Part II

Produced by Al Haines

[Frontispiece: On a block just inside the door sat Marc.]

The Forge in the Forest

Being

_The Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean

de Mer, Seigneur de Briart; and how

he crossed the Black Abbe; and of

his Adventures in a Strange

Fellowship_

By

Charles G. D. Roberts

Lamson, Wolffe and Company

Boston, New York and London

William Briggs, Toronto

MDCCCXCVI

Copyright, 1896,

By Lamson, Wolffe and Company.

_All rights reserved_

Norwood Press

J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith

Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

To

George E. Fenety, Esq.

This Story of a Province

among whose Honoured Sons he is

not least distinguished

is dedicated

with esteem and affection

[Illustration: Map of Peninsula of Acadie (Nova Scotia)]

Contents

_Part I.--Marc_

A Foreword

Chapter

I. The Capture at the Forge

II. The Black Abbe

III. Tamin's Little Stratagem

IV. The Governor's Signature

V. In the Run of the Seas

VI. Grul

VII. The Commander is Embarrassed

VIII. The Black Abbe Comes to Dinner

IX. The Abbe Strikes Again

X. A Bit of White Petticoat

XI. I Fall a Willing Captive

_Part II.--Mizpah_

XII. In a Strange Fellowship

XIII. My Comrade

XIV. My Comrade Shoots Excellently Well

XV. Grul's Hour

XVI. I Cool My Adversaries' Courage

XVII. A Night in the Deep

XVIII. The _Osprey_, of Plymouth

XIX. The Camp by Canseau Strait

XX. The Fellowship Dissolved

XXI. The Fight at Grand Pre

XXII. The Black Abbe Strikes in the Dark

XXIII. The Rendezvous at the Forge

Part I

Marc

The Forge in the Forest

A Foreword

Where the Five Rivers flow down to meet the swinging of the Minas

tides, and the Great Cape of Blomidon bars out the storm and the fog,

lies half a county of rich meadow-lands and long-arcaded orchards. It

is a deep-bosomed land, a land of fat cattle, of well-filled barns, of

ample cheeses and strong cider; and a well-conditioned folk inhabit it.

But behind this countenance of gladness and peace broods the memory of

a vanished people. These massive dykes, whereon twice daily the huge

tide beats in vain, were built by hands not suffered to possess the

fruits of their labour. These comfortable fields have been scorched

with the ruin of burning homes, drenched with the tears of women

hurried into exile. These orchard lanes, appropriate to the laughter

of children or the silences of lovers, have rung with battle and run

deep with blood. Though the race whose bane he was has gone, still

stalks the sinister shadow of the Black Abbe.

The low ridge running between the dykelands of the Habitants and the

dyke-lands of the Canard still carries patches of forest interspersed

among its farms, for its soil is sandy and not greatly to be coveted

for tillage. These patches are but meagre second growth, with here and

there a gnarled birch or overpeering pine, lonely survivor of the

primeval brotherhood. The undergrowth has long smoothed out all traces

of what a curious eye might fifty years ago have discerned,--the

foundations of the chimney of a blacksmith's forge. It is a mould well

steeped in fateful devisings, this which lies forgotten under the

creeping roots of juniper and ragged-robin, between the diminished

stream of Canard and the yellow tide of Habitants.

The forest then was a wide-spreading solemnity of shade wherein armies

might have moved unseen. The forge stood where the trail from Pereau

ran into the more travelled road from the Canard to Grand Pre. The

branches of the ancient wood came down all about its low eaves; and the

squirrels and blue jays chattered on its roof. It was a place for the

gathering of restless spirits, the men of Acadie who hated to accept

the flag of the English king. It was the Acadian headquarters of the

noted ranger, Jean de Mer, who was still called by courtesy, and by the

grace of such of his people as adhered to his altered fortunes, the

Seigneur de Briart. His father had been lord of the whole region

between Blomidon and Grand Pre; but the English occupation had deprived

him of all open and formal lordship, for the de Briart sword was

notably conspicuous on the side of New France. Nevertheless, many of

Jean de Mer's habitants maintained to him a chivalrous allegiance, and

paid him rents for lands which in the English eye were freehold

properties. He cherished his hold upon these faithful folk, willing by

all honest means to keep their hearts to France. His one son, Marc,

grew up at Grand Pre, save for the three years of his studying at

Quebec. His faithful retainer, Babin, wielding a smith's hammer at the

Forge, had ears of wisdom and a tongue of discretion for the men who

came and went. Once or twice in the year, it was de Mer's custom to

visit the Grand Pre country, where he would set his hand to the work of

the forge after Babin's fashion, playing his part to the befooling of

English eyes, and taking, in truth, a quaint pride in his pretended

craft. At the time, however, when this narrative opens, he had been a

whole three years absent from the Acadian land, and his home-coming was

yet but three days old.

Chapter I

The Capture at the Forge

It was good to be alive that afternoon. A speckled patch of sunshine,

having pushed its way through the branches across the road, lay spread

out on the dusty floor of the forge. On a block just inside the door

sat Marc, his lean, dark face,--the Belleisle face, made more hawklike

by the blood of his Penobscot grandmother,--all aglow with eagerness.

The lazy youngster was not shamed at the sight of my diligence, but

talked right on, with a volubility which would have much displeased his

Penobscot grandmother. It was pleasant to be back with the lad again,

and I was aweary of the war, which of late had kept my feet forever on

the move from Louisbourg to the Richelieu. My fire gave a cheerful

roar as I heaved upon the bellows, and turned my pike-point in the

glowing charcoal. As the roar sighed down into silence there was a

merry whirr of wings, and a covey of young partridges flashed across

the road. A contented mind and a full stomach do often make a man a

fool, or I should have made shift to inquire why the partridges had so

sharply taken wing. But I never thought of it. I turned, and let the

iron grow cool, and leaned with one foot on the anvil, to hear the

boy's talk. My soul was indeed asleep, lulled by content, or I would

surely have felt the gleam of the beady eyes that watched me through a

chink in the logs beside the chimney. But I felt those eyes no more

than if I had been a log myself.

"Yes, Father," said Marc, pausing in rich contemplation of the picture

in his mind's eye, "you would like her hair! It is unmistakably

red,--a chestnut red. But her sister's is redder still!"

I smiled at his knowledge of my little weakness for hair of that

colour; but not of a woman's hair was I thinking at that moment, or I

should surely have made some question about the sister. My mind ran

off upon another trail.

"And what do the English think they're going to do when de Ramezay

comes down upon them?" I inquired. "Do they flatter themselves their

tumble-down Annapolis is strong enough to hold us off?"

The lad flushed resentfully and straightened himself up on his seat.

"Do you suppose, Father, that I was in the fort, and hobnobbing with

the Governor?" he asked coldly. "I spoke with none of the English save

Prudence and her sister, and the child."

"But why not?" said I, unwilling to acknowledge that I had said

anything at which he might take offence. "Every one knows your good

disposition toward the English, and I should suppose you were in favour

at Annapolis. The Governor, I know, makes much of all our people who

favour the English cause."

Marc stood up,--lean, and fine, and a good half head taller than his

father,--and looked at me with eyes of puzzled wrath.

"And you think that I, knowing all I do of de Ramezay's plans, would

talk to the English about them!" he exclaimed in a voice of keen

reproach.

Now, I understood his anger well enough, and in my heart rejoiced at

it; for though I knew his honour would endure no stain, I had

nevertheless feared lest I should find his sympathies all English. He

was a lad with a way of thinking much and thinking for himself, and

even now, at twenty year, far more of a scholar than I had ever found

time to be. Therefore, I say, his indignation pleased me mightily.

Nevertheless I kept at him.

"Chut!" said I, "all the world knows by now of de Ramezay's plans.

There had been no taint of treachery in talking of them!"

Marc sat down again, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his lean

face. Though free enough of his speech betimes, he was for the most

part as unsmiling as an Indian.

"I see you are mocking me, Father," he said presently, relighting his

pipe. "Indeed, you know very well I am on your side, for weal or ill.

As long as there was a chance of the English being left in peaceable

possession of Acadie, I urged that we should accept their rule fully

and in good faith. No one can say they haven't ruled us gently and

generously. And I feel right sure they will continue to rule us, for

the odds are on their side in the game they play with France. But

seeing that the game has yet to be played out, there is only one side

for me, and I believe it to be the losing one. Though as a boy I liked

them well enough, I have nothing more to do with the English now except

to fight them. How could I have another flag than yours?"

"You are my own true lad, whatever our difference of opinion!" said I.

And if my voice trembled in a manner that might show a softness

unsuited to a veteran of my training, bear in mind that, till within

the past three days, I had not seen the lad for three years, and then

but briefly. At Grand Pre, and in Quebec at school, Marc had grown up

outside my roving life, and I was just opening my eyes to find a

comrade in this tall son of my boyhood's love. His mother, a daughter

of old Baron St. Castin by his Penobscot wife, had died while he was

yet at the breast. A babe plays but a small part in the life of a

ranging bush-fighter, though I had ever a great tenderness for the

little lad. Now, however, I was looking upon him with new eyes.

Having blown the coals again into a heat, I returned to Marc's words,

certain of which had somewhat stuck in my crop.

"But you speak with despondence, lad, of the chances of the war, and of

the hope of Acadie! By St. Joseph, we'll drive the English all the way

back of the Penobscot before you're a twelvemonth older. And Acadie

will see the Flag of the Lilies flapping once more over the ramparts of

Port Royal."

Marc shook his head slowly, and seemed to be following with his eyes

the vague pattern of the shadows on the floor.

"It seems to me," said he, with a conviction which caught sharply at my

heart even though I bore in mind his youth and inexperience, "that

rather will the Flag of the Lilies be cast down even from the strong

walls of Quebec. But may that day be far off! As for our people here

in Acadie, during the last twelvemonth it has been made very clear to

me that evil days are ahead. The Black Abbe is preparing many sorrows

for us here in Acadie."

"I suppose you mean La Garne!" said I. "He's a diligent servant to

France; but I hate a bad priest. He's a dangerous man to cross, Marc!

Don't go out of your way to make an enemy of the Black Abbe!"

Again that ghost of a smile glimmered on Marc's lips.

"I fear you speak too late, Father!" said he, quietly. "The reverend

Abbe has already marked me. He so far honours me as to think that I am

an obstacle in his path. There be some whose eyes I have opened to his

villany, so that he has lost much credit in certain of the parishes. I

doubt not that he will contrive some shrewd stroke for vengeance."

My face fell somewhat, for I am not ashamed to confess that I fear a

bad priest, the more so in that I yield to none in my reverence for a

good one. I turned my iron sharply in the coals, and then exclaimed:

"Oh, well, we need not greatly trouble ourselves. There are others,

methinks, as strong as the Black Abbe, evil though he be!" But I

spoke, as I have often found it expedient to do, with more confidence

than I felt.

Even at this moment, shrill and clear from the leafage at one end of

the forge, came the call of the big yellow-winged woodpecker. I

pricked up my ears and stiffened my muscles, expectant of I knew not

what.

Marc looked at me with some surprise.

"It's only a woodpecker!" said he.

"But it's only in the spring," I protested, "that he has a cry like

that!"

"He cries untimely, as an omen of the ills to come!" said Marc, half

meaning it and half in jest.

Had it been anywhere on the perilous frontier,--on the Richelieu or in

the West, or nigh the bloody Massachusetts line, my suspicions would

have sprung up wide awake. But in this quiet land between the

Habitants and the Canard I was off my guard,--and what a relief it was,

indeed, to let myself be careless for a little! I thought no more of

the woodpecker, but remembered that sister with the red hair. I came

back to her by indirection, however.

"And how did you manage, lad, to be seeing Mistress Prudence, and her

sister, and the child, and yet no others of the English? A matter of

dark nights and back windows? Eh? But come to think of it, there was

a clear moon this day four weeks back, when you were at Annapolis."

"No, Father," answered Marc, "it was all much more simple and less

adventurous than that. Some short way out of the town is a little

river, the Equille, and a pleasant hidden glade set high upon its bank.

It is a favoured resort of both the ladies; and there I met them as

often as I was permitted. Mizpah would sometimes choose to play apart

with the child, down by the water's edge if the tide were full, so I

had some gracious opportunity with Prudence.-- My time being brief, I

made the most of it!" he added drily. His quaint directness amused me

mightily, and I chuckled as I shaped the red iron upon the anvil.

"And who," I inquired, "is this kind sister, with the even redder hair,

who goes away with such a timely discretion?"

"Oh, yes," said Marc, "I forgot you knew nothing of her. She is

Mistress Mizpah Hanford, the widow of a Captain Hanford who was some

far connection of the Governor's. Her property is in and about

Annapolis, and she lives there to manage it, keeping Prudence with her

for companionship. Her child is four or five years old, a

yellow-haired, rosy boy called Philip. She's very tall,--a head taller

than Prudence, and older, of course, by perhaps eight years; and very

fair, though not so fair as Prudence; and altogether--"

But at this point I interrupted him.

"What's the matter with the Indian?" I exclaimed, staring out across

Marc's shoulders.

He sprang to his feet and looked around sharply. An Indian, carrying

three shad strung upon a sapling, had just appeared on the road before

the forge door. As he came in view he was reeling heavily, and

clutching at his head. He dropped his fish; and a moment later he

himself fell headlong, and lay face downward in the middle of the road.

I remember thinking that his legs sprawled childishly. Marc strolled

over to him with slow indifference.

"Have a care!" I exclaimed. "There may be some trap in it! It looks

not natural!"

"What trap can there be?" asked Marc, turning the body over. "It's Red

Moose, a Shubenacadie Micmac. I like not the breed; but ever since he

got a hurt on the head, in a fight at Canseau last year, he has been

subject to the falling sickness. Let us carry him to a shady place,

and he'll come to himself presently!"

I was at his side in a moment, and we stooped to lift the seemingly

lifeless figure. In an instant its arms were about my neck in a

strangling embrace. At the same time my own arms were seized. I heard

a fierce cry from Marc, and a groan that was not his. The next moment,

though I writhed and struggled with all my strength, I found myself

bound hand and foot, and seated on the ground with my back against the

door-post of the forge. Marc, bound like myself, lay by the roadside;

and a painted savage sat near him nursing with both hands a broken jaw.

