AMONG FRIENDS.
In order to make their escape the more certain, the priest had
carried off the horse which Cazeneau had used, so that now Claude was
no more obliged to go on foot. Mimi no longer complained of fatigue,
but was able to bear up with the fatigues of the rest of the journey
in a wonderful way. Claude did not seem inclined to make much use of
the spare horse, for he walked much of the way at Mimi's side, and
where there was not room, he walked at her horse's head.
The remainder of the journey occupied about four days, and it was
very much like what it had been; that is, a track through the woods,
sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. The whole track showed marks of
constant use, which the priest explained to Claude as being caused by
droves of cattle, which were constantly being sent from Grand Pre to
Louisbourg, where they fetched a handsome price. The Indian trails in
other places were far rougher and narrower, besides being interrupted
by fallen trees. The only difficulty that they had to encounter was
in crossing the Strait of Canso; but after following the shore for a
few miles, they came to a place where there was a barge, used to
transport cattle. Two or three French fishermen lived here, and they
took the whole party over to the opposite side. After this they
continued their journey.
That journey seemed to Claude altogether too short. Each day passed
away too rapidly. Wandering by the side of Mimi through the fragrant
forests, under the clear sky, listening to her gentle voice, and
catching the sweet smile of her innocent face, it seemed to him as
though he would like to go on this way forever. A cloud of sadness
rested on her gentle brow, which made her somewhat unlike the
sprightly girl of the schooner, and more like the despairing maid
whom he had rescued on the raft.
But there was reason for this sadness. Mimi was a fond and loving
daughter. She had chosen to follow her father across the ocean, when
she might have lived at home in comfort; and the death of that father
had been a terrible blow. For some time the blow had been alleviated
by the terrors which she felt about Cazeneau and his designs. But
now, since he and his designs were no more to be thought of, the
sorrow of her bereavement returned.
Still, she was not without consolation, and even joy. It was joy to
her to have escaped from the man and from the danger that she
dreaded. It was also joy to her to find herself once more in company
with Claude, in whom she had all along taken a tender interest. Until
she heard his story from his own lips she had not had any idea that
he had been the victim of Cazeneau. She had supposed that he was in
the schooner all the time, and had wondered why he did not make his
appearance. And her anxiety about her father, and grief over his
death, prevented her from dwelling much upon this.
At length they came in sight of the sea. The trees here were small,
stunted, and scrubby; the soil was poor, the grass coarse and
interspersed with moss and stones. In many places it was boggy, while
in others it was rocky. Their path ran along the shore for some
miles, and then entered the woods. For some distance farther they
went on, and then emerged into an open country, where they saw before
them the goal of their long journey.
Open fields lay before them, with houses and barns. Farther on there
lay a beautiful harbor, about five or six miles long and one mile
wide, with a narrow entrance into the outer sea, and an island which
commanded the entrance. Upon this island, and also on one side of the
entrance, were batteries, while on the side of the harbor on which
they were standing, and about two miles away, was another battery,
larger than either of these. At the farthest end of the harbor were
small houses of farmers or fishermen, with barns and cultivated
fields. In the harbor were some schooners and small fishing vessels,
and two large frigates.
But it was upon the end of the harbor nearest to themselves that
their eyes turned with the most pleasure. Here Louisbourg stood, its
walls and spires rising before them, and the flag of France floating
from the citadel. The town was about half a mile long, surrounded by
a stockade and occasional batteries. Upon the highest point the
citadel stood, with the guns peeping over the parapet. The path here
entered a road, which ran towards the town; and now, going to this
road, they went on, and soon reached the gate.
On entering the gate, they were stopped and questioned; but the
priest, who seemed to be known, easily satisfied his examiners, and
they were allowed to go on. They went along a wide street, which,
however, was unpaved, and lined on each side with houses of
unpretending appearance. Most of them were built of wood, some of
logs, one or two of stone. All were of small size, with small doors
and windows, and huge, stumpy chimneys. The street was straight, and
led to the citadel, in which was the governor's residence. Other
streets crossed at right angles with much regularity. There were a
few shops, but not many. Most of these were lower down, near the
water, and were of that class to which the soldiers and sailors
resorted. Outside the citadel was a large church, built of undressed
stone, and without any pretensions to architectural beauty. Beyond
this was the entrance to the citadel. This place was on the crest of
the hill, and was surrounded by a dry ditch and a wall. A drawbridge
led across the ditch to the gate. On reaching this place the party
had to stop, and the priest sent in his name to the governor or
commandant. After waiting some time, a message came to admit them.
