A STROKE FOE LIBERTY.
Zac and Terry talked for a long time over the plan, trying to chat in
an off-hand and careless manner, so as not to excite any suspicion.
No suspicion appeared to be raised among the Acadians, who took no
notice of them whatever. So Zac and Terry had sufficient opportunity
to arrange all the details of the plan, and it was decided that Terry
should indicate to Jericho what was to be done by him. It was agreed
that the best time would be about three o'clock in the morning; for
then the Acadians below would all be in their soundest sleep, while
those who kept watch on deck would probably, in accordance with their
usual careless fashion, be sunk into a slumber no less sound. Terry
at length left Zac, and moved about in a desultory fashion, after
which he finally settled down among the Acadians, and began to sing
to them the immortal strain of St. Patrick.
Although Zac had upon his mind the weight of such an important
enterprise, yet it did not at all interfere with his usual slumbers.
He went to bed at nine, and slept soundly. At about half past two he
awoke, and waited a little longer. Then he roused Terry and Jericho.
Terry then went upon deck noiselessly, and reconnoitred. It was as
they had hoped it would be. Two men were on deck as a watch, but both
were crouched under the taffrail fast asleep. Terry proposed to go
and shut down the cabin door, where the rest of the Acadians were;
but Zac concluded that it would be best for Jericho to do this, so
that in case the noise should wake the watch, he and Terry might be
on hand to deal with them. Jericho was now sent aft, charged with the
burden of an important commission. He went softly and swiftly, like a
spirit of night. His whole nature seemed changed by the purpose
before him. In an instant he had ceased to be the lowly slave intent
on cookery, and had started up into the attitude of an African
warrior. As he glided along, Zac and Terry, with equal noiselessness,
moved towards the slumbering watch, and then waited. It was necessary
that the cabin should first be closed, so that those within, if
alarmed by the outcry of their friends, should not be able to help
them.
All went on well. Jericho reached the cabin, and then swiftly, and
with as little noise as possible, shut the door and fastened it. Upon
this, Zac and Terry each seized one of the slumbering Acadians, and
before they were fairly awake they were disarmed.
Zac and Terry both scorned to bind them, partly out of kindly feeling
towards them, partly because they themselves had not been bound, and
partly out of the pride of their manhood. The Acadians at first stood
stupefied, and then, recognizing the whole truth, they slunk forward,
and stood dejectedly in the bows, where they awaited with fear the
further action of their late prisoners.
Both Terry and Zac made friendly signs to them, pressing their hands
on their hearts, smiling, nodding, and so forth; while Terry even
went so far as to whistle one of their favorite melodies. But the
Acadians were not to be reassured. They looked upon themselves as
lost men, and evidently regarded Terry as a traitor of the deepest
dye.
They now waited till the others in the cabin should make some sign.
Jericho had armed himself with an axe, with which he stood ready to
act in case of a fight. It was evident that the Acadians in the cabin
had heard nothing whatever, and not one of them awaked before the
usual time. Then, of course, the painful discovery was made by them.
At first, loud cries and threats were made; but these were stilled by
Zac, who in a voice of thunder awed them into silence.
"You are prisoners!" said he. "Give up your arms."
The one who understood a little English was able to comprehend this.
The command was followed by an excited debate among the four, which
was at last ended by a second mandate from Zac, accompanied by a
threat to fire upon them. At this a hurried answer was given:--
"We render. We render. Fire not."
A small skylight was then opened, and all the arms and equipments of
the prisoners were passed up. These were appropriated by Zac. The
door of the cabin was then unfastened and opened, and the prisoners
called upon to come forth. They came looking fearful and dejected, as
though apprehending the worst. Zac, Terry, and Jericho, each with his
musket, stood at the stern, and as they came out they motioned to
them to go to the bows. The Acadians obeyed in silence, and soon
joined their two companions.
Some time was now occupied by Zac in talking over with Terry the best
course to be pursued. They at length decided to allow the Acadians to
remain unbound by day, and to shut them down at night, or while
sailing. As long as these men were unarmed and themselves armed, they
had not the slightest fear of any trouble arising. For the Acadians,
though stout, muscular fellows, were all so good-natured and
phlegmatic in their faces that no danger of anything so desperate as
an attack on their part was to be anticipated. It was decided,
however, while they were on deck, to keep them confined to the
forward part of the schooner.
This Zac succeeded in making known to them.