A dozen Micmacs stood about us. Leaning against the door-post over

against me was the black-robed form of La Garne. He eyed me, for

perhaps ten seconds, with a smile of fine and penetrating sarcasm.

Then he told his followers to stand Marc up against a tree.

Chapter II

The Black Abbe

When first I saw that smile on the Black Abbe's face, and realized what

had befallen us, I came nigh to bursting with rage, and was on the

point of telling my captor some truths to make his ears tingle. But

when I heard the order to stand Marc up against a tree my veins for an

instant turned to ice. Many men--and some women, too, God help me, I

then being bound and gagged,--had I seen thus stood up against a tree,

and never but for one end. I could not believe that such an end was

contemplated now, and that by a priest of the Church, however unworthy

of his office! But I checked my tongue and spoke the Abbe fair.

"It is quite plain to me, Monsieur," said I, quietly, "that my son and

I are the victims of some serious mistake, for which you will, I am

sure, feel constrained to ask our pardon presently. I await your

explanations."

La Garne, still smiling, looked me over slowly. Never before had I

seen him face to face, though he had more than once traversed my line

of vision. I had known the tireless figure, as tall, almost, as Marc

himself, stoop-shouldered, but robust, now moving swiftly as if

propelled by an energy irresistible, now languid with an affectation of

indolence. But the face--I hated the possessor of it with a personal

hate the moment my eyes fell upon that face. Strong and inflexible was

the gaunt, broad, and thin jaw, cruel and cunning the high, pinched

forehead and narrow-set, palely glinting eyes. The nose, in

particular, greatly offended me, being very long, and thick at the end.

"I'll tweak it for him, one fine day," says I to myself, as I boiled

under his steady smile.

"There is no mistake, Monsieur de Briart, believe me!" he said, still

smiling.

There could be no more fair words, of course, after that avowal.

"Then, Sir Priest," said I, coldly, "you are both a madman and a scurvy

rogue, and you shall yet be on your knees to me for this outrage. You

will see then the nature of your mistake, I give you my word."

The priest's smile took on something of the complexion of a snarl.

"Don't be alarmed, Monsieur de Briart," said he. "You are quite safe,

because I know you for a good servant to France; and for your late

disrespect to Holy Church, in my person, while in talk with your

pestilent son, these bonds may be a wholesome and sufficient lesson to

you!"

"You shall have a lesson sufficient rather than wholesome, I promise

you!" said I.

"But as for this fellow," went on the Abbe, without noticing my

interruption, "he is a spy. You understand how spies fare, Monsieur!"

And a malignant light made his eyes appear like two points of steel

beneath the ambush of his ragged brows.

I saw Marc's lean face flush thickly under the gross accusation.

"It is a lie, you frocked hound!" he cried, careless of the instant

peril in which he stood.

But the Black Abbe never looked at him.

"I wish you joy of your son, a very good Englishman, Monsieur, and now,

I fear, not long for this world," said he, in a tone of high civility.

"He has long been fouling with his slanders the names of those whom he

should reverence, and persuading the people to the English. But now,

after patiently waiting, I have proofs. His treachery shall hang him!"

For a moment the dear lad's peril froze my senses, so that it was but

dimly I heard his voice, ringing with indignation as he hurled back the

charge upon the lying lips that made it.

"If the home of lies be anywhere out of Hell, it is in your malignant

mouth, you shame of the Church," he cried in defiance. "There can be

no proof that I am a spy, even as there can be no proof that you are

other than a false-tongued assassin, defiling your sacred office."

It was the galling defiance of a savage warrior at the stake, and even

in my fear my heart felt proud of it. The priest was not galled,

however, by these penetrating insults.

"As for the proofs," said he, softly, never looking at Marc, but

keeping his eyes on my face, "Monsieur de Ramezay shall judge whether

they be proofs or not. If he say they are not, I am content."

At a sign, a mere turn of his head it seemed to me, the Indians loosed

Marc's feet to lead him away.

"Farewell, Father," said he, in a firm voice, and turned upon me a look

of unshakable courage.

"Be of good heart, son," I cried to him. "I will be there, and this

devil shall be balked!"

"You, Monsieur," said the priest, still smiling, "will remain here for

the present. To-night I will send a villager to loose your bonds.

Then, by all means, come over and see Monsieur de Ramezay at Chignecto.

I may not be there then myself, but this business of the spy will have

been settled, for the commander does not waste time in such small

matters!"

He turned away to follow his painted band, and I, shaking in my

impotent rage and fear, called after him:--

"As God lives and is my witness, if the lad comes to any harm, these

hands will visit it upon you an hundredfold, till you scream for

death's mercy!"

But the Black Abbe moved off as if he heard no word, and left me a

twisted heap upon the turf, gnawing fiercely at the tough deer-hide of

my bonds.

Chapter III

Tamin's Little Stratagem

I had been gnawing, gnawing in an anguish at the thongs, for perhaps

five minutes. There had been no more than time for the Abbe's

wolf-pack to vanish by a turn of the road. Suddenly a keen blade slit

the thongs that bound my wrists. Then my feet felt themselves free. I

sat up, astonished, and saw stooping over me the droll, broad face of

Tamin the Fisher,--or Tamin Violet, as he was rightly, though seldom,

called. His mouth was solemn, as always, having never been known to

wear a smile; but the little wrinkles laughed about his small bright

eyes. I sprang up and grasped his hand.

"We must not lose a moment, Tamin, my friend!" I panted, dragging him

into the thick shade of the wood.

"I was thinking you might be in a hurry, M'sieu," said my rescuer.

"But unless the mouse wants to be back in the same trap I've just let

it out of, you'd better keep still a half-minute and make up your mind.

They've a round road to go, and we'll go straight!"

"You saw it all?" I asked, curbing myself as best I could, for I

perceived the wisdom of his counsel.

"Oh, ay, M'sieu, I saw it!" replied the Fisher. "And I laughed in my

bones to hear the lad talk up to the good father. There was more than

one shot went home, I warrant, for all the Black Abbe seemed so deaf.

They're festering under his soutane even now, belike!"

"But come!" said I. "I've got my wind!" And we darted noiselessly

through the cool of the great trees, turning a little east from the

road.

We ran silently for a space, my companion's short but massive frame

leaping, bending, gliding even as lightly as my own, which was ever as

lithe as a weasel's. Tamin was a rare woodsman, as I marked

straightway, though I had known him of old rather as a faithful tenant,

and marvellously patient to sit in his boat all day a-fishing on the

drift of the Minas tides.

Presently he spoke, under his breath.

"Very like," said he, drily, "when we come up to them they will all

fall down. So, we will take the lad and walk away! eh, what, M'sieu?"

"Only let us come up to them," said I, "and learn their plans. Then we

will make ours!"

"Something of theirs I know," said Tamin. "Their canoes are on the

Canard maybe three furlongs to east of the road. Thence they will

carry the lad to de Ramezay, for the Black Abbe will have things in due

form when he can conveniently, and now it is plain he has a scheme well

ripe. But if this wind holds, we'll be there before them. My boat is

lying hard by."

"God be praised!" I muttered; for in truth I saw some light now for the

first time. Presently, drawing near the road again, I heard the voice

of La Garne. We at once went softly, and, avoiding again, made direct

for where lay the canoes. There we disposed ourselves in a swampy

thicket, with a little breadth of water lying before and all the forest

behind. The canoes lay just across the little water, and so close that

I might have tossed my cap into them. The clean smell of the wet salt

sedge came freshly into the thicket. The shadows lay long on the

water. We had time to grow quiet, till our breathing was no longer

hasty, our blood no longer thumped in our ears. A flock of

sand-pipers, with thin cries, settled to feed on the red clay between

the canoes and the edge of the tide. Suddenly they got up, and puffed

away in a flicker of white breasts and brown wings; and I laid a hand

on Tamin's shoulder. The painted band, Marc in their midst, La Garne

in front, were coming down the slope.

The lad's face was stern and scornful. To my joy I saw that there was

to be no immediate departure. The redskins flung themselves down

indolently. The Black Abbe saw his prisoner made fast to a tree, and

then, telling his followers that he had duties at Pereau which would

keep him till past sunset, strode off swiftly up the trail. Tamin and

I, creeping as silently as snakes back into the forest, followed him.

For half an hour we followed him, keeping pace for pace through the

shadow of the wood. Then said I softly to Tamin:--

"This is my quarrel, my friend! Do you keep back, and not bring down

his vengeance on your head."

"That for his vengeance!" whispered Tamin, with a derisive gesture. "I

will take service with de Ramezay, as a regular soldier of France!"

"Even there," said I, "his arm might reach and pluck you forth. Keep

back now, and let him not see your face!"

"Priest though he be, M'sieu," urged Tamin, anxiously, "he is a mighty

man of his hands!"

I turned upon him a face of scorn which he found sufficient answer.

Then, signing to him to hold off, I sped forward silently. No weapon

had I but a light stick of green ash, just cut. There was smooth,

mossy ground along the trail, and my running feet made no more sound

than a cat's. I was within a pace of springing upon his neck, when he

must have felt my coming. He turned like a flash, uttered a piercing

signal cry, and whipped out a dagger.

"They'll never hear it," mocked I, and sent the dagger spinning with a

smart pass of my stick. The same stroke went nigh to breaking his

wrist. He grappled bravely, however, as I took him by the throat, and

I was astonished at his force and suppleness. Nevertheless the

struggle was but brief, and the result a matter to be sworn to

beforehand; for I, though not of great stature, am stronger than any

other man, big or little, with whom I have ever come to trial; and more

than that, when I was a prisoner among the English, I learned their

shrewd fashion of wrestling. In a little space the Black Abbe lay

choked into submission, after which I bound him in a way to endure, and

seated him against a tree. Behind him I caught view of Tamin,

gesturing drolly, whereat I laughed till I marked an amazement growing

in the priest's malignant eyes.

"How like you my lesson, good Father?" I inquired.

But he only glared upon me. I suppose, having no speech that would

fitly express his feelings, he conceived that his silence would be most

eloquent. But I could see that my next move startled him. With my

knife I cut a piece from my shirt, and made therewith a neat gag.

"Though you seem so dumb at this present," said I, "I suspect that you

might find a tongue after my departure. Therefore I must beseech you

to wear this ornament, for my sake, for a little." And very civilly

prying his teeth open, I adjusted the gag.

"Do not be afraid!" I continued. "I will leave you in this discomfort

no longer than you thought it necessary to leave me so. You shall be

free after to-morrow's sunrise, if not before. Farewell, good Father,

and may you rest well! Let me borrow this ring as a pledge for the

safe return of the fragment of my good shirt which you hold so

obstinately between your teeth!" And drawing his ring from his finger

I turned away and plunged into the forest, where Tamin presently joined

me.

Tamin chuckled, deep in his stomach.

"My turn now!" said he. "Give me the ring, M'sieu, and I'll give you

the boy!"

"I see you take me!" said I, highly pleased at his quick discernment.

We now made way at leisure back to the canoes, and our plans ripened as

we went.

Before we came within hearing of the Indians I gave over the ring with

final directions, to Tamin, and then hastened toward the point of land

which runs far out beyond the mouth of the Habitants. Around this

point, as I knew, lay the little creek-mouth wherein Tamin kept his

boat. Beyond the point, perchance a furlong, was a narrow sand-spit

covered deep at every flood tide. In a thicket of fir bushes on the

bluff over against this sand-spit I lay down to wait for what Tamin

should bring to pass. I had some little time to wait; and here let me

unfold, as I learned it after, what Tamin did whilst I waited.

About sunset, the tide being far out, and the Indians beginning to

expect their Abbe's return, came Tamin to them running in haste along

the trail from Pereau, as one who carried orders of importance. Going

straight to the chief, he pointed derisively at Marc, whose back was

towards him, and cried:--

"The good father commands that you take this dog of a spy straightway

to the sand-spit that lies off the point yonder. There you will drive

a strong stake into the sand, and bind the fellow to it, and leave him

there, and return here to await the Abbe's coming. You shall do no

hurt to the spy, and set no mark upon him. When the tide next ebbs you

will go again to the sand-spit and bring his body back; and if the Abbe

finds any mark upon him, you will get no pay for this venture. You

will make your camp here to-night, and if the good father be not

returned to you by sunrise to-morrow, you will go to meet him along the

Pereau trail, for he will be in need of you."

The tall chief grunted, and eyed him doubtfully. After a brief

contemplation he inquired, in broken French:--

"How know you no lie to me?"

"Here is the holy father's ring, in warranty; and you shall give it

back to him when he comes."

"It is well," said the chief, taking the ring, and turning to give some

commands in his own guttural tongue. Tamin repeated his message word

by word, then strode away; and before he got out of sight he saw two

canoes put off for the sand-spit. Then he made all haste to join me on

the point.

Long before he arrived the canoes had come stealing around the point

and were drawn up on the treacherous isle of sand. My heart bled for

the horror of death which, as I knew, must now be clutching at Marc's

soul; but I kept telling myself how soon I would make him glad. It

wanted yet three hours or more till the tide should cover the

sand-spit. I lay very still among the young fir trees, so that a

wood-mouse ran within an arm's length of my face, till it caught the

moving of my eyes and scurried off with a frightened squeak. I heard

the low change in the note of the tide as the first of the flood began

to creep in upon the weeds and pebbles. Then with some farewell

taunts, to which Marc answered not a word, the savages went again to

their canoes and paddled off swiftly.

[Illustration: Marc tied to post]

When they had become but specks on the dim water, I doffed my clothes,

took my knife between my teeth, and swam across to the sand-spit.

There was a low moon, obscured by thin and slowly drifting clouds, and

as I swam through the faint trail of it, Marc must have seen me coming.

Nevertheless he gave no sign, and I could see that his head drooped

forward upon his breast. An awful fear came down upon me, and for a

second or two I was like to sink, so numb I turned at the thought that

perchance the savages had put the knife to him before quitting. I

recovered, however, as I called to mind the orders which Tamin had

rehearsed to me ere starting on his venture; for I knew how sorely the

Black Abbe was feared by his savage flock. What they deemed him to

have commanded, that would they do.

