The Fellowship Dissolved
In Giraud's cabin during our absence things had gone tranquilly. We
found Marc mending,--pale and weak indeed, but happy; Prudence no
longer pale, and with a content in her eyes which told us that her time
had not been all passed in grieving for our absence. Father Fafard was
in charge, of course; and of the Black Abbe there had been nothing seen
or heard since our departure.
Nevertheless there was great news, and a word that deeply concerned me.
De Ramezay had led his little army against Annapolis. Just ten days
before had he passed up the Valley; and for me he had left an urgent
message, begging me to join him immediately on my return. This was a
black disappointment; for just now my soul desired nothing so much as a
few days of quiet converse with Mizpah, and the chance to show her a
courtesy something different from the rough comradeship of our
wilderness travels. But this was not to be. It was incumbent upon me
to go in the morning.
That evening was a busy one; but I snatched leisure to sit by Marc's
bedside and give the dear lad a hasty outline of our adventure. The
tale called a flush to his face, and breathless exclamations from
Prudence; but Mizpah sat in silence, save for a faint protest once or
twice when I told of her heroism, and of her noble self-sacrifice on
behalf of the Indian lad. She was weighed down with a sadness which
she could make no pretence to hide,--doubtless feeling the more little
Philip's absence and loneliness as she contemplated Marc's joy on my
return. My hands and lips ached with a longing to comfort her, but I
firmly forbade myself to intrude upon her sorrow. By and by, when I
spoke of my positive determination to set out for Annapolis in the
early morning, both Marc and Prudence strove hard to dissuade me,
crying out fervently against my going; but Mizpah said nothing more
than--
"Why not take _one day_, at least, to rest?"
And I was somewhat hurt at the quiet way she said it. Said I to myself
within, "She might spare me a little thought, now that she knows Philip
is safe, and sure to be brought back to her."
In the morning I saw Big Etienne and Xavier set forth upon their
quest,--and Mizpah stood beside me to wish them a grateful "God-speed."
Pale and sad as was the exquisite Madonna face, her lips were
marvellously red, and wore an unwonted tenderness. Her eyes evaded
mine,--which hurt me sorely, but I was comforted a little by her word
as the canoe slipped silently away.
"I wish we were going with them," said she, in a wistful voice.
It was that "we" that stirred my heart.
"Would to God we were!" said I.
Half an hour later I hung over my dear lad's pallet, pressing his
hands, and bidding him adieu, and kissing his gaunt cheeks. When at
last I turned away, dashing some unexpected drops from my eyes (for I
had eagerly desired his comradeship in this venture, and had dreamed of
him fighting at my side), I found that Prudence and the Cure had gone
down to the landing to see me off, and that Mizpah stood alone just
outside the door, looking pale and tired. I think I was aggrieved that
she should not take the trouble to walk down as far as the
landing,--and this may have lent my voice a touch of reserve.
"Good-bye, Madame," said I, holding out my hand. "May God keep you!"
In truth it lay heavily upon my soul that she should not have one
thought to spare from the child, for me. Yet I was not prepared for
the way she took my farewell.
"It was 'comrade' but yesterday," she murmured, flushing, and
withdrawing her hand ere I could give it an instant's pressure. But
growing straightway pale again, she added with the stateliness so
native to her:--
"Farewell, Monsieur. May God keep you also! My gratitude to the most
gallant of gentlemen, to the bravest and truest succourer of those in
need, I must ask you to believe in without words; for truly I have no
words to express it." And with that she turned away, leaving me most
sore at heart for something more than gratitude.
A few minutes later, when I had made my adieux to Father Fafard, and
kissed Marc's lily maid, as was my right and duty, I had a surprise
which sent me on my way something more happily. As our canoe (I had
Giraud with me now) slipped round a little bluff below the settlement,
I caught the flutter of a gown among the trees; and the next instant
Mizpah appeared, waving her handkerchief. She had gone a good
half-mile to wave me a last God-speed.
