When Gabriel, two or three days later, rode up to rejoin Monckton’s
command under the walls of Beauséjour, his heart—despite his failure to
capture the fugitive priest—beat high with joyful anticipation, for
Monckton had promised that upon his return he should be given a few
hours to visit his cousin and assure himself that all was indeed well
with her. The general himself was subject to the orders of Governor
Shirley, and Gabriel had come to him with a letter of recommendation
from George Washington. Washington, himself a Virginian, rightly guessed
that the young soldier, of English birth and bound to Virginia by ties
of blood and sympathy, would not harmonize comfortably with the New
England Puritans under Winslow.
“The maiden were best at Halifax,” had been Monckton’s comment on
hearing Gabriel’s briefly told tale. “There abide many of her people.”
Best! Yes, how far best! But wishes were vain.
The general, when Gabriel arrived in camp, was busy in his tent, and
merely waved his hand hurriedly as the young man saluted and began to
make his report.
“I know, I know!” he exclaimed. “The rascally priest has slipped through
our fingers, disguised as one of his infernal Micmacs, I understand.
Well, the country is well rid of him. I shall soon have other work for
you.”
Chancing to glance up, something in his lieutenant’s face struck
him—something in the tense eagerness of the fine, soldierly figure.
“Speak,” he said kindly, “what is it?”
Then suddenly he remembered, and a smile illumined his anxious, rather
worn face, while that of Gabriel flushed in response.
“Ah, I bethink me. Well, rest and eat, and then go to the house on the
Missaguash where dwells the cousin. Ere long I will have less pleasant
work for you.”
The color ebbed from Gabriel’s face. He longed to inquire further; to
ask if the rumor were true that in consequence of persistent refusal to
take the oath of allegiance the Acadians were to be expelled from
English soil, from the places of refuge still left them by the French
after forcing them from their former homes. Poor, unhappy people; driven
like sheep before the wolves! But discipline forbade anything but prompt
and silent obedience. And, as an hour or two later, he swung at a gallop
toward the home of Herbes and Marin, of whose precise locality he had
been informed by a friendly Acadian, his high hopes of the morning were
tinged with gloomy forebodings.
One by one the French forts were falling into English hands, and in a
few days Acadia would once more be an English province. Already the land
over which he rode—called the Chignecto district—belonged no more to
France.
Across the bridge he thundered, and there in the midst of the meadows
stood the rough cabin and outlying sheds inhabited by those he sought.
Faster and faster flew the horse, conscious of his rider’s impatience,
and Marin, lolling on a bench before the door, arose in mingled alarm
and curiosity. To the women and children, crowding to the front at the
sound of galloping hoofs, the young soldier was a splendid apparition as
he sprang from his excited steed and greeted them bareheaded, the glory
of the May sun in his ruffled blonde curls, and his eyes shining blue as
the waters of far Chignecto Bay.
Then of a sudden knowledge came to Marie.
“Ah, the cousin!” she ejaculated; and then could say no more. How could
she tell him?
“Yes,” he cried, “I am Gabriel. Where is Margot?”
“Ah, _la pauvre petite_! Who knows?”
And the kind-hearted woman threw her apron over her head and burst into
loud sobs, in which she was joined by Julie, the wife of Marin.
Frantic as he was with anxiety, Gabriel could extract nothing coherent
from either the women or Marin, the latter a stupid fellow at best, with
just enough brains to be suspicious and obstinate; but fortunately Louis
Herbes arrived on the scene, and from him the sad tale was forthcoming.
“Nevertheless he was no Indian,” concluded Louis shrewdly, glancing over
his shoulder and speaking in a whisper; “it was _M. l’Abbé_ himself.”
“How knowest thou that?” growled Marin.
“I do know it,” asserted Herbes with quiet confidence. “There were some
who also knew and told. I have spoken aloud and sorely of the loss of
our Margot.”
“Yes, _bon ami_,” sneered Marin. “Now tell it all. Give _le bon prêtre_
into the hands of the heretics.”
“Whom I may trust, that also I know,” exclaimed Louis vehemently,
turning upon his friend. . . Then more calmly, “No matter for that. _M.
l’Abbé_ is out of Acadie ere now, and we, say I, are well rid of him.
Only grief and trouble did he bring us.”
He glanced around defiantly, but the little group remained passive.
Gabriel stood apart, his face hidden in his horse’s mane. At length he
spoke:
“And thou knowest no more, good Louis? Thou hast no clue?”
“This only: that from Baye-Verte _M. l’Abbé_, and his brother priest
made sail for Quebec, and it was said that he would leave our Margot at
Isle St. Jean, where is a goodly colony of our people, driven out of
Acadie long since and living miserably.”
Gabriel groaned. Julie stepped forward and laid a kindly hand upon his
shoulder.
“Better that than the Indians,” she exclaimed in the sanguine tones
habitual to her. “And something tells me that _la petite_ escaped. Who
knows? She may have made her way to Halifax.”
“Impossible!” returned Gabriel sadly. “All alone, those many leagues?”