Drawing closer now, I felt the ground beneath my feet.

"Marc," I called softly, "I'm coming, lad!"

The drooped head was lifted.

"Father!" he exclaimed. And there was something like a sob in that cry

of joy. It caught my heart strangely, telling me he was still a boy

for all he had borne himself so manfully in the face of sudden and

appalling peril. Now the long tension was loosed. He was alone with

me. As I sprang to him and cut the thongs that held him, one arm went

about my neck and I was held very close for the space of some few

heart-beats. Then he fetched a deep breath, stretched his cramped

limbs this way and that, and said simply, "I knew you would come,

Father! I knew you would find a way!"

Chapter IV

The Governor's Signature

The clouds slipped clear of the moon's face, and we three--Marc, I, and

the stake--cast sudden long black shadows which led all the way down to

the edge of the increeping tide. I looked at the shadows, and a

shudder passed through me as if a cold hand had been laid upon my back.

Marc stood off a little,--never have I seen such quick control, such

composure, in one so inexperienced,--and remarked to me:--

"What a figure of a man you are, Father, to be sure!"

I fell into his pretence of lightness at once, a high relief after the

long and deadly strain; and I laughed with some pleasure at the praise.

In very truth, I cherished a secret pride in my body.

"'Tis well enough, no doubt, in a dim light," said I, "though by now

surely somewhat battered!"

Marc was already taking off his clothes. As he knotted them into a

convenient bundle, there came from the woods, a little way back of the

point, the hollow "Too-hoo-hoo-whoo-oo!" of the small gray owl.

"There's Tamin!" said I, and was on the point of answering in like

fashion, when the cry was reiterated twice.

"That means danger, and much need of haste for us," I growled.

Together we ran down into the tide, striking out with long strokes for

the fine white line that seethed softly along the dark base of the

point. I commended the lad mightily for his swimming, as we scrambled

upon the beach and slipped swiftly into our clothes. Though carrying

his bundle on his head, he had given me all I could do to keep abreast

of him.

We climbed the bluff, and ran through the wet, keen-scented bushes

toward the creek where lay the boat. Ere we had gone half-way Tamin

met us, breathless.

"What danger?" I asked.

"I think they're coming back to tuck the lad in for the night, and see

that he's comfortable!" replied Tamin, panting heavily. "I heard

paddles when they should have been long out of earshot."

"Something has put them in doubt!" said Marc.

"Sure," said I, "and not strange, if one but think of it!"

"Yet I told them a fair tale," panted Tamin, as he went on swiftly

toward his boat.

The boat lay yet some yards above the edge of tide, having been run

aground near high water. The three of us were not long in dragging her

down and getting her afloat. Then came the question that was uppermost.

"Which way?" asked Tamin, laconically, taking the tiller, while Marc

stood by to hoist the dark and well-patched sail.

I considered the wind for some moments.

"For Chignecto!" said I, with emphasis. "We must see de Ramezay and

settle this hound La Garne. Otherwise Marc stands in hourly peril."

As the broad sail drew, and the good boat, leaning well over, gathered

way, and the small waves swished and gurgled merrily under her quarter,

I could hardly withhold from laughing for sheer gladness. Marc was

already smoking with great composure beside the mast, his lean face

thoughtful, but untroubled. He looked, I thought, almost as old as his

war-battered sire who now watched him with so proud an eye. Presently

I heard Tamin fetch a succession of mighty breaths, as he emptied and

filled the ample bellows of his lungs. He snatched the green and

yellow cap of knitted wool from his head, and let the wind cool the

sweating black tangle that coarsely thatched his broad skull.

"Hein!" he exclaimed, with a droll glance at Marc, "that's better than

_that_!" And he made an expressive gesture as of setting a knife to

his scalp. To me this seemed much out of place and time; but Tamin was

ever privileged in the eyes of a de Mer, so I grumbled not. As for

Marc, that phantom of a smile, which I had already learned to watch

for, just touched his lips, as he remarked calmly:

"Vraiment, much better. That, as you call it, my Tamin, came so near

to-night that my scalp needs no cooling since!"

"But whither steering?" I inquired; for the boat was speeding

south-eastward, straight toward Grand Pre.

Tamin's face told plainly that he had his reasons, and I doubted not

that they were good. For some moments that wide, grave mouth opened

not to make reply, while the little, twinkling, contradictory eyes were

fixed intently on some far-off landmark, to me invisible. This point

being made apparently to his satisfaction, he relaxed and explained.

"You see, M'sieu," said he, "we must get under the loom o' the shore,

so's we'll be out of sight when the canoes come round the point. If

they see a sail, at this time o' night, they'll suspicion the whole

thing and be after us. Better let 'em amuse themselves for a spell

hunting for the lad on dry land, so's we won't be rushed. Been enough

rush!"

"Yes! Yes!" assented I, scanning eagerly the point behind us. And

Marc said:--

"Very great is your sagacity, my Tamin. The Black Abbe fooled himself

when he forgot to take you into his reckoning!"

At this speech the little wrinkles gathered thicker about Tamin's eyes.

At length, deeming us to have gone far enough to catch the loom of the

land, as it lay for one watching from the sand-spit, Tamin altered our

course, and we ran up the basin. Just then we marked two canoes

rounding the point. They were plainly visible to us, and I made sure

we should be seen at once; but a glance at Tamin's face reassured me.

The Fisher understood, as few even among old woodsmen understand it,

the lay of the shadow-belts on a wide water at night.

Noiselessly we lowered our sail and lay drifting, solicitous to mark

what the savages might do. The sand-spit was by this so small that

from where we lay it was not to be discerned; but we observed the

Indians run their canoes upon it, disembark, and stoop to examine the

footprints in the sand. In a moment or two they embarked again, and

paddled straight to the point.

"Shrewd enough!" said Marc.

"Yes," said I, "and now they'll track us straight to Tamin's creek, and

understand that we've taken the boat. But they won't know what

direction we've taken!"

"No, M'sieu," muttered Tamin, "but no use loafing round here till they

find out!"

Which being undoubted wisdom of Tamin's, we again hoisted sail and

continued our voyage.

Having run some miles up the Basin, we altered our course and stood

straight across for the northern shore. We now felt secure from

pursuit, holding it highly improbable that the savages would guess our

purpose and destination. As we sat contenting our eyes with the great

bellying of the sail, and the fine flurries of spray that ever and

again flashed up from our speeding prow, and the silver-blue creaming

of our wake, Marc gave us a surprise. Thrusting his hand into the

bosom of his shirt he drew out a packet and handed it to me.

"Here, perhaps, are the proofs on which the gentle Abbe relied!" said

he.

Taking the packet mechanically, I stared at the lad in astonishment.

But there was no information to be gathered from that inscrutable

countenance, so I presently recollected myself, and unfolded the

papers. There were two of them. The moon was partly clear at the

moment, and I made out the first to be an order, written in English, on

one Master Nathaniel Apthorp, merchant, of Boston, directing him to pay

Master Marc de Mer, of Grand Pre in Nova Scotia, the sum of two hundred

and fifty pounds. It was signed "Paul Mascarene, Gov^r of Nova

Scotia." The other paper was written in finer and more hasty

characters, and I could not decipher it in the uncertain light. But

the signature was the same as that appended to the order on Mr. Apthorp.

"I cannot decipher this one, in this bad light," said I; "but what does

it all mean, Marc? How comes the English Governor to be owing you two

hundred and fifty pounds?"

"Does he owe me two hundred and fifty pounds? That's surely news of

interest!" said Marc.

I looked at him, amazed.

"Do you mean to say that you don't know what is in these papers?" I

inquired, handing them back.

"How should I know that?" said Marc, with a calmness which was not a

little irritating. "They were placed in my pocket by the good Abbe;

and since then my opportunities of reading have been but scant!"

Tamin ejaculated a huge grunt of indignant comprehension; and I,

beholding all at once the whole wicked device, threw up my hands and

fell to whistling an idle air. It seemed to me a case for which curses

would seem but tame and pale.

"This other, then," said I, presently, "must be a letter that would

seem to have been written to you by the Governor, and worded in such a

fashion as to compromise you plainly!"

"'Tis altogether probable, Father," replied Marc, musingly, as he

scanned the page. He was trying to prove his own eyesight better than

mine, but found the enterprise beyond him,--as I knew he would.

"I can make out nothing of this other, save the signature," he

continued. "We must even wait for daylight. And in the meanwhile I

think you had better keep the packet, Father, for I feel my wits and my

experience something lacking in this snarl."

I took the papers and hid them in a deep pocket which I wore within the

bosom of my shirt.

"The trap was well set, and deadly, lad," said I, highly pleased at his

confidence in my wisdom to conduct the affair. "But trust me to spring

it. Whatever this other paper may contain, de Ramezay shall see them

both and understand the whole plot."

"'Twill be hard to explain away," said Marc, doubtfully, "if it be

forged with any fair degree of skill!"

"Trust my credit with de Ramezay for that. It is something the Black

Abbe has not reckoned upon!" said I, with assurance, stuffing my pipe

contentedly with the right Virginia leaf. Marc, being well tired with

all that he had undergone that day, laid his head on the cuddy and was

presently sound asleep. In a low voice, not to disturb the slumberer,

I talked with Tamin, and learned how he had chanced to come so pat upon

me in my bonds. He had been on the way up to the Forge, coming not by

the trail, but straight through the forest, when he caught a view of

the Indians, and took alarm at the stealth of their approach. He had

tracked them with a cunning beyond their own, and so achieved to outdo

them with their own weapons.

The moon now swam clear in the naked sky, the clouds lying far below.

By the broad light I could see very well to read the letter. It was

but brief, and ran thus:--

_To my good Friend and trusted Helper Monsieur Marc de Mer_:--

DEAR SIR,--As touching the affair which you have so prudently carried

through, and my gratitude for your so good help, permit the enclosed

order on Master Apthorp to speak for me. If I might hope that you

would find it in your heart and within your convenience to put me under

yet weightier obligations, I would be so bold as to desire an exact

account of the forces at Chignecto, and of the enterprize upon which

Monsieur de Ramezay is purposing to employ them.

Believe me to be, my dear Sir, yours with high esteem and consideration,

PAUL MASCARENE.

With a wonder of indignation I read it through, and then again aloud to

Tamin, who cursed the author with such ingenious Acadian oaths as made

me presently smile.

"It is right shrewdly devised," said I, "but the deviser knew little of

the blunt English Governor, or never would he have made him write with

such courtly circumlocutions. De Ramezay, very like, will have seen

communications of Mascarene's before now, and will scarce fail to note

the disagreement."

"The fox has been known to file his tongue too smooth," said Tamin,

sententiously.

By this we were come over against the huge black front of Blomidon, but

our course lay far outside the shadow of his frown, in the silvery run

of the seas. The moon floated high over the great Cape, yellow as

gold, and the bare sky was like an unruffled lake. Far behind us

opened the mouth of the Piziquid stream, a bright gap in the dark but

vague shore-line. On our right the waters unrolled without obstruction

till they mixed pallidly with the sky in the mouth of Cobequid Bay.

Five miles ahead rose the lofty shore which formed the northern wall of

Minas Channel,--grim and forbidding enough by day; but now, in such

fashion did the moonlight fall along it, wearing a face of fairyland,

and hinting of fountained palaces in its glens and high hollows. After

I had filled my heart with the fairness and the wonder of it, I lay

down upon a thwart and fell asleep.

Chapter V

In the Run of the Seas

It seemed as if I had but fairly got my eyes shut, when I was awakened

by a violent pitching of the boat. I sat up, grasping the gunwale, and

saw Marc just catching my knee to rouse me. The boat, heeling far

over, and hauled close to the wind, was heading a little up the channel

and straight for a narrow inlet which I knew to be the joint mouth of

two small rivers.

"Where are you going? Why is our course changed?" I asked sharply,

being nettled by a sudden notion that they had made some change of plan

without my counsel.

"Look yonder, Father!" said Marc, pointing.

I looked, and my heart shook with mingled wrath and apprehension.

Behind us followed three canoes, urged on by sail and paddle.

"They outsail us?" I inquired.

"Ay, before the wind, they do, M'sieu!" said Tamin. "On this tack,

maybe not. We'll soon see!"

"But what's this but a mere trap we are running our heads into?" I

urged.

"I fear there's nothing else but to quit the boat and make through the

woods, Father," explained Marc; "that is, if we're so fortunate as to

keep ahead till we reach land."

"In the woods, I suppose, we can outwit them or outfoot them," said I;

"but those Micmacs are untiring on the trail."

"I know a good man with a good boat over by Shulie on the Fundy shore,"

interposed Tamin. "And I know the way over the hills. We'll cheat the

rogue of a priest yet!" And he shrewdly measured the distance that

parted us from our pursuers.

"It galls me to be running from these dogs!" I growled.

"Our turn will come," said Marc, glowering darkly at the canoes. "Do

you guess the Black Abbe is with them?"

"Not he!" grunted Tamin.

"Things may happen this time," said I, "and the good father may wish to

keep his soutane clear of them. It's all plain enough to me now. The

Indians, finding themselves tricked, have gone back on the Pereau trail

and most inopportunely have released the gentle Abbe from his bonds.

He has seen through our game, and has sent his pack to look to it that

we never get to de Ramezay. But _he_ will have no hand in it. Oh, no!"

"What's plain to me now," interrupted Tamin, with some anxiety in his

voice, "is that they're gaining on us fast. They've put down

leeboards; an' with leeboards down a Micmac canoe's hard to beat."

"Oh!" I exclaimed bitterly, "if we had but our muskets! Fool that I

was, thus to think to save time and not go back for our weapons! Trust

me, lad, it's the first time that Jean de Mer has had that particular

kind of folly to repent of!"

"But there was nought else for it, Father," said Marc. "And if, as

seems most possible, we come to close quarters presently, we are not so

naked as we might be. Here's your two pistols, my good whinger, and

Tamin's fishy dirk. And Tamin's gaff here will make a pretty lance.

It is borne in upon me that some of the good Abbe's lambs will bleat

for their shepherd before this night's work be done!"