For an instant, as I bared my head, I had a vision of her hair all down
about her, a glory that I can never think of without a trembling in my
throat. I saw a speaking tenderness in her Madonna face,--and I seemed
to hear in my heart a call which assuredly her lips did not utter; then
my eyes blurred, so hard was it to keep from turning back. I leaned my
head forward for a moment on my arms, as if I had been a soft boy, but
feeling the canoe swerve instantly from its course, I rose at once and
resumed my paddling.
Nevertheless I turned my head ever and anon toward the shore behind,
till I could catch no more the flutter of her gown among the trees.
I have wondered many times since, how Mizpah's hair chanced then to be
down about her in that fashion. Did some wanton branch undo it as she
came hastily through the trees? Or did her own long fingers loosen it
for me?
Of de Ramezay's vain march against Annapolis I need not speak with any
fulness here. The September weather was propitious, wherefore the
expedition was an agreeable jaunt for the troops. But my good friend
the Commander found the fort too strong and too well garrisoned for the
force he had brought against it; and the great fleet from France which
was to have supported him came never to drop anchor in the basin of
secure Port Royal. It is an ill tale for French ears to hear, for
French lips to relate, that which tells of the thronged and mighty
ships which sailed from France so proudly to restore the Flag of the
Lilies to her ancient strongholds. Oh, my Country, what hadst thou
done, that the stars in their courses should fight against thee? For,
indeed, the hand of fate upon the ships was heavy from the first.
Great gales scattered them. By twos and threes they met the English
foe, and were destroyed; or disease broke out amongst their crews, till
they were forced to flee back into port with their dying; or they
struggled on through infinite toil and pain, to be hurled to wreck on
our iron capes of Acadie. The few that came in safety fled back again
when they knew the fate of their fellows. And our grim-visaged
adversaries of New England, rejoicing in their great deliverance, set
themselves to singing psalms of praise with great lustihood through
their noses.
And for my own part, when I reached de Ramezay's camp, the enterprise
was already as good as abandoned. For a week longer, less to annoy the
enemy, than to spy out the land and commune with the inhabitants, we
lay before Annapolis. Then de Ramezay struck camp, and bade his
grumbling companions march back to Chignecto.
But of me he asked a service. And, though I had hoped to go at once to
Canard, I could not, in honour, deny him. I saw him and his little
army marching back whither my heart was fain to drag me also; but my
face was set seaward, whither I had no desire to go.
For the matter was, that de Ramezay had affairs with the Abenaqui
chiefs of the Penobscot, which affairs he was now unable to tend in
person, and which he durst hardly entrust to a subordinate, or to one
unused to dealing with our savage allies. He knew my credit among the
Penobscot tribes,--and indeed, he would have been sorely put to it, had
I denied him in the matter. The affair carried me from the Penobscot
country on to the St. Lawrence, and then to Montreal. The story of it
is not pertinent to this narrative, and moreover, which is more to the
purpose, the affair was no less private in its nature than public in
its import. Suffice to say of it, therefore, that with my utmost
despatch it engaged me up to the closing of the year. It was not till
January was well advanced that I found myself again in de Ramezay's
camp at Chignecto, and looked out across the snow-glittering marshes to
the dear hills of Acadie.
I found that during my absence things had happened. The English
governor at Annapolis, conceiving that the Acadians were restless to
throw off the English yoke, had called upon New England for
reinforcements. In answer, Boston had sent five hundred of her gaunt
and silent soldiery, bitter fighters, drinkers of strong rum, quaintly
sanctimonious in their cups. Their leader was one Colonel Noble, a man
of excellent courage, but small discretion, and with a foolish contempt
for his enemies. These men, as de Ramezay told me, were now quartered
in Grand Pre village, and lying carelessly. It was his purpose to
attack them at once. But being himself weak from a recent sickness, he
was obliged to place the conduct of the enterprise in the hands of his
second in command. This, as I rejoiced to learn, was a very capable
and experienced officer, Monsieur de Villiers,--the same who, some
years later, was to capture the young Virginian captain, Mr.