“But,” put in Herbes confidently, “there was a party of our country
people landed at Baye-Verte from that melancholy isle, on their way to
Halifax to take the oath of allegiance. One party had already done so,
with the result that they were reinstated in their old homes and
furnished by the heretic English with provisions for the winter. This
second party looked for the same indulgence, if not too late. Who knows?
the maiden may have joined them. One coming hither from Baye-Verte vowed
that he saw her not with the priests.”
“And I?” exclaimed Gabriel, in a sudden burst of anger with himself,
“why did not I capture that man, who over and over again has brought
misery into my own life and the lives of all dear to me? From Beauséjour
to Baye-Verte it is but twelve miles, and meseemed I rode with my
company over every inch of it, yet saw neither priest nor Indian.”
The face of Louis took on a peculiar expression.
“_M. le Capitain_,” he said, “it hath been related of us that we, the
Acadians, love gold. And why not?” shrugging his shoulders and spreading
his hands. “Gold, it is good, and we are poor. _M. l’Abbé_ has gold
always, and so there are those who would hide and help him, even though
he be shorn of his strength. Also, is he not our father in God?” Here
his expression became devout, and he crossed himself. “Also, there are
some who have wearied of his rule—worse, say I, than that of a dozen
kings—and would speed him in his flight.”
But Marie interrupted her husband:
“Yes, Halifax,” she cried, whirling on the two men; “and was it not your
wife, she who knows nothing, and the wife of the good friend, and _la
petite_ herself, women all, who gave you the wise counsel to go to
Halifax while yet there was time, and take the honorable oath of
allegiance, and live in peace in the fair Annapolis meadows, and you
would not? What have the French done for us, I ask thee once more? What
matter the flag? I tell thee once again. Give us peace in the homes of
our fathers.”
And at the thought, Marie wiped the tears of memory from her eyes.
Louis continued silent, and Marin it was that answered with a shrug.
“No need to weep, _bonne femme_! There is yet time. The English are a
dull race. They permit themselves to be deceived once and yet again.”
“But not again,” put in Gabriel sternly. “Look you, Marin, and you too,
friend Herbes, you would have done well to listen to the sage counsel of
your wives, and of the little Margot,” here his voice faltered, “who was
ever wise, and for whose safe keeping so long I owe you all thanks which
may not be measured. Yet I tell you, England’s lion may sleep long, but
he wakes at last; so hath it ever been. Our governors, Cornwallis,
Hopson, were men of large and tender heart; they forgave and forbore.
With this governor it is otherwise; with Governor Shirley is it also
otherwise; these are men who will not forbear; they strike, and they
strike hard. Greatly I fear me that naught will avail you now; yet I
know nothing absolutely.”
He mounted his horse, and held out his hand to the group, all the
brightness gone from his young face. But they clung to him, unwilling to
part from their last hope, beseeching him to intercede for them,
promising that if he succeeded they would start for Halifax at once,
searching constantly for the maiden by the way.
“Alas, good friends!” replied the young man sadly, “I am insignificant.
No word of mine has weight with general or governor, although it is true
that Monckton favors me somewhat. My time, my person, are at the
disposal of my superiors. I cannot even go myself to search for and
rescue the beloved! Even with you, my friends, I have lingered too
long.”
He pressed each hand in turn.
“But you will try, _M. le capitain_?” they cried in chorus.
“I will try. But I am not even a captain!”
He smiled kindly upon them, but in his eyes was a sorrow akin to
despair. Another moment, and the thunder of his horse’s hoofs sounded
upon the bridge.
It was as he foretold. The long years of indulgence were at an end. The
storm so slow in gathering broke at last with the fury of the
long-delayed. Winslow and Monckton, the New England and the British
generals, their tempers ruffled by distasteful duty, were already
inclined to fall out; and Gabriel soon saw that in order to intercede
successfully for his Acadian friends he must bide his time. But the
peremptory orders sent by Governor Lawrence neither general was in a
hurry to carry out; and so it happened that one day Gabriel perceived
his chance and seized it.
“They are friends of yours, you say?” said Monckton, “and cared for the
cousin in her time of need? How came it, then, that they gave her not
better protection now? They tell you she is safe, but how know they? How
know you?”
“Ah, if I did but know!” broke from the young soldier involuntarily.
Then controlling himself, he proceeded: “General, the women of the
household have long striven with the men that they should return to live
under the English flag. Herbes and Marin were among those who signed the
petition to the French and English governments that they should be
allowed to do so, thereby grievously displeasing Le Loutre, so that he
selected these men to go to Quebec as deputies, well knowing the
reception that awaited them there. Thus did he punish them; and my lord
can guess that it was punishment indeed!”
Monckton half smiled; then rubbed his forehead in weariness and
perplexity. Finally he said:
“Well, lieutenant, go! But bid them do quickly that which they desire.
The order has gone forth, and in a day or two at farthest I may spare
none.”
So once more Gabriel flew across the Missaguash, and although he could
hear nothing more of Margot, he at least had the consolation of feeling
that he had saved her benefactors, and that there was always hope she
might be found at Halifax, whither the party started that same night in
their ox-wagons, driving their milch-cows before them.