'wood-dove' to him; and to her he
was 'mon maitre', always that--'my master' you say in English which I
have forgotten, so long I am in the woods. They were so happy--it was
always so with them."
There was a few minutes of silence, then Jamie spoke.
"Has Mr. Ewart ever spoken to you about what you told us that night in
camp, Andre--about that 'forest love'?"
"No, the seignior has never spoken, but,"--he puffed vigorously at his
pipe,--"he has no need to speak of it; he thinks it now."
"Why, now?" There was eager curiosity in Jamie's voice, and I knew
well in what direction his thoughts were headed. I smiled to myself,
and listened as eagerly as he for Andre's answer.
"I have eyes that see; it is again the 'forest love' with him--"
"Again?" Jamie interrupted him; his voice was suddenly a sharp
staccato. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean what I say. The forest knows its own. She has come again; and
my old eyes, that still see like the hawk, are glad at the sight of
her--and of him. Have I not prayed all these years that Our Lady of
the Snows might bless her--and _her child_?" There was no mistaking
the emphasis on the last words.
"Andre,"--Jamie's voice dropped to an excited whisper, but I caught
it,--"you mean that?"
"I mean _that_," he said.
I heard him rise; I heard his steps soft on the cedar-strewn path.
Jamie must have followed him, for in a moment I heard him calling from
the shore:
"Mother, Marcia, come on! Andre says it's time to light the beacon."
I joined Mrs. Macleod, and in the dusk we made our way over to the pile
of wood.
"You are to light it, mademoiselle," said Andre, handing me the flaming
pine knot. I obeyed mechanically, for Andre's words were filling all
the night with confusing sounds that seemed to echo conflictingly from
shore to shore.
"Just here, by the birch bark, mademoiselle."
The beacon caught; there was no wind. The bark snapped, curled and
shrivelled; the branches crackled; the little flames leaped, the fire
crept higher and higher till it lighted our faces and the waters in the
foreground. We waited and watched till we heard a faint "hurrah", and
soon, in the distance, a calcium light burned red and long. We went
down again to the cove. Jamie was with his mother; I walked behind
with Andre.
"Andre," I whispered to him, "when you first saw me you said, 'I have
waited many years for you to come'. Why did you say that?"
"Why? Because I desired to speak the truth."
"Am I like some one you have seen before? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Who was she?"
"I do not know."
"Will you tell me sometime what you do know of her?"
"Yes, I will tell you."
"Soon?"
"When you will?"
"To-morrow?"
"As you please. I will take you to the tree, my tree--and to hers; you
shall see for yourself."
"Thank you, Andre."
"I must watch the fire," he said, and retraced his steps. Dear old
Andre! It was such a pleasure to be able to talk with him in his own
tongue.
We heard the dip of the paddles, a call--our camp call. In a few
minutes the Doctor was with us.
I made excuse the next afternoon to go fishing with Andre. I kept
saying to myself:
"This thing is impossible; there can be no connection between me and
any woman who may have been here in camp, and Mr. Ewart says several
have been here to his knowledge. What if I do look like some other
woman who, years ago, lived and loved here in this wilderness? What
have I to do with her? I 'll settle this matter once for all and to my
satisfaction; Andre will tell me. He is romantic; and that girl made a
deep impression on him, especially in those circumstances. Now the
thought of her has become a fixed idea."
The Doctor sulked a little because he was not of my party.
"I don't approve of your _solitude a deux_ parties; they 're against
camp rules."
"Just for this once. Andre is going to show me something I have wanted
to see ever since I came."
He was still growling after I was in the canoe.
"Only this once!" I cried, waving my hand to him before we dipped the
paddles.
"She used to wave her hand like that," said Andre, paddling slowly
until I got well regulated to his--what I called--rhythm.
I stared at him. Was this an obsession with him? It began to look
like it.
We landed on the north shore of the lake. I followed him along a
trail, that led through a depression between two heights, upwards to a
heavily wooded small plateau overlooking the lake. I followed his lead
for another quarter of a mile through these woods. I could see no
trail. Then we came into a path, a good one. I remarked on it.
"Yes: I have made it these many years. I come here every year."
We heard the rush of a near-by torrent. The air swept cool over
through the woods and struck full on our faces. In a few minutes we
were facing it--a singing mass of water pouring down the smooth face of
a rock like the apron of a dam; the face was inclined at an angle of
fifty degrees. The torrent plunged into a basin set deep among rocks.
Above this pool, above the surrounding trees, towered one great pine.
Andre led me to it.
"I have been coming here so many years--count," he said, pointing to
the notches from the butt upwards to a height beyond my reach.
This was the tree about which Jamie had sung, notched year after year
by Andre, since he was ten, that he might know his age. And what an
age! I counted: "Eighty notches."
"Oh, Andre, all those years?"
"But yes--and so many more." He held up his ten fingers.
"And Mere Guillardeau will be a hundred her next birthday?"