"We won't do you no harm," said he. "We won't tie you or bind you. At
night you must go below to sleep. If any of you make an attack, we
won't show you any mercy. So you'd best keep quiet."
The chief Acadian understood this as well by the signs with which it
was accompanied as from the words, and he explained it to his
followers. He then informed Zac that they would be quiet; whereupon
Terry went forward and shook hands with each and all of them. "_Commy
porty-voo? Bon jure, moosoo_," said he; to which the Acadians,
however, made no response. They did indeed allow him to shake their
hands; but they would not say anything, and evidently regarded him as
a perjured villain, and traitor to their cause.
"Biler!" roared Zac. "Whar are you, you young cuss of life?"
Upon this the young cuss of life slowly emerged from the forecastle,
holding a cold potato in his hand. The scene on deck made no
impression on him, but he walked aft with his eyes fixed on Zac.
"Stand there!" commanded Zac; and Biler stood.
"Feller seamen and comrades at arms," said Zac, stretching out his
arm in the oratorical fashion which he had seen used at town meetings
"to hum." "This is a gellorious day for his great and gracious
majesty King George, whose loyal subjects we air, as we have proved
by this rescoo of his ship from the hands of the Philistines. It air
all very well for the king to send out his red-coats; but I tell you
what it is, I ain't seen a red-coat that lives that's equal to the
natyve pro-vincial. Who air the ones that doos the best fightin' out
here? The pro-vincials! Who air the men that's druv the wild and
bloodthusty Injin back to his natyve woods? The pro-vincial! And who
air the men that's goin' to settle the business of Moosoo, an' make
America too hot to hold him an' his'n? The red-coats? Nay; but
rayther the pro-vincials, the men that's fit the catamounts, an'
bars, an' Injins, an' turned the waste an' howlin' wilderness into a
gardin', an' made the desert blossom like a rose. So, I say, Hooray
for the pro-vincials!"
At this Zac removed his hat. Terry did the same; so did Jericho.
Biler had none to remove, but he raised his potato in the air. Zac
led off--"Hip, hip, hip, h-o-o-o-r-a-a-a-y!"
"Arrah, captain, darlint, an' while yo's about it, sure ye won't be
forgettin' ould Ireland," cried Terry, as the ringing cheers died
away over the waters.
"Certingly," said Zac. "Course. Here goes!"
And three cheers in the same fashion followed for Terry's native
land.
"Tare an' ages!" cried Terry; "an' while we're about it, sure an'
we's ought to give three chairs for Africa, in honor of Jericho."
"Hooray!" cried Zac. "Here goes!" And three cheers followed for
Africa. Whether Jericho knew much about Africa, may be a question;
but he understood at least that this honor was offered to himself,
and accepted it accordingly. It almost overwhelmed him. A wild
chuckle of spasmodic delight burst from him, which threatened to end
in a convulsion. And though he rallied from this, yet he was quite
demoralized, and it was a long time before he settled down into that
sedate old darky which was his normal condition.
And now Zac waited. Finding himself in command of his own schooner
again, he felt more able to act in case of necessity. He was so far
out from the shore that he was easily able to guard against the
unexpected arrival of any boat. By day he lay at anchor; but when
night came the Acadians were sent below, the anchor was raised, and
the schooner cruised about the bay. The strong tides and currents
caused a little trouble, but Zac soon got the run of them, at least
in a general way, and several nights were thus passed. At length he
began to grow impatient, and felt quite at a loss what to do. He was
half inclined to send one of the Acadians ashore with a message, but
as yet concluded to wait a little longer.
The Acadians, whether from fear or policy, did as they promised, and
kept quiet. They kept by themselves always, and refused to accept the
advances of Terry, though they were frequently made. They all
appeared listless and dejected, and the smiles, the laughter, and the
singing which had characterized their first days on board had all
passed away, and given place to low, murmured conversation or
silence.
At length, one evening at about six o'clock, Zac saw a solitary boat
coming from the shore. It was a long way off when he first saw it,
and it seemed to be coming towards the schooner. The tide was
unfavorable, so that the progress was quite slow; but its course lay
steadily towards him, and Zac, who watched it intently, was turning
over in his mind his best plan of action. It did not seem large
enough to contain any very formidable force; but Zac thought best to
take every precaution, and so sent all the Acadians below, while
Terry and Jericho stood ready for action.
The time passed away, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length it
came near enough for Zac to see that it was rowed by two men, which
sight was most welcome, since it assured him that no danger was to be
apprehended. As he watched it, the boat drew nearer and nearer. He
said nothing, but waited for them to speak first. He could see that
both of the men were unarmed.