There was a steady light in his eyes that rejoiced me much, and his

voice rose and fell as if fain to break into a war song; and I said to

myself, "The boy is a fighter, and the fire is in his blood, for all

his scholar's prating of peace!" Yet he straightway turned his back

upon the enemy and with great indifference went to filling his pipe.

"Ay, an' there be a right good gun in the cuddy!" grunted Tamin, after

a second or two of silence.

"The saints be praised!" said I. And Marc's long arm reached in to

capture it. It was a huge weapon, and my heart beat high at sight of

it. Marc caressed it for an instant, then reluctantly passed it to me,

with the powder-horn.

"I can shoot, a little, myself," said he, "but I would be presumptuous

to boast when you were by, Father!"

"Ay, vraiment," said Tamin, sharply; "don't think you can shoot with

the Sieur de Briart yet!"

"I don't," replied Marc, simply, as he handed me out a pouch of bullets

and a pouch of slugs.

The pursuing canoes were by this come within fair range. There came a

strident hail from the foremost:--

"Lay to, or we shoot!"

"Shoot, dogs!" I shouted, ramming home the good measure of powder which

I had poured into my hand. I followed it with a fair charge of slugs,

and was wadding it loosely, when--

"Duck!" cries Tamin, bobbing his head lower than the tiller.

Neither Marc nor I moved a hair. But we gazed at the canoes. On the

instant two red flames blazed out, with a redoubled bang; and one

bullet went through the sail a little above my head.

"Not bad!" said Marc, glancing tranquilly at the bullet hole.

But for my own part, I was angry. To be fired upon thus, at a priest's

orders, by a pack of scurvy savages in the pay of our own party,--never

before had Jean de Briart been put to such indignity. I kneeled, and

took a very cautious aim,--not, however, at the savages, but at the bow

of the nearest canoe.

Tamin's big gun clapped like a cannon, and kicked my shoulder very

vilely. But the result of the shot was all that we could desire. As I

made haste to load again I noticed that the savage in the bow had

fallen backward in his place, hit by a stray slug. The bulk of the

charge, however, had torn a great hole in the bark, close to the

water-line.

[Illustration: Tamin's big gun clapped like a cannon, and kicked my

shoulder very vilely.]

"You've done it, Father!" said Marc, in a tone of quiet exultation.

"Hein!" grunted Tamin. "They don't like the wet!"

The canoe was going down by the bow. The other two craft ranged

hurriedly alongside, and took in the gesticulating crew,--all but one,

whom they left in the stern to paddle the damaged canoe to land, being

loth to lose a serviceable craft. With broken bow high in air the

canoe spun around, and sped off up the Basin before the wind. The

remaining two resumed the chase of us. We had gained a great space

during the confusion, yet they came up upon us fast.

But now, ere I judged them to be within gunshot, they slackened speed.

"They think better of it!" said I, raising the gun again to my

shoulder. As I did so they sheered off in haste to a safer distance.

"They are not such fools as I had hoped!" said Marc.

"I so far flatter myself as to think," said I, with some complacency,

"that they won't trust themselves willingly again within range of this

good barker."

By this we were come well within the wide mouth of the estuary, and a

steep, wooded point thrust out upon our right. All at once I muttered

a curse upon my dulness.

"What fools we are, to be sure!" I cried. "No reason that we should

toil across the mountains to your good man's good boat at Shulie, my

Tamin. Put her about, and we'll sail in comfort around to Chignecto;

and let these fellows come in range again at their peril!"

"To be sure, indeed!" grunted Tamin; and with a lurch and great

flapping we went about.

The canoes, indeed, now fled before us with excellent discretion. Our

new course carried us under the gloom of the promontory, whence, in a

few minutes, we shot out again into the moonlight. It was pleasant to

see our antagonists making such courteous haste to give us room. I

could not forbear to chuckle over it, and wished mightily that the

Black Abbe were in one of the canoes.

"I fear me there's to be no work for Tamin's fishy dirk or my good

whinger," sighed Marc, with a nice air of melancholy; and Tamin, with

the little wrinkles thicker than ever about his eyes, yelled droll

taunts after our late pursuers. In fact, we were all three in immense

high feather,--when on a sudden there came a crashing bump that tumbled

us headlong, the mast went overboard, and there we were stuck fast upon

a sharp rock. The boat was crushed in like an egg-shell, and lay over

on her side. The short, chopping seas huddled upon us in a smother.

As I rose up, sputtering, I took note of Tamin's woollen cap washing

away debonairly, snatched off, belike, by a taut rope as the mast fell.

Then, clinging all three to the topmost gunwale, the waves jumping and

sousing us derisively, we stared at each other in speechless dismay.

But a chorus of triumphant screeches from the canoes, as they noted our

mishap and made to turn, brought us to our senses.

"Nothing for it but to swim!" said I, thrusting down the now useless

musket into the cuddy, where I hoped it might stay in case the wrecked

boat should drift ashore. It was drenched, of course, and something

too heavy to swim with. I emptied the slugs from my pocket. Tamin

ducked his head under water and fumbled in the cuddy till I was on the

point of plucking him forth, fearing he would drown,--Marc, meanwhile,

looking on tranquilly and silently, with that fleeting remembrance of a

smile. But now Tamin arose, gasping, with a small sack and a salted

hake in his hands. The fish he passed over to me.

"Bread, M'sieu!" said he, holding up the drenched sack in triumph.

"Now for the woods!"

'Twas but the toss of a biscuit to shore, and we had gained it ere our

enemies were come within gunshot. Running swiftly along the strip of

beach that skirted the steep, we put the shoulder of the cape between,

and were safe from observation for a few minutes.

"To the woods, M'sieu!" cried Tamin, in a suppressed voice.

"No!" said I, sternly. "Straight along the beach, till I give the word

to turn in! Follow me!"

"'Tis the one chance, to get out of sight now!" grumbled Tamin, running

beside me, and clutching at his wet sack of bread.

"Don't you suppose he knows what he is doing, my Tamin?" interrupted

Marc. "'Tis for you and me to obey orders!"

Tamin growled, but said no more.

"Now in with you to cover," I commanded, waving my salt fish as it had

been a marshal's baton. At the same moment I turned, ran up the wet

slope where a spring bubbled out of the wood's edge and spread itself

over the stones, and sprang behind a thick screen of viburnums. My

companions were beside me on the instant,--but it was not an instant

too soon. As we paused to look back, there were the canoes coming

furiously around the point.

Staying not long to observe them, I led the way straight into the

darkness of the woods, aiming for the seashore at the other side of the

point. But Tamin was not satisfied.

"Our road lies straight up yon river," said he.

"My friend," said I, "we must e'en find another road to Shulie. Those

fellows will be sure to agree that we have gone that way. Knowing that

I am a cunning woodsman, they will say, 'He will make them to run in

the water, and so leave no trail.' And they will give hot chase up the

river."

"But there be two rivers," objected Tamin.

"Bien," said I, "they will divide their party, and give hot chase up

two rivers!"

"And in the meanwhile?" inquired Marc.

"I'll find the way to Shulie," said I. "The stars and the sun are

guide enough! I know the main lay of all these coasts."

Chapter VI

Grul

The undergrowth into which we had now come was thick and hindering, so

there was no further chance of speech. A few minutes more and we came

out upon the seaward slope of the point. We pushed straight down to

the water, here sheltered from the wind and little troubled. That our

footprints might be hidden, at least for a time, we ran, one behind the

other, along the lip of the tide, where the water was about ankle deep.

In the stillness our splashing sounded dangerously loud, and Tamin, yet

in a grumbling humour, spoke of it.

"But you forget, my friend," said I, gently, "that there is noise and

to spare where our enemies are,--across there in the wind!"

In a moment Tamin spoke again, pointing some little way ahead.

"The land drops away yonder, M'sieu, 'twixt the point and the main

shore!" he growled, with conspicuous anxiety in his voice. He was no

trembler; but it fretted him to be taking what he deemed the weaker

course. "Nothing," he added, "but a bit of bare beach that the waves

go over at spring tides when the wind's down the Basin!"

I paused in some dismay. But my mind was made up.

"We must go on," said I. "But we will stoop low, and lose no time in

the passage. They'll scarce be landed yet."

And now, as I came to see how low indeed that strip of perilous beach

was, I somewhat misdoubted of success in getting by unseen. But we

went a little deeper in the tide, and bowed our bodies with great

humbleness, and so passed over with painful effort but not a little

speed. Being come again under shelter, we straightened ourselves, well

pleased, fetched a deep breath or two, and ran on with fresh celerity.

"But if a redskin should think to step over the beach, there'd be our

goose cooked!" muttered Tamin.

"Well said!" I answered. "Therefore let us strike inland at once!"

And I led the way again into the darkness of the forest.

Dark as it was, there was yet light enough from the moon to enable me

to direct my course as I wished. I struck well west of the course

which would have taken us most speedily to Shulie, being determined to

avoid the valley of the stream which I considered our pursuers were

most likely to ascend. To satisfy Tamin's doubts I explained my

purpose, which was to aim straight for Shulie as soon as we were over

the water-shed. And I must do him the justice to say he was content,

beginning now to come more graciously to my view. We went but slowly,

climbing, ever climbing. At times we would be groping through a great

blackness of hemlocks. Again the forest would be more open, a mingling

of fir trees, and birches, and maples. Coming at last to more level

ground, we were still much hindered by innumerable rocks, amid which

the underbrush and wild vines prepared pitfalls for our weary feet.

But I was not yet willing to call a halt for breath. On, on we

stumbled, the wet branches buffeting our faces, but a cool and pleasant

savour of the wild herbs which we trod upon ever exhaling upwards to

refresh our senses. As we crossed a little grassy glade, I observed

that Marc had come to Tamin's help, and was carrying the sack of bread.

I observed, also, that Tamin's face was drawn with fatigue, and that he

went with a kind of dogged heaviness. I took pity upon him. We had

put, I guessed, good miles between ourselves and our pursuers, and I

felt that we were, in all reason, safe for the time. At the further

limit of the glade there chattered a shallow brook, whose sweet noise

reminded me that I was parched with thirst. The pallor of first dawn

was now coming into the sky, and the tree tops began to lift and float

in an aerial grayness. I glanced at Marc, and his eyes met mine with a

keen brightness that told me he was yet unwearied. Nevertheless I

cried:--

"Halt, and fall out for breakfast." And with the words I flung myself

down by the brook, thrust my burning face into the babbling chill of

it, and drank luxuriously. Tamin was beside me in an instant; but Marc

slaked his thirst at more leisure, when he had well enjoyed watching

our satisfaction.

We lay for a little, till the sky was touched here and there with

saffron and flying wisps of pink, and we began to see the colour of

grass and leaves. Then we made our meal,--a morsel each of the salt

hake which I had clung to through our flight, and some bits of Tamin's

black bread. This bread was wholesome, as I well knew, and to our

hunger it was not unsavoury; but it was of a hardness which the

sea-water had scarce availed to mitigate.

As we ground hastily upon the meagre fare, I felt, rather than heard, a

presence come behind me. I turned my head with a start, and at the

same instant heard a high, plangent voice, close beside us, crying

slowly:--

"Woe, woe to Acadie the Fair, for the day of her desolation cometh."

It was an astonishing figure upon which my eyes fell,--a figure which

might have been grotesque, but was not. Instead of laughing, my heart

thrilled with a kind of awe. The man was not old,--his frame was erect

and strong with manhood; but the long hair hanging about his neck was

white, the long beard streaming upon his half-naked breast was white.

He wore leathern breeches, and the upper portion of his body was

covered only by a cloak of coarse woollen stuff, woven in a staring

pattern of black and yellow. On his head was a rimless cap of plaited

straw, with a high, pointed crown; and this was stuck full of gaudy

flowers and feathers. From the point of the crown rose the stump of

what had been, belike, a spray of goldenrod, broken by a hasty

journeying through the obstructions of the forest. The man's eyes, of

a wild and flaming blue, fixed themselves on mine. In one hand he

carried a white stick, with a grotesque carven head, dyed scarlet,

which he pointed straight at me.

"Do you lie down, like cows that chew the cud, when the wolves are on

the trail?" demanded that plangent voice.

"It's Grul!" cried Tamin, springing to his feet and thrusting a piece

of black bread into the stranger's hand.

But the offering was thrust aside, while those wide eyes flamed yet

more wildly upon me.

"They are on the trail, I tell you!" he repeated. "I hear their feet

even now! Go! Run! Fly!" and he stooped, with an ear toward the

ground.

"But which way should we fly?" I asked, half in doubt whether his

warning should be heeded or derided. I could see that neither Marc nor

Tamin had any such doubts. They were on the strain to be off, and only

awaited my word.

"Go up the brook," said he, in a lower voice. "The first small stream

on your left hand, turn up that a little way, and so--for the wolves

shall this time be balked. But the black wolf's teeth bite deep. They

shall bite upon the throats of the people!" he continued, his voice

rising keenly, his white staff, with its grinning scarlet head, waving

in strange, intricate curves. We were already off, making at almost

full speed up the brook. Glancing back, I saw the fantastic form

running to and fro over the ground where we had lain; and when the

trees hid him we heard those ominous words wailed slowly over and over

with the reiterance of a tolling bell:--

"Woe, woe for Acadie the Fair, for the day of her desolation cometh!"

"He'll throw them off the trail!" said Tamin, confidently.

"But how did they ever get on it?" queried Marc.

"'Tis plain that they have seen or heard us as we passed the strip of

beach!" said I, in deep vexation, for I hated to be overreached by any

one in woodcraft. "If we outwit them now, it's no thanks to my

tactics, but only to that generous and astonishing madman. You both

seemed to know him. Who, in the name of all the saints, might he be?

What was it you called him, Tamin?"

"Grul!" replied Tamin; and said no more, discreetly husbanding his

wind. But Marc spoke for him.

"I have heard him called no other name but Grul! Madman he is, at

times, I think. But sane for the most part, and with some touches of a

wisdom beyond the wisdom of men. The guise of madness he wears always;

and the Indians, as well as our own people, reverence him mightily. It

is nigh upon three years since he first appeared in Acadie. He hates

the Black Abbe,--who, they say, once did him some great mischief in

some other land than this,--and his strange ravings, his prodigious

prophesyings, do something here and there to weaken the Abbe's

influence with our people."