Washington, at Fort Necessity. Though our force was less than that of
the New Englanders, de Ramezay and de Villiers both trusted to the
advantages of a surprise and a night attack.
For my own part I liked little this plan of a night attack; for I love
a fair defiance and an open field, and all my years of bush fighting
have not taught me another sentiment. But I was well inclined toward
any action that would take me speedily to Canard. Moreover, I knew
that de Ramezay's plan was justified by the smallness of the force
which he could place at de Villiers' command. I had further a shrewd
suspicion that there were enough of the villagers on the English side
to keep the New Englanders fairly warned of our movements. In this, as
I learned afterwards, I suspected rightly, but the blind
over-confidence of Colonel Noble made the warning of no effect. The
preparations for our march went on briskly, and with an eager
excitement. The bay being now impassable by reason of the drifting
ice, the journey was to be made on snow-shoes, by the long, circuitous
land route, through Beaubassin, Cobequid, Piziquid, and so to the
Gaspereau mouth. Every one was in high spirits with the prospect of
action after a long and inglorious delay. But for me the days passed
leadenly. I was consumed with impatience, and anxiety, and passionate
desire for a face that was never an hour absent from my thoughts. My
first act on arriving at Chignecto had been to ask for Tamin, trusting
that he might have tidings from Canard. But de Ramezay told me that he
had sent the shrewd fisherman-soldier to Grand Pre for information.
In a fever I awaited his return.
At last, but three days before the time set for our departure, he
arrived. From him I learned that Marc was so far recovered as to walk
abroad for a short airing whenever the weather was fine. He, as well
as the ladies, was lying very close in Giraud's cottage, and their
presence was not known to the New Englanders at Grand Pre, at which
information I was highly gratified.
"And are the ladies in good health?" I asked.
"The little Miss looks rugged, and her eyes are like stars," said
Tamin; "but Madame-- Ah, she is pale, and her eyes are heavy."
Tamin's own eyes almost hid themselves in a network of little wrinkles
as he spoke, scrutinizing my face. "She weeps for the child. She said
perhaps _you_, Monsieur, would find him in your travels, and bring him
back to her!"
My heart sank at the word. I could not go to Canard,--I could not face
Mizpah again, till I could go to her with Philip in my arms. I had
hoped that he was restored to her ere this. What had happened? Had
Big Etienne deceived me? And Xavier, too? I could not think it. Yet
what else could I think?
"Ah, my friend," said I, with bitterness, "she will be grievously
disappointed in me. She will say I promise much, and perform little.
And alas, it seems even so. I have not seen or heard of the child.
But has Big Etienne come back? _Surely_ he has not come back without
the child?"
Tamin, it was plain, had heard the whole story from Marc, for he asked
no questions, and showed no surprise.
"No," said he, "they're both away, Big Etienne and Xavier, gone nigh
onto four months. Some says to Gaspe; some says to Saguenay. Who
knows? They're Injuns!" And Tamin shrugged his shoulders, while his
honest little eyes grew beady with distrust.
But I no more distrusted, and my heart lightened mightily. They had
been checked, baffled perhaps, for weeks; but I felt that they were
faithful and would succeed. I resolved that the moment this enterprise
of de Villiers' was accomplished I would go to help them. But I had
yet more questions for Tamin.
"And the Black Abbe?" I asked. "Where is he?"
"At Baie Verte, minding his store, or at Cobequid with his red lambs,"
replied Tamin, puckering his wide mouth drolly. "He is little at
Chignecto since he met you there, Monsieur. And he has not been seen
at Canard since Giraud's cabin grew so hospitable. But Grul is much in
the neighbourhood. I think the Black Abbe fears him."
Remembering the awful scene on the cliffs of the des Saumons, I felt
that Tamin's surmise was fairly founded; and I blessed the strange
being who thus kept watch over those whom I loved. But I said nothing
to Tamin of what was in my mind, thinking it became me to keep Grul's
counsel.