At last the boat touched the schooner's side. One of the men leaped
on board, securing the boat, and the other followed immediately. They
were both dressed like all the Acadians, but the second boatman had a
slouched hat, which concealed his face. Zac, who carelessly regarded
him, noticed that he was a smooth-faced boy, while the first boatman
was a grizzled old man.
Both of these looked around, and seemed surprised. At length the boy
advanced towards Zac.
"Capitaine," said this boy, "what ees dees? You no seem a
preesonaire. You haf a gun. Air you free?"
At the sound of this voice Zac started back a step or two in utter
amazement. Could it be possible? Yet that voice could not belong to
any other. It must be. And even as he stood thus bewildered, the boy
raised his hat with a shy smile, with which there was also much
sadness mingled, and revealed the face of the little Margot.
"Wal," exclaimed Zac, "this doos beat creation!"
Zac then caught both her hands, and held them in a tight grip, and
for a few moments could not speak.
"I do feel good, little one," said he, in a tremulous voice. "This
here's what I ben a waitin' for--to see you--an' you only--though I
skurse dared to hope it. At any rate, I did hope and feel that you
wouldn't go off without a word, and no more you heven't; an' I feel
so happy that I could cry."
It was not exaggerated. Honest Zac was unused to such emotions, and
hardly understood them. His eyes were moist as he looked upon Margot,
and she saw that his simple confession was true. Her own emotion was
as great as his. Tears started to her own eyes, and in her sadness
she leaned on his arm and wept. Whereupon Zac's tears fell in spite
of him, and he began to call himself a darned fool, and her a dear
little pet; till the scolding of himself and the soothing of Margot
became so hopelessly intermingled that he called her a darned old
pet, and himself a dear little fool. Whereupon Margot burst into a
laugh, dashed her tears away, and started off from Zac's grasp.
And now Margot proceeded to tell Zac the reason of her journey. From
her he learned for the first time the events that had taken place on
shore. First, she informed him that Claude was in confinement, and
that Cazeneau intended to take him or send him to Louisbourg; that
Cazeneau himself was bitterly hostile to him. She informed him that
Laborde was dead; that Mimi was in terrible distress, and in mortal
terror of Cazeneau; and finally, that she was to be taken to
Louisbourg. All this filled Zac with concern and apprehension. She
informed Zac that she and her mistress were to be taken away early on
the following morning, and that she had slipped off thus in disguise,
with the consent of her mistress, to let him know the danger of his
friend; for Claude was to remain in Grand Pre for some time longer,
and her mistress thought that after Cazeneau had departed, it might
be possible to do something to save him.
This occupied some time, and Zac interrupted her with many questions.
At length, having told her story, Margot turned away. This startled
Zac.
"What!" said he; "you're not a goin' to leave me!" and poor Zac's
voice was like a wail of despair.
"Why, what ees eet posseeble to do? I moos go to ma maitresse."
"But-but what'll become of me?" mourned Zac. "I may never see you
again."
Margot sighed. "I moos go to ma maitresse," she murmured.
"O, don't! don't now!" cried Zac. "She ain't half as fond of you as
me. She can take care of herself. The priest'll watch over her. O,
don't go, don't! I declar I feel like droundin' myself at the bare
idee."
Zac, upon this, seized her hand, and begged, and coaxed, and prayed
her to stay; till poor little Margot began to cry bitterly, and could
only plead in broken tones her love for her dear mistress, who was in
such danger, and how base it would be to desert her at such a time.
"Wal, wal--would you--would you come with me if--if it warn't for
her?" mourned Zac.
Margot looked up at his face with a slight smile shining through her
tears, which seemed to reassure poor Zac.
"We sall meet again," said Margot, in a more cheerful voice.
Zac shook his head disconsolately.
"And so, adieu," said Margot, in a low voice.
Zac said nothing, but with an expression of despair he took her in
his arms, kissed her, and then turned away and wept.
Margot cried bitterly, and got into the boat. The old Acadian
followed. The boat rowed away.
"_Adieu, et au revoir, cher Zac_," said Margot, calling back and
waving her hat.
"Goo-oo-d by-ye," said Zac, in a wail of despair.
For hours Zac stood looking after the boat in perfect silence. At
last he turned away, gulping down a sigh.
"Darned ef I know what on airth's the matter with me," he murmured.