"Then how does he evade the good father's wrath?" I questioned, in

wonder.

"Oh," said Marc, "the good father hates him cordially enough. But the

Indians could not be persuaded, or bullied, or bribed, to lift a hand

against him. They say a Manitou dwells in him."

"Maybe they're not far wrong!" grunted Tamin.

And now I, like Tamin, found it prudent to spare my wind. But Marc,

whose lungs seemed untiring, spoke from time to time as he went, and

told me certain incidents, now of Grul's acuteness, now of his gift of

prophecy, now of his fantastic madness. We came at length, after

passing two small rivulets on the right, to the stream on the left

which Grul had indicated. It had a firm bed, wherein our footsteps

left no trace, and we ascended it for perhaps a mile, by many windings.

Then, with crafty care, we crept up from the stream, in such a fashion

as to leave no mark of our divergence if, as I thought not likely, our

pursuers should come that way. After that we fetched a great circuit,

crossed the parent brook, and shortly before noon judged that we might

account ourselves secure. Where a tiny spring bubbled beneath a

granite boulder and trickled away north toward the Fundy shore, we

stopped to munch black bread and the remnant of the fish. We rested

for an hour,--Tamin and I sleeping, while Marc, who protested that he

felt no motion toward slumber, kept watch. When he roused us, we set

off pleasantly refreshed, our faces toward Shulie.

Till late that night we journeyed, having a clear moon to guide us.

Coming at length to the edge of a small lake set with islands, "Here,"

said I, "is the place where we may sleep secure!"

We stripped, took our bundles on our heads, and swam out into the

shining stillness. We swam past two islets, and landed upon one which

caught my fancy. There we lay down in a bed of sweet-smelling fern,

and were well content. As we supped on Tamin's good black bread, two

loons laughed to each other out on the silver surface. We saw their

black, watchful heads, moving slowly. Then we slept. It was high day

when we awoke. The bread was now scarce, so we husbanded it, and made

such good speed all day that while it wanted yet some hours of sunset

we came out upon a bluff's edge and saw below us the wash and roll of

Fundy. We were some way west of Shulie, but not far, Tamin said, from

the house of his good friend with the good boat.

To this house we came within the hour. It was a small, home-like

cabin, among apple trees, in a slant clearing that overhung a narrow

creek. There, by a little jetty, I rejoiced to see the boat. The man

of the house, one Beaudry, was in the woods looking for his cow, but

the goodwife made us welcome. When Beaudry came in he and Tamin fell

on each other's necks. And I found, too, that the name of Jean de

Briart, with something of his poor exploits, was not all unknown in the

cabin.

How well we supped that night, on fresh shad well broiled, and fresh

sweet barley bread, and thin brown buckwheat cakes! It was settled at

once that Beaudry should put us over to de Ramezay's camp with the

first of the morrow's tide. Then, over our pipes, sitting under the

apple tree by the porch, we told our late adventures. I say we, but

Tamin told them, and gave them a droll colouring which delighted me.

It must have tickled Marc's fancy, too, for I took note that he let his

pipe out many times during the story. Beaudry kept crying "Hein!" and

"Bien!" and "Tiens!" in an ecstasy of admiration. The goodwife,

however, was seemingly most touched by the loss of Tamin's knitted cap.

With a face of great concern, as who should say "Poor soul!" she jumped

up, ran into the house, was gone a few moments, and returned beaming

benevolence.

"V'la!" she cried; and stuck upon Tamin's wiry black head a bran-new

cap of red wool.

Chapter VII

The Commander is Embarrassed

Next day we set out at a good hour, and came without further adventure

to Chignecto. Having landed, amid a little swarm of fishing-boats, we

then went straight to de Ramezay's headquarters, leaving Beaudry at the

wharf among his cronies. We crossed a strip of dyked marsh, whereon

were many sleek Acadian cattle cropping the rich aftermath, and

ascended the gentle slope of the uplands. Amid a few scattered cabins

were ranged the tents of the soldiers. Camp fires and sheaves of

stacked muskets gave the bright scene a warlike countenance. Higher up

the hill stood a white cottage, larger than the rest, its door painted

red, with green panels; and from a staff on its gable, blown out

bravely by the wind which ever sweeps those Fundy marshlands, flapped

the white banner with the Lilies of France.

The sentry who challenged us at the foot of the slope knew me,--had

once fought under me in a border skirmish,--and, saluting with great

respect, summoned a guard to conduct us to headquarters. As we climbed

the last dusty rise and turned in, past the long well-sweep and two

gaunt, steeple-like Lombardy poplars, to the yard before the cottage,

the door opened and the commander himself stood before us. His face

lit up gladly as I stepped forward to greet him, and with great warmth

he sprang to embrace me.

"My dear Briart!" he cried. "I have long expected you!"

"I am but just returned to Acadie, my dear friend," said I, with no

less warmth than he had evinced, "or you would surely have seen me here

to greet you on your coming. But the King's service kept me on the

Richelieu!"

"And even your restless activity, my Jean, cannot put you in two places

at once," said he, as he turned with an air of courteous inquiry to my

companions. Perceiving at once by his dress that Tamin was a habitant,

his eyes rested upon Marc.

"My son Marc, Monsieur de Ramezay," said I.

The two bowed, Marc very respectfully, as became a young man on

presentation to a distinguished officer, but de Ramezay with a sudden

and most noticeable coldness. At this I flushed with anger, but the

moment was not one for explanations. I restrained myself; and turning

to Tamin, I said in an altered tone:--

"And this, de Ramezay, is my good friend and faithful follower, Tamin

Violet, of Canard parish, who desires to enlist for service under you.

More of him, and all to his credit, I will tell you by and by. I

merely commend him to you now as brave, capable, and a good shot!"

"I have ever need of such!" said de Ramezay, quickly. "As you

recommend him, he shall serve in Monsieur de Ville d'Avray's company,

which forms my own guard."

Summoning an orderly, he gave directions to this effect. As Tamin

turned to depart with the orderly, both Marc and I stepped up to him

and wrung his hands, and thanked him many times for the courage and

craft which had saved Marc's life as well as the honour of our family.

"We'll see you again to-night or in the morning, my Tamin," said Marc.

"And tell you how goes my talk with the commander," added I, quietly.

"And for the boat we wrecked," continued Marc, "why, of course, we

won't remain in your debt for a small thing like that; though for the

great matter, and for your love, we are always your debtors gladly!"

"And in the King's uniform," said I, cutting short Tamin's attempted

protestations, "even the Black Abbe will not try to molest you."

I turned again to de Ramezay, who was waiting a few paces aside, and

said, with a courtesy that was something formal after the warmth of our

first greeting:--

"Your pardon, de Ramezay! But Tamin has gone through much with us and

for us. And now, my son and I would crave an undisturbed conversation

with you."

At once, and without a word, he conducted us into his private room,

where he invited us to be seated. As we complied, he himself remained

standing, with every sign of embarrassment in his frank and fearless

countenance. I had ever liked him well. Good cause to like him,

indeed, I had in my heart, for I had once stood over his body in a

frontier skirmish, and saved his scalp from the knives of the

Onondagas. But now my anger was hot against him, for it was plain to

me that he had lent ear to some slanders against Marc. For a second or

two there was a silence, then Marc sprang to his feet.

"Perhaps if I stand," said he, coldly, "Monsieur de Ramezay will do us

the honour of sitting."

De Ramezay's erect figure--a very soldierly and imposing figure it was

in its uniform of white and gold--straightened itself haughtily for an

instant. Then he began, but with a stammering tongue:--

"I bitterly regret--it grieves me,--it pains me to even hint it,--" and

he kept his eyes upon the floor as he spoke,--"but your son, my dear

friend, is accused--"

Here I broke in upon him, springing to my feet.

"Stop!" said I, sternly.

He looked at me with a face of sorrowful inquiry, into which a tinge of

anger rose slowly.

"Remember," I continued, "that whatever accusation or imputation you

make now, I shall require you to prove beyond a peradventure,--or to

make good with your sword against mine! My son is the victim of a vile

conspiracy. He is--"

"Then he _is_ loyal, you say, to France?" interrupted de Ramezay,

eagerly.

"I say," said I, in a voice of steel, "that he has done nothing that

his father, a soldier of France, should blush to tell,--nothing that an

honest gentleman should not do." My voice softened a little as I

noticed the change in his countenance. "And oh, Ramezay," I continued,

"had any man an hour ago told me that _you_ would condemn a son of mine

unheard,--that you, on the mere word of a false priest or his wretched

tools, would have believed that a son of Jean de Mer could be a

traitor, I would have driven the words down his throat for a black lie,

a slander on my friend!"

De Ramezay was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon the floor.

Then he lifted his head.

"I was wrong. Forgive me, my friend!" said he, very simply. "I see

clearly that I ought to have held the teller of those tales in

suspicion, knowing of him what I do know. And now, since you give me

your word the tales are false, they are false. Pardon me, I beg of

you, Monsieur!" he added, turning to Marc and holding out his hand.

Marc bowed very low, but appeared not to see the hand.

"If you have heard, Monsieur de Ramezay," said he, "that, before it was

made plain that France would seek to recover Acadie out of English

hands, I, a mere boy, urged my fellow Acadians to accept the rule in

good faith;--if you have heard that I then urged them not to be misled

to their own undoing by an unscrupulous and merciless intriguer who

disgraces his priestly office;--if you have heard that, since then, I

have cursed bitterly the corruption at Quebec which is threatening New

France with instant ruin,--you have heard but truly!"

De Ramezay bit his lips and flushed slightly. Marc was not making the

situation easier; but I could scarce blame him. Our host, however,

motioned us to our seats, taking his own chair immediately that he saw

us seated. For my own part, my anger was quite assuaged. I hastened

to clear the atmosphere.

"Let me tell you the whole story, Ramezay," said I, "and you will

understand. But first let me say that my son is wholly devoted to the

cause of France. His former friendly intercourse with the English, a

boyish matter, he brought to an utter end when the war came this way."

"And let me say," interrupted de Ramezay, manfully striving to amend

his error, "that when one whom I need not name was filling my ear with

matter not creditable to a young man named Marc de Mer, it did not come

at all to my mind--and can you wonder?--that the person so spoken of

was a son of my Briart, of the man who had so perilled his own life to

save mine! I thought your son was but a child. It was thus that the

accusations were allowed to stick in my mind,--which I do most heartily

repent of! And for which I again crave pardon!"

"I beg of you, Monsieur, that you will think no more of it!" said Marc,

heartily, being by this quite appeased.

Then with some particularity I told our story,--not omitting Marc's

visit to his little Puritan at Annapolis, whereat de Ramezay smiled,

and seemed to understand something which had before been dark to him.

When the Black Abbe came upon the scene (I had none of our host's

reluctance to mention the Abbe's name!) de Ramezay's brows gathered

gloomily. But he heard the tale through with breathless attention up

to the point of our landing at Chignecto.

"And now, right glad am I that you are here," he exclaimed, stretching

out a hand to each of us. The frank welcome that illuminated the

strong lines of his face left no more shadow of anger in our hearts.

"And here are the Abbe's precious documents!" said I, fetching forth

the packet.

De Ramezay examined both letters with the utmost care.

"The reward," he said presently, with a dry smile, "is on a scale that

savours of Quebec rather more than of thrifty New England. When Boston

holds the purse-strings, information is bought cheaper than that! As

for the signature, it is passable. But I fear it would scarce satisfy

Master Apthorp!"

"I thought as much," said I, "though I have seen Mascarene's signature

but once."

De Ramezay fingered the paper, and held it up to the light.

"But a point which will interest you particularly, Monsieur," he

continued, addressing Marc, "is the fact that this paper was made in

France!"

"It is gratifying to know that, Monsieur!" replied Marc, with his

vanishing smile.

"It would be embarrassing to some people," said de Ramezay, "if they

knew we were aware of it. But I may say here frankly that they must

not know it. You will readily understand that my hands are something

less than free. As things go now at Quebec, there are methods used

which I cannot look upon with favour, and which I must therefore seem

not to see. I am forced to use the tools which are placed in my hands.

This priest of whom you speak is a power in Acadie. He is thought to

be indispensable to our cause. He will do the things that, alas, have

to be done, but which no one else will do. And I believe he does love

France,--he is surely sincere in that. But he rests very heavily,

methinks, on the conscience of his good bishop at Quebec, who, but for

the powers that interfere, would call him to a sharp account. I tell

you all this so that you will see why I must not charge the Abbe with

this villany of his. I am compelled to seem ignorant of it."

I assured him that I apprehended the straits in which he found himself,

and would be content if he would merely give the Abbe to understand

that Marc was not to be meddled with.

"Of course," said Marc, at this point, "I wish to enter active service,

with Father; and I shall therefore be, for the most part, beyond the

good Abbe's reach. But we have business at Grand Pre and Canard that

will hold us there a week or thereabouts; and it is annoying to walk in

the hourly peril of being tomahawked and scalped for a spy!"

"I'll undertake to secure you in this regard," laughed de Ramezay; "and

in return, perchance I may count on your support when I move against

Annapolis, as my purpose is to do ere many weeks!"

"Assuredly!" said Marc, "if my father have made for me no other plans!"

And he turned to me for my word in the matter.

As it chanced, this was exactly as I had purposed, which I made at once

to appear. It was presently agreed, therefore, that we should tarry

some days at Chignecto, returning thereafter to despatch our affairs at

home and await de Ramezay's summons. As the Commander's guests we were

lodged in his own quarters, and Tamin was detailed to act as our

orderly. The good Beaudry, with his good boat, was sent home not

empty-handed to his goodwife near Shulie, with instructions to come

again for us in five days. And Tamin, having now no more need of it,

sent back to Madame Beaudry, with best compliments, her knitted cap of

red wool.

Chapter VIII

The Black Abbe Comes to Dinner

Of the pleasant but something irrelevant matter of how merrily we

supped that night with de Ramezay and his officers,--many of whom I

knew, all of whom knew me or my adventurous repute,--I will not linger

to discourse. Nor of the costly dainties from France which enriched

the board, side by side with fair salmon from the Tantramar and

bursting-fat plover from the Joli-Coeur marshes. Nor of the good red

wine of Burgundy which so enhanced the relish of those delectable

birds,--and of which I might perhaps have drunk more sparingly had good

Providence but made me more abstemious. Let it suffice to say, there

was wit enough to spice plainer fare, and courtesy that had shone at

Versailles. The long bare room, with its low, black-raftered ceiling

and polished floor, its dark walls patterned with shelves, was lit by

the smoky flames of two-score tallow candles.

By and by chairs were pushed back, the company sat with less ceremony,

the air grew clouded with the blue vapours of the Virginia weed, and

tongues wagged something more loosely than before. There were

songs,--catches from the banks of Rhone, rolling ballads of our own

voyageurs. A young captain quite lately from Versailles, the Sieur de

Ville d'Avray, had an excellent gift of singing.

But now, just when the Sieur de Ville d'Avray was rendering, with most

commendable taste and spirit, the ballade of "Frere Lubin," there came

an interruption.

"Il presche en theologien,

Mais pour boire de belle eau claire,

Faictes la boire a vostre chien,

Frere Lubin ne le peult faire,"--

sang the gay voice,--we all nodding our heads in intent approval, or

even, maybe, seeing that the wine was generous, tapping the measure

openly with our fingers. But suddenly, though there was no noise to

draw them, all eyes turned to the doorway, and the singer paused in his

song. I tipped my chair back into the shadow of a shelf, as did Marc,

who sat a little beyond me. For the visitor, who thus boldly entered

unannounced, was none other than the Black Abbe himself.

[Illustration: For the visitor was none other than the Black Abbe

himself.]

I flung de Ramezay a swift glance of anticipation, which he caught as

he arose in his place to greet the new-comer. On the faces around the

table I took note of an ill-disguised annoyance. The Abbe, it was

plain, found small favour in that company. But to do him justice, he

seemed but little careful to court favour. He stood in the doorway,

frowning, a piercing and bitter light in his close-set eyes. He waited

for de Ramezay to come forward and give him welcome,--which de Ramezay

presently did, and would have led him to a seat at the table.

But "No!" said the grim intruder. "With all thanks for your courtesy,

Monsieur, I have no time, nor am I in the temper, for revellings. When

I have said my word to you I will get me to the house of one of my

flock, and sup plainly, and take what rest I may, for at dawn I must

set out for the Shubenacadie. There is much to be done, and few to do

it, and the time grows short!" and he swept a look of reprimand about

the circle.

"Would you speak with me in private, Father?" asked de Ramezay, with

great civility.

"It is not necessary, Monsieur!" replied the Abbe. "I have but to say

that I arrested the pestilent young traitor, Marc de Mer, on his

father's estate at Canard, and left him under guard while I went to

attend to other business. I found upon his person clear proofs of his

treachery, which would have justified his hanging on the instant. But

I preferred that you should be the judge!"

"You did well!" said de Ramezay, gravely. "I must ask even you,

Monsieur l'Abbe, to remember on all occasions that I, and I only, am

the judge, so long as I remain in Acadie!"

To this rebuke, courteous though it was, the priest vouchsafed no reply

but a slight smile, which uncovered his strong yellow teeth on one

side, like a snarl. He continued his report as if there had been no

interruption.

"In my brief absence his father, with some disaffected habitants,

deceived my faithful followers by a trick, and carried off the

prisoner. But I have despatched a strong party on the trail of the

fugitives. They will certainly be captured, and brought at once--"

But at this point his voice failed him. His face worked violently with

mingled rage and amazement, and following his gaze I saw Marc standing

and bowing with elaborate courtesy.

"They are already here, Sir Abbe," said he, "having made haste that

they might give you welcome!"

A ripple of laughter went around the table, as the company, recovering

from some moments of astonishment, began to understand the situation.

I, too, rose to my feet, smiling expectantly. The priest's narrow eyes

met mine for a second, with a light that was akin to madness. Then

they shifted. But he found his voice again.

"I denounce that man as a proved spy and traitor!" he shouted, striding

forward, and pointing a yellow finger of denunciation across the table

at Marc, while the revellers over whom he leaned made way for him

resentfully. "I demand his instant arrest."

"Gently, Monsieur l'Abbe," said de Ramezay. "These are serious charges

to bring against French gentlemen, and friends of the Commander; have

you proofs--such as will convince me after the closest scrutiny?" he

added, with unmistakable significance.

"I have myself seen the proofs, I tell you," snarled the Abbe,

beginning to exert more self-control, but still far unlike the cool,

inexorable, smiling cynic who had so galled my soul with his

imperturbability when I lay in his bonds beside the Forge.

"I would fain see them, too," insisted de Ramezay.

The priest glared at me, and then at Marc, baffled.

"I have them not," said he, in his slow and biting tones; "but if you

would do your duty as the King's servant, Monsieur de Ramezay, and

arrest yonder spy, you would doubtless find the proofs upon his person,

if he has not taken the pains to dispose of them." Upon this insolent

speech, de Ramezay took his seat, and left the priest standing alone.

When, after a pause, he spoke, his voice was stern and masterful, as if

he were addressing a contumacious servant, though he retained the forms

of courtesy in his phrases.

"Monsieur," said he, "when I wish to learn my duty, it will not be the

somewhat well-known Abbe la Garne whom I will ask to teach me. I must

require you not to presume further upon the sacredness of your office.

Your soutane saves you from being called to account by the gentleman

whose honour you have aspersed. Monsieur Marc de Mer is the son of my

friend. He is also one of my aides-de-camp. I beg that you will

understand me without more words when I say that I have examined the

whole matter to which you refer. For your own credit, press it no

further. I trust you catch my meaning!"

"On the contrary," said the Abbe, coolly, being by this time quite

himself again, and seemingly indifferent to the derisive faces

confronting him--"on the contrary, your meaning altogether escapes me,

Monsieur. All that I understand of your singular behaviour is what the

Governor and the Intendant, not I their unworthy instrument, will be

called to pass judgment upon."

"I will trouble you to understand also, Sir Priest," said de Ramezay,

thoroughly aroused, his tones biting like acid, "that if this young man

is further troubled by any of your faithful Shubenacadie flock, I will

hold you responsible; and the fact that you are useful, having fewer

scruples than trouble a mere layman, shall not save you."

"Be not disturbed for your spy, Monsieur," sneered the Abbe, now finely

tranquil. "I wash my hands of all responsibility in regard to him;

look you to that."

For the space of some seconds there was silence all about that table of

feasting, while the Abbe swept a smiling, bitter glance around the

room. Last, his eyes rested upon mine and leaped with a sudden light

of triumph, so that one might have thought not he but I had been

worsted in the present encounter. Then he turned on his heel and went

out, scornful of courtesy.

A clamour of talk arose upon this most cherished departure; but I heard

it as in a dream, being wrapped up in wonder as to the meaning of that

look of triumph.

"Has the Black Abbe cast a spell upon you, Father?" I heard Marc

inquiring presently. Whereupon I came to myself with a kind of start,

and made merry with the rest of them.

It was late when Marc and I went to the little chamber where our

pallets were stretched. There we found Tamin awaiting us. He was in a

sweat of fear.

"What is it, my Tamin?" asked Marc.

"The Black Abbe," he grunted, the drollness all chased out of the

little wrinkles about his eyes.

"Well," said I, impatiently. "The Black Abbe; and what of him? He is

repenting to-night that he ever tried conclusions with me, I'll wager."

I spoke the more confidently because in my heart I was still troubled

to know the meaning of the Abbe's glance.

"Hein," said Tamin. "He looked--his eyes would lift a scalp! I was

standing in the light just under the window, when of a sudden the door

closed; and there he stood beside me, with no sound, and still as a

heron. He looked at me with those two narrow eyes, as if he would eat

my heart out: and I stood there, and shook. Then, of a sudden, his

face changed. It became like a good priest's face when he says the

prayer for the soul that is passing; and he looked at me with solemn

eyes. And I was yet more afraid. 'It is not for me to rebuke you,' he

said, speaking so that each word seemed an hour long; 'red runs your

blood on the deep snow beneath the apple tree.' And before I could

steady my teeth to ask him what he meant, he was gone. 'Red runs your

blood beneath the apple tree.' What did he mean by that?"

"Oh," said I, speaking lightly to encourage him, though in truth the

words fell on me with a chill, "he said it to spoil your sleep and

poison your content. It was a cunning revenge, seeing that he dare not

lift a hand to punish you otherwise."

"To be sure, my Tamin, that is all of it," added Marc. "Who has ever

heard that the Black Abbe was a prophet? Faith, 'tis as Father says, a

cunning and a devilish revenge. But you can balk it finely by paying

no heed to it."

Tamin's face had brightened mightily, but he still looked serious.

"Do you think so?" he exclaimed with eagerness. "'Tis as you say

indeed,--the Black Abbe is no prophet. Had it been Grul, now, that

said it, there were something to lie awake for, eh?"

"Yes, indeed, if Grul had said it," muttered Marc, contemplating him

strangely.

But for me, I was something impatient now to be asleep.

"Think no more of it, my friend," said I, and dismissed him. Yet

sleepy as I was, I thought of it, and even I must have begun to dream

of it. The white sheet of moonlight that lay across my couch became a

drift of snow with blood upon it, and the patterned shadow upon the

wall an apparition leaning over,--when out of an immense distance, as

it were, I heard Marc's voice.

"Father," he cried softly, "are you awake?"

"Yes, dear lad," said I. "What is it?"

"I have been wondering," said he, "why the Black Abbe looked at you,

not me, in his going. He had such a countenance as warns me that he

purposes some cunning stroke. But I fear his enmity has turned from me

to you."

"Well, lad, it was surely I that balked him. What would you have?" I

asked.

"Oh," said he, heavily, "that I should have turned that bloodhound onto

your trail!"

"Marc, if it will comfort you to know it, carry this in your memory,"

said I, with a cheerful lightness, like froth upon the strong emotion

that flooded my heart. "When the Black Abbe strikes at me, it will be

through you. He knows where I am like to prove most vulnerable!"

"'Tis all right, then, so as we sink or swim together, Father," said

Marc, quietly.

"That's the way of it now, dear lad! Sweet sleep to you, and dreams of

red hair!" said I. And I turned my face drowsily to the wall.

Chapter IX

The Abbe Strikes Again

The few days of our stay at Chignecto were gay and busy ones; and all

through them hummed the wind steadily across the pale green marshes,

and buffeted the golden-rod on our high shoulder of upland. De Ramezay

gratified me by making much of Marc. The three of us rode daily abroad

among the surrounding settlements. And I spent many hours planning

with de Ramezay a fort which should be built on the site of this camp,

in case the coming campaign should fail to drive the English out of

Acadie. De Ramezay, as was ever his wont, was full of confidence in

the event. But of the sorry doings at Quebec, of the plundering hands

upon the public purse, of the shamelessness in high places, he hinted

to me so broadly that I began to see much ground for Marc's misgivings.

And my heart cried out for my fair country of New France.

On the fifth day of our stay,--it was a Wednesday, and very early in

the morning,--the good Beaudry with his good boat came for us. The

tide serving at about two hours after sunrise, we set out then for

Grand Pre, well content with the jade Fortune whose whims had so far

favoured us. De Ramezay and his officers were at the wharf-end to bid

us God-speed; and as I muse upon it now they may have thought curiously

of it to see the loving fashion in which both Marc and I made a point

to embrace our faithful Tamin. But that is neither here nor there, so

long as we let him plainly understand how our hearts were towards him.

The voyage home was uneventful, save that we met contrary winds,

whereby it fell that not until evening of the second day did we come

into the Gaspereau mouth and mark the maids of Grand Pre carrying water

from the village well.

The good Beaudry we paid to his satisfaction, and left to find lodging

in one of the small houses by the water side; while Marc and I took our

way up the long street with its white houses standing amid their apple

trees. Having gone perhaps four or five furlongs, returning many a

respectful salutation from the doorways as we passed, we then turned up

the hill by a little lane which was bordered stiffly with the poplar

trees of Lombardy, and in short space we came to a pleasant cottage in

a garden, under shadow of the tall white church which stood sentinel

over the Grand Pre roofs. The cottage had some apple trees behind it,

and many late roses blooming in the garden. It was the home of the

good Cure, Father Fafard, most faithful and most gentle of priests.

With Father Fafard we lodged that night, and for some days thereafter.

The Cure's round face grew unwontedly stern and anxious as we told him

our adventures, and rehearsed the doings of the Black Abbe. He got up

from time to time and paced the room, muttering once--"Alas that such a

man should discredit our holy office! What wrath may he not bring down

upon this land!"--and more to a like purport.

My own house in Grand Pre, where Marc had inhabited of late, and where

I was wont to pay my flitting visits, I judged well to put off my hands

for the present, foreseeing that troublous times were nigh. I

transferred it in Father Fafard's presence to a trusty villager by name

Marquette, whom I could count upon to transfer it back to me as soon as

the skies should clear again. I knew that if, by any fortune of war,

English troops should come to be quartered in Grand Pre, they would be

careful for the property of the villagers; but the house and goods of

an enemy under arms, such would belike fare ill. I collected, also,

certain moneys due me in the village, for I knew that the people were

prosperous, and I did not know how long their prosperity might

continue. This done, Marc and I set out for my own estate beside the

yellow Canard. There I had rents to gather in, but no house to put off

my hands. At the time when Acadie was ceded to England, a generation

back, the house of the de Mers had been handed over to one of the most

prosperous of our habitants, and with that same family it had ever

since remained, yielding indeed a preposterously scant rental, but

untroubled by the patient conqueror.

My immediate destination was the Forge, where I expected to find Babin

awaiting me with news and messages. At the Forge, too, I would receive

payment from my tenants, and settle certain points which, as I had

heard, were at dispute amongst them.

As we drew near the Forge, through the pleasant autumn woods, it wanted

about an hour of noon. I heard, far off, the muffled thunder of a

cock-partridge drumming. But there was no sound of hammer on clanging

anvil, no smoke rising from the wide Forge chimney; and when we

entered, the ashes were dead cold. It was plain there had been no fire

in the forge that day.

"Where can Babin be?" I muttered in vexation. "If he got my message,

there can be no excuse for his absence."

"I'll wager, Father," said Marc, "that if he is not off on some errand

of yours, then he is sick abed, or dead. Nought besides would keep

Babin when you called him."

I went to a corner and pulled a square of bark from a seemingly hollow

log up under the rafters. In the secret niche thus revealed was a

scrap of birch bark scrawled with some rude characters of Babin's,

whence I learned that my trusty smith was sick of a sharp inflammation.

I passed the scrap over to Marc, and felt again in the hollow.

"What, in the name of all the saints, is this?" I exclaimed, drawing

out a short piece of peeled stick. A portion of the stick was cut down

to a flat surface, and on this was drawn with charcoal a straight line,

having another straight line perpendicular to it, and bisecting it. At

the top of the perpendicular was a figure of the sun, thus:--

*

|

----+----

"It's a message from Grul," said Marc, the instant that his eyes fell

upon it.

"H'm; and how do you know that?" said I, turning it over curiously in

my fingers.

"Well," replied Marc, "the peeled stick is Grill's sign manual. What

does he say?"

"He seems to say that he is going to build a windmill," said I, with

great seriousness; "but doubtless you will give this hieroglyphic quite

a different interpretation."

Marc laughed,--yes, laughed audibly. And it is possible that his

Penobscot grandmother turned in her grave. It was good to know that

the lad _could_ laugh, which I had begun to doubt; but it was puzzling

to me to hear him laugh at the mere absurdity which I had just uttered,

when my most polished witticisms, of which I had shot off many of late

at Chignecto, and in conversation with good Father Fafard, had never

availed to bring more than a phantom smile to his lips. However, I

made no comment, but handed him "Grul's sign manual," as he chose to

call it.

"Why, Father," said he, "you understand it well enough, I know. This

is plainly the sun at high noon. At high noon, therefore, we may

surely expect to see Grul. He has been here but a short time back; for

see, the wood is not yet dry."

"Sapristi!" said I, "do you call that the sun, lad? It is very much

like a windmill."

How Marc might have retorted upon me, I know not; for at the moment,

though it yet wanted much of noon, the fantastic figure of the

madman--if he were a madman--sped into the Forge. He stopped abruptly

before us and scrutinized us for some few seconds in utter silence, his

eyes glittering and piercing like sword points. His long white hair

and beard were disordered with haste, the flowers and feathers in his

pointed cap were for the most part broken, even as when we had last

seen him, and his gaudy mantle was somewhat befouled with river mud.

Yet such power was there in his look and in his gesture, that when he

stretched out his little white staff toward me and said "Come," I had

much ado to keep from obeying him without question. Yet this I would

not permit myself, as was natural.

"Whither?" I questioned. "And for what purpose?"

By this time he was out at the door, but he stopped. Giving me a

glance of scorn he turned to Marc, and stretched out his staff.

"Come," he said. And in a breath he was gone, springing with

incredible swiftness and smoothness through the underbrush.

"We must follow, Father!" cried Marc; and in the same instant was away.

For my own part, it was sorely against me to be led by the nose, and

thus blindly, by the madman--whom I now declared certainly to be mad.

But Marc had gone, so I had no choice, as I conceived it, but to stand

by the lad. I went too. And seeing that I had to do it, I did it

well, and presently overtook them.

"What is this folly?" I asked angrily, panting a little, I confess.

But Marc signed to me to be silent. I obeyed, though with ill enough

grace, and ran on till my mouth was like a board, my tongue like wool.

Then the grim light of the forest whitened suddenly before us, and our

guide stopped. Instinctively we imitated his motions, as he stole

forward and peered through a screen of leafage. We were on a bank

overlooking the Canard. A little below, and paddling swiftly towards

the river-mouth, were two canoes manned with the Abbe's Micmacs. In

the bottom of one canoe lay a little fair-haired boy, bound.

"My God!" cried Marc, under his breath, "'tis the child! 'tis little

Philip Hanford."

Grul turned his wild eyes upon us.

"The power of the dog!" he muttered, "the power of the dog!"

"We must get a canoe and follow them!" exclaimed Marc, in great

agitation, turning to go, and looking at me with passionate appeal.

But before I could speak, to assure him of my aid and support, Grul

interfered.

"Wait!" he said, with meaning emphasis, thrusting his little staff

almost in the lad's face. "Come!" and he started up along the river

bank, going swiftly but with noiseless caution. I expected Marc to

demur, but not so. He evidently had a childlike faith in this

fantastic being. He followed without a protest. Needless to say, I

followed also. But all this mystery, and this blind obedience, and

this lordly lack of explanation, were little to my liking.

We had not gone above half a mile when Grul stopped, and bent his mad

head to listen. Such an attitude of listening I had never seen before.

The feathers and stalks in his cap seemed to lean forward like a

horse's ears; his hair and beard took on a like inclination of

intentness; even the grim little scarlet head upon his staff seemed to

listen with its master. And Marc did as Grul did. Then came a sound

as of a woman weeping, very close at hand. Grul motioned us to pass

him, and creep forward. We did so, lying down and moving as softly as

lizards. But I turned to see what our mysterious guide was doing--and

lo, he was gone. He might have faded into a summer exhalation, so

complete and silent was his exit.

This was too much. Only my experience as a woods-fighter, my

instinctive caution, kept me from springing to my feet and calling him.

But my suspicions were all on fire. I laid a firm hand of detention on

Marc's arm, and whispered:--

"He's gone; 'tis a trap."

Marc looked at me in some wonder, and more impatience.

"No trap, Father; that's Grul's way,"

"Well," I whispered, "we had better go another way, I'm thinking."

As I spoke, the woman's weeping came to us more distinctly. Something

in the sound seemed to catch Marc's heart, and his face changed.

"'Tis all right, I tell you, Father!" came from between his teeth.

"Come! come! Oh, I know the voice!" And he crept forward resolutely.

And, of course, I followed.

Chapter X

A Bit of White Petticoat

We had not advanced above a score of paces when, peering stealthily

between the stems of herbs and underbrush, we saw what Grul had desired

us to see. Two more canoes were drawn up at the water's edge. Four

savages were in sight, sprawling in indolent attitudes under the shade

of a wide water-maple. In their midst, at the foot of the tree, lay a

woman bound securely. She was huddled together in a posture of

hopeless despair; and a dishevelled glory of gold-red tresses fell over

her face to hide it. She lay in a moveless silence. Yet the sound of

weeping continued, and Marc, gripping my hand fiercely, set his mouth

to my ear and gasped:--

"'Tis my own maid! 'Tis Prudence!"

Then I saw where she sat, a little apart, a slender maid with a lily

face, and hair glowing dark red in the full sun that streamed upon her.

She was so tied to another tree that she might have no comfort or

companionship of her sister,--for I needed now no telling to convey it

to me that the lady with the hidden face and the unweeping anguish was

Mistress Mizpah Hanford, mother of the child whom I had just seen

carried away.

I grieved for Marc, whose eyes stared out upon the weeping maid from a

face that had fallen to the hue of ashes. But I praised the saints for

sending to our aid this madman Grul,--whom, in my heart, I now

graciously absolved from the charge of madness. Seeing the Black

Abbe's hand in the ravishment of these tender victims, I made no doubt

to cross him yet again, and my heart rose exultantly to the enterprise.

"Cheer up, lad," I whispered to Marc. "Come away a little till we

plot."

I showed my confidence in my face, and I could see that he straightway

took heart thereat. Falling back softly for a space of several rods,

we paused in a thicket to take counsel. As soon as we could speak

freely, Marc exclaimed, "They may go at any moment, Father. We must

haste."

"No," said I, "they'll not go till the cool of the day. The others

went because they have plainly been ordered to part the child from his

mother. It is a most cunning and most cruel malice that could so order

it."

"It is my enemy's thrust at me," said Marc. "How did he know that I

loved the maid?"

"His eyes are in every corner of Acadie," said I; "but we will foil him

in this as in other matters. Marc, my heart is stirred mightily by

that poor mother's pain. I tell you, lad,"--and I looked diligently to

the priming of my pistols as I spoke,--"I tell you I will not rest till

I give the little one back into her arms."

But Marc, as was not unnatural, thought now rather of his lily maid

sobbing under the tree.

"Yes, Father," said he, "but what is to be done now, to save Prudence

and Mizpah?"

"Of course, dear lad," I answered, smilingly, "that is just what we are

here for. But let me consider." And sitting down upon a fallen tree,

I buried my face in my hands. Marc, the while, waited with what

patience he could muster, relying wholly upon my conduct of the

business, but fretting for instant action.

We were well armed (each with a brace of pistols and a broadsword, the

forest being no place for rapiers), and I accounted that we were an

overmatch for the four redskins. But there was much at stake, with

always the chance of accident. And, moreover, these Indians were

allies of France, wherefore I was most unwilling to attack them from

the advantage of an ambush. These various considerations decided me.

"Marc, we'll fight them if needful," said I, lifting up my head. "But

I'm going to try first the conclusions of peace. I will endeavour to

ransom the prisoners. These Micmacs are mightily avaricious, and may

yield. It goes against me to attack them from an ambush, seeing that

they are of our party and servants of King Louis."

At this speech Marc looked very ill content.

"But, Father," he objected, "shall we forego the advantage of a

surprise? We are but two to their four, and we put the whole issue at

hazard. And as for their being of our party, they bring shame upon our

party, and greatly dishonour the service of King Louis."

"Nevertheless, dear lad," said I, "they have their claim upon us,--not

lightly to be overlooked, in my view of it. But hear my plan. You

will go back to where we lay a moment ago, and there be ready with your

pistols. I will approach openly by the water side and enter into

parley with them. If I can buy the captives, well and good. If they

deny me, we quarrel. You will know when to play your part. I am

satisfied of that. I shall feel safe under cover of your pistols, and

shall depend upon you to account for two of the four. Only, do not be

too hasty!"

"Oh, I'm cool as steel now, Father," said Marc. "But I like not this

plan. The danger is all yours. And the quarrel is mine. Let us go

into it side by side!"

"Chut, lad!" said I. "Your quarrel's my quarrel, and the danger is not

more for me than for you, as you won't be long away from me when the

fight begins,--if it comes to a fight. And further, my plan is both an

honest one and like to succeed. Come, let us be doing!"

Marc seized my hand, and gave me a look of pride and love which put a

glow at my heart. "You know best, Father," said he. And turning away,

he crept toward his post. For me, I made a circuit, in leisurely

fashion, and came out upon the shore behind a point some rods below the

spot where the savages lay. Then I walked boldly up along the water's

edge.

The Indians heard me before I came in view, and were on their feet when

I appeared around the point. They regarded me with black suspicion,

but no hostile movement, as I strode straight up to them and greeted,

fairly enough but coldly, a tall warrior, whom I knew to be one of the

Black Abbe's lieutenants. He grunted, and asked me who I was.

"You know well enough who I am," said I, seating myself carelessly upon

a rock, "seeing that you had a chief hand in the outrages put upon me

the other day by that rascally priest of yours!"

At this the chief stepped up to me with an air of menace, his

high-cheeked, coppery face scowling with wrath. But I eyed him

steadily, and raised my hand with a little gesture of authority.

"Wait!" said I; and he paused doubtfully. "I have no grudge against

you for that," I went on. "You but obeyed your master's orders

faithfully, as you will doubtless obey mine a few weeks hence, when I

take command of your rabble and try to make you of some real service to

the King. I am one of the King's captains."

At this the savage looked puzzled, while his fellows grunted in

manifest uncertainty.

"What you want?" he asked bluntly.

I looked at him for some moments without replying. Then I glanced at

the form of Mizpah Hanford, still unmoving, the face still hidden under

that pathetic splendour of loosened hair. Prudence I could not catch

view of, by reason of another tree which intervened. But the sound of

her weeping had ceased.

"I am ready to ransom these prisoners of yours," said I.

The savages glanced furtively at each other, but the coppery masks of

their features betrayed nothing.

"Not for ransom," said the chief, with a dogged emphasis.

I opened my eyes wide. "You astonish me!" said I. "Then how will they

profit you? If you wanted their scalps, those you might have taken at

Annapolis."

At that word, revealing that I knew whence they came, I took note of a

stir in the silent figure beneath the maple. I felt that her eyes were

watching me from behind that sumptuous veil which her bound hands could

not put aside. I went on, with a sudden sense of exaltation.

"Give me these prisoners," I urged, half pleading, half commanding.

"They are useless to you except for ransom. I will give you more than

any one else will give you. Tell me your price."

But the savage was obstinate.

"Not for ransom," he repeated, shaking his head.

"You are afraid of your priest," said I, with slow scorn. "He has told

you to bring them to him. And what will you get? A pistole or two for

each! But I will give you gold, good French crowns, ten times as much

as you ever got before!"

As I spoke, one of the listening savages got up, his eyes a-sparkle

with eagerness, and muttered something in Micmac, which I could not

understand. But the chief turned upon him so angrily that he slunk

back, abashed.

"Agree with me now," I said earnestly. "Then wait here till I fetch

the gold, and I will deliver it into your hands before you deliver the

captives."

But the chief merely turned aside with an air of settling the question,

and repeated angrily:--

"I say white girls not for ransom."

I rose to my feet.

"Fools, you are," said I, "and no men, but sick women, afraid of your

rascal priest. I offered to buy when I might have taken! Now I will

take, and you will get no ransom! Unloose their bonds!"

And I pointed with my sword, while my left hand rested upon a pistol in

my belt. I am a very pretty shot with my left hand.

Before the words were fairly out of my lips the four sprang at me.

Stepping lightly aside, I fired the pistol full at the chief's breast,

and he plunged headlong. In the next instant came a report from the

edge of the underbrush, and a second savage staggered, groaned, and

fell upon his knees, while Marc leaped down and rushed upon a third.

The remaining one snatched up his musket (the muskets were forgotten at

the first, when I seemed to be alone), and took a hasty aim at me; but

before he could pull the trigger my second pistol blazed in his face,

and he dropped, while his weapon, exploding harmlessly, knocked up some

mud and grass. I saw Marc chase his antagonist to the canoes at the

point of his sword, and prick him lightly for the more speed. But at

the same instant, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the savage whom

Marc's shot had brought down struggle again to his feet and swing his

hatchet. With a yell I was upon him, and my sword point (the point is

swifter than the edge in an emergency) went through his throat with a

sobbing click. But I was just too late. The hatchet had left his

hand; and the flying blade caught Marc in the shoulder. The sword

dropped from his grasp, he reeled, and sat down with a shudder before I

could get to his side. I paid no further heed to the remaining Indian,

but was dimly conscious of him launching a canoe and paddling away in

wild haste.

I lifted the dear lad into the shade, and anxiously examined the wound.

"'Tis but a flesh wound," said he, faintly; but I found that the blow

had not only grievously gashed the flesh, but split the shoulder blade.

"Flesh wound!" I muttered. "You'll do no more fighting in this

campaign, dear lad, unless they put it off till next spring. This

shoulder will be months in mending."

"When it does mend, will my arm be the same as ever?" he asked,

somewhat tremulously. "'Tis my sword arm."

"Yes, lad, yes; you need not trouble about that," said I. "But it is a

case for care."

In the meantime, I was cleansing the wound with salt water which I had

brought from the river in my cap. Now, I cast about in my mind for a

bandage; and I looked at the prisoner beneath the maple. Marc first,

courtesy afterwards, I thought in my heart; for I durst not leave the

wound exposed with so many flies in the air.

The lady's little feet, bound cruelly, were drawn up in part beneath

her dark skirt, but so that a strip of linen petticoat shone under

them. I hesitated, but only for a second. Lifting the poor little

feet softly to one side, with a stammered, "Your pardon, Madame, but

the need is instant!" I slit off a breadth of the soft white stuff

with my sword. And I was astonished to feel my face flush hotly as I

did it. With strangely thrilling fingers, and the help of my sword

edge, I then set free her feet, and with no more words turned hastily

back to Marc, abashed as a boy.

In a few moments I had Marc's wound softly dressed, for I had some

skill in this rough and ready surgery. I could see by his contracting

pupils that the hurt was beginning to agonize, but the dear lad never

winced under my fingers, and I commended him heartily as a brave

patient. Then placing a bundle of cool ferns under his head for a

pillow, I turned to the captives, from whom there had been never a word

this while.

Chapter XI

I Fall a Willing Captive

The lady whose feet I had freed had risen so far as to rest crouching

against the gnarled trunk of the maple tree. The glorious abundance of

her hair she had shaken back, revealing a white face chiselled like a

Madonna's, a mouth somewhat large, with lips curved passionately, and

great sea-coloured eyes which gazed upon me from dark circles of pain.

But the face was drawn now with that wordless and tearless anguish

which makes all utterance seem futile,--the anguish of a mother whose

child has been torn from her arms and carried she knows not whither.

Her hands lay in her lap, tight bound; and I noted their long, white

slenderness. I felt as if I should go on my knees to serve her--I who

had but just now served her with such scant courtesy as it shamed my

soul to think on. As I bent low to loose her hands, I sought in my

mind for phrases of apology that might show at the same time my

necessity and my contrition. But lifting my eyes for an instant to

hers, I was pierced with a sense of the anguish which was rending her

heart, and straightway I forgot all nice phrases.

What I said--the words coming from my lips abruptly--was this: "I will

find him! I will save him! Be comforted, Madame! He shall be

restored to you!"

In great, simple matters, how little explanation seems needed. She

asked not who I was, how I knew, whom I would save, how it was to be

done; and I thrill proudly even now to think how my mere word convinced

her. The tense lines of her face yielded suddenly, and she broke into

a shaking storm of tears, moaning faintly over and over--"Philip!--Oh,

my Philip!--Oh, my boy!" I watched her with a great compassion. Then,

ere I could prevent, she amazed me by snatching my hand and pressing it

to her lips. But she spoke no word of thanks. Drawing my hand gently

away, in great embarrassment, I repeated: "Believe me, oh, believe me,

Madame; I _will_ save the little one." Then I went to release the

other captive, whom I had well-nigh forgotten the while.

This lily maid of Marc's, this Prudence, I found in a white tremour of

amazement and inquiry. From where she sat in her bonds, made fast to

her tree, she could see nothing of what went on, but she could hear

everything, and knew she had been rescued. It was a fair, frank,

childlike face she raised to mine as I smiled down upon her, swiftly

and gently severing her bonds; and I laid a hand softly on that rich

hair which Marc had praised, being right glad he loved so sweet a maid

as this. I forgot that I must have seemed to her in this act a shade

familiar, my fatherly forty years not showing in my face. So, indeed,

it was for an instant, I think; for she coloured maidenly. But seeing

the great kindness in my eyes, the thought was gone. Her own eyes

filled with tears, and she sprang up and clung to me, sobbing, like a

child just awakened in the night from a bad dream.

"Oh," she panted, "are they gone? did you kill them? how good you are!

Oh, God will reward you for being so good to us!" And she trembled so

she would certainly have fallen if I had not held her close.

"You are safe now, dear," said I, soothing her, quite forgetting that

she knew me not as I knew her, and that, if she gave the matter any

heed at all, my speech must have puzzled her sorely. "But come with

me!" And I led her to where Marc lay in the shade.

The dear lad's face had gone even whiter than when I left him, and I

saw that he had swooned.

"The pain and shock have overcome him!" I exclaimed, dropping on my

knees to remove the pillow of ferns from under his head. As I did so,

I heard the girl catch her breath sharply, with a sort of moan, and

glancing up, I saw her face all drawn with misery. While I looked in

some surprise, she suddenly threw herself down, and crushed his face in

her bosom, quite shutting off the air, which he, being in a faint,

greatly needed. I was about to protest, when her words stopped me.

"Marc, Marc," she moaned, "why did you betray us? Oh, why did you

betray us so cruelly? But oh, I love you even if you _were_ a traitor.

Now you are dead" (she had not heard me, evidently, saying he had

swooned), "now you are dead I may love you, no matter what you did.

Oh, my love, why did you, why did you?" And while I listened in

bewilderment, she sprang to her feet, and her blue eyes blazed upon me

fiercely.

"You killed him!" she hissed at me across his body.

This I remembered afterwards. At the moment I only knew that she was

calling the lad a traitor. That I was well tired of.

"Madame!" said I, sternly. "Do not presume so far as to touch him

again."

It was her turn to look astonished now. Her eyes faltered from my

angry face to Marc's, and back again in a kind of helplessness.

"Oh, you do well to accuse him," I went on, bitterly,--perhaps not very

relevantly. "You shall not dishonour him by touching him, you, who can

believe vile lies of the loyal gentleman who loves you, and has, it may

be, given his life for the girl who now insults him."

The girl's face was now in such a confusion of distress that I almost,

but not quite, pitied her. Ere she could find words to reply, however,

her sister was at her side, catching her hands, murmuring at her ear.

"Why, Prudence, child," she said, "don't you see it all? Didn't you

see it all? How splendidly Marc saved us" (I blessed the tact which

led her to put the first credit on Marc)--"Marc and this most brave and

gallant gentleman? It was one of the savages who struck Marc down,

before my eyes, as he was fighting to save us. That dreadful story was

a lie, Prudence; don't you see?"

The maid saw clearly enough, and with a mighty gladness. She was for

throwing herself down again beside the lad to cover his face with

kisses--and shut off the air which he so needed. But I thrust her

aside. She had believed Marc a traitor. Marc might forgive her when

he could think for himself. I was in no mind to.

She looked at me with unutterable reproach, her eyes filling and

running over, but she drew back submissively.

"I know," she said, "I don't deserve that you should let me go near

him. But--I think--I think he would want me to, sir! See, he wants

me! Oh, let me!" And I perceived that Marc's eyes had opened. They

saw no one but the maid, and his left hand reached out to her.

"Oh, well!" said I, grimly. And thereafter it seemed to me that the

lad got on with less air than men are accustomed to need when they

would make recovery from a swoon.

I turned to Mizpah Hanford; and I wondered what sort of eyes were in

Marc's head, that he should see Prudence when Mizpah was by. Before I

could speak, Mizpah began to make excuses for her sister. With heroic

fortitude she choked back her own grief, and controlled her voice with

a brave simplicity. Coming from her lips, these broken excuses seemed

sufficient--though to this day I question whether I ought to have

relented so readily. She pleaded, and I listened, and was content to

listen so long as she would continue to plead. But there was little I

clearly remember. At last, however, these words, with which she

concluded, aroused me:--

"How could we any longer refuse to believe," she urged, "when the good

priest confessed to us plainly, after much questioning, that it was

Monsieur Marc de Mer who had sent the savages to steal us, and had told

them just the place to find us, and the hour? The savages had told us

the same thing at first, taunting us with it when we threatened them

with Marc's vengeance. You see, Monsieur, they had plainly been

informed by some one of our little retreat at the riverside, and of the

hour at which we were wont to frequent it. Yet we repudiated the tale

with horror. Then yesterday, when the good priest told us the same

thing, with a reluctance which showed his horror of it, what _could_ we

do but believe? Though it did seem to us that if Marc were false there

could be no one true. The priest believed it. He was kind and

pitiful, and tried to get the savages to set us free. He talked most

earnestly, most vehemently to them; but it was in their own barbarous

language, and of course we could not understand. He told us at last

that he could do nothing at the time, but that he would exert himself

to the utmost to get us out of their hands by and by. Then he went

away. And then--"

"And then, Madame," said I, "your little one was taken from you at his

orders!"

"Why, what do you mean, Monsieur?" she gasped, her great sea-coloured

eyes opening wide with fresh terror. "At his orders? By the orders of

that kind priest?"

"Of what appearance was he?" I inquired, in return.

"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "he was square yet spare of figure,

dark-skinned almost as Marc, with a very wide lower face, thin, thin

lips, and remarkably light eyes set close together,--a strange, strong

face that might look very cruel if he were angry. He looked angry once

when he was arguing with the Indians."

"You have excellently described our bitterest foe, and yours, Madame,"

said I, smiling. "The wicked Abbe La Garne, the pastor and master of

these poor tools of his whom I would fain have spared, but could not."

And I pointed to the bodies of the three dead savages, where they lay

sprawling in various pathetic awkwardnesses of posture.

She looked, seemed to think of them for the first time, shivered, and

turned away her pitiful eyes.

"Those poor wretches," I continued, "were sent by this kind priest to

capture you. He knew when and where to find you, because he had played

the eavesdropper when Marc and I were talking of you."

"Oh," she cried, clenching her white hands desperately, "can there be a

priest so vile?"

"Ay, and this which you have heard is but a part of his villany. We

have but lately baulked him in a plot whereby he had nearly got Marc

hanged. This, Madame, I promise myself the honour of relating to you

by and by; but now we must get the poor lad removed to some sort of

house and comfort."

"And, oh," cried this poor mother, in a voice of piercing anguish and

amazement, as if she could not yet wholly realize it,--"my boy, my boy!

He is in the power of such a monster!"

"Be of good heart, I beseech you," said I, with a kind of passion in my

voice. "I will find him, I swear I will bring him back to you. I will

wait only so long as to see my own boy in safe hands!"

Again that look of trust was turned upon me, thrilling me with

invincible resolve.

"Oh, I trust you, Monsieur!" she cried. Then pressing both hands to

her eyes with a pathetic gesture, and thrusting back her hair--"I knew

you, somehow, for the Seigneur de Briart," she went on, "as soon as I

heard you demanding our release. And I immediately felt a great hope

that you would set us free and save Philip. I suppose it is from Marc

that I have learned such confidence, Monsieur!"

I bowed, awkward and glad, and without a pretty word to repay her

with,--I who have some name in Quebec for well-turned compliment. But

before this woman, who was young enough to be my daughter, I was like a

green boy.

"You are too kind," I stammered. "It will be my great ambition to

justify your good opinion of me."

Then I turned away to launch a canoe.

While I busied myself getting the canoe ready, and spreading ferns in

the bottom of it for Marc to lie on, Mizpah walked up and down in a

kind of violent speechlessness, as it were, twisting her long white

hands, but no more giving voice to her grief and her anxiety. Once she

sat down abruptly under the maple tree, and buried her face in her

hands. Her shoulders shook, but not a sound of sob or moan came to my

ears. My heart ached at the sight. I determined that I would give her

work to do, such as would compel some attention on her part.

As soon as the canoe was ready I asked:

"Can you paddle, Madame?"

She nodded an affirmative, her voice seeming to have gone from her.

"Very well," said I, "then you will take the bow paddle, will you not?"

"Yes, indeed!" she found voice to cry, with an eagerness which I took

to signify that she thought by paddling hard to find her child the

sooner. But the manner in which she picked up the paddle, and took her

place, and held the canoe, showed me she was no novice in the art of

canoeing. I now went to lift Marc and carry him to the canoe.

"Let me help you," pleaded Prudence, springing up from beside him. "He

must be so heavy!" Whereat I laughed.

"I can walk, I am sure, Father," said Marc, faintly, "if you put me on

my feet and steady me."

"I doubt it, lad," said I, "and 'tis hardly worth while wasting your

little strength in the attempt. Now, Prudence," I went on, turning to

the girl, "I want you to get in there in front of the middle bar, and

make a comfortable place for this man's head,--if you don't mind taking

a live traitor's head in your lap!"

At this the poor girl's face flushed scarlet, as she quickly seated

herself in the canoe; and her lips trembled so that my heart smote me

for the jest.

"Forgive me, child. I meant it not as a taunt, but merely as a poor

jest," I hastened to explain. "Your sister has told me all, and you

were scarce to blame. Now, take the lad and make him as comfortable as

a man with a shattered shoulder can hope to be." And I laid Marc

gently down so that he could slip his long legs under the bar. He

straightway closed his eyes from sheer weakness; but he could feel his

maid bend her blushing face over his, and his expression was a

strangely mingled one of suffering and content.

Taking my place in the stern of the canoe, I pushed out. The tide was

just beginning to ebb. There was no wind. The shores were green and

fair on either hand. My dear lad, though sore hurt, was happy in the

sweet tenderness of his lily maid. As for me, I looked perhaps

overmuch at the radiant head of Mizpah, at the lithe vigorous swaying

of her long arms, the play of her gracious shoulders as she paddled

strenuously. I felt that it was good to be in this canoe, all of us

together, floating softly down to the little village beside the

Canard's mouth.

Part II

Mizpah