Thereupon they all passed through, and found themselves inside the
citadel.
They found this to be an irregular space, about two hundred feet in
length and width, surrounded by walls, under which were arched cells,
that were used for storage or magazines, and might also serve as
casemates in time of siege. There were barracks at one end, and at
the other the governor's residence, built of stone. Upon the parade
troops were exercising, and in front of the barracks a band was
playing. The whole scene was thus one of much animation; indeed, it
seemed very much so to the eyes of these wanderers, so long
accustomed to the solitude of the sea, or of the primeval forest.
However, they did not wait to gaze upon the scene, but went on at
once, without delay, to the commandant.
The commandant--Monsieur Auguste de Florian--received them with much
politeness. He was a man of apparently about forty years of age,
medium stature, and good-natured face, without any particular sign of
character or talent in his general expression. This was the man whom
Cazeneau was to succeed, whose arrival he had been expecting for a
long time. He received the new comers politely, and, after having
heard the priest's account of Mimi,--who she was, and how he had
found her,--he at once sent for his wife, who took her to her own
apartments, and informed her that this must be her home as long as
she was at Louisbourg.
The commandant now questioned the priest more particularly about the
Arethuse. Pere Michel left the narration to Claude. He had been
introduced under the name of M. Motier, and did not choose to say
anything about his real name and rank, for fear that it might lead
him into fresh difficulties. So Claude gave an account of the meeting
between the schooner and the raft, and also told all that he knew
about the fate of the Arethuse. The priest added something more that
he had learned, and informed the commandant that he could learn all
the rest from Mimi.
The governor's polite attention did not end with this visit. He at
once set about procuring a place where Claude might stay, and would
have done the same kind office to Pere Michel, had not the priest
declined. He had a place where he could stay with one of the priests
of the town, who was a friend; and besides, he intended to carry on
the duties of his sacred office. Claude, therefore, was compelled to
separate himself from the good priest, who, however, assured him that
he would see him often. Before evening he found himself in
comfortable quarters in the house of the naval storekeeper, who
received him with the utmost cordiality as the friend of the
commandant.
The next day Claude saw Pere Michel. He seemed troubled in mind, and,
after some questions, informed him that he had come all the way to
Louisbourg for the express purpose of getting some letters which he
had been expecting from France. They should have been here by this
time, but had not come, and he was afraid that they had been sent out
in the Arethuse. If so, there might be endless trouble and confusion,
since it would take too long altogether to write again and receive
answers. It was a business of infinite importance to himself and to
others; and Pere Michel, who had never before, since Claude had known
him, lost his serenity, now appeared quite broken down by
disappointment.
His present purpose was to go back and see about the burial of
Cazeneau; but he would wait for another week, partly for the sake of
rest, and partly to wait until Cazeneau's Indians had been heard
from. He had sent out two of the Indians who had come with him to
make inquiries; and when they returned, he would go. He was also
waiting in the hope that another ship might arrive. There was some
talk of a frigate which was to bring out some sappers and engineers
for the works. It was the Grand Monarque. She had not come as yet,
nor had she left by last advices; but still she was liable to leave
at any moment.
"Still," said the priest, "it is useless to expect anything or to
hope for anything. The king is weak. He is nothing. How many years
has he been a _roi faineant_? Fleury was a fit minister for such a
king. Weak, bigoted, conceited, Fleury had only one policy, and that
was, to keep things quiet, and not suffer any change. If wrongs had
been done, he refused to right them. Fleury has been a curse to
France. But since his death his successors may be even worse. The
state of France is hopeless. The country is overwhelmed with debt,
and is in the hands of unprincipled vagabonds. The king has said that
he would govern without ministers; but that only means that he will
allow himself to be swayed by favorites. Fleury has gone, and in his
place there comes--who? Why, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. She is now
the minister of France."
The priest spoke with indescribable bitterness; so much so, indeed,
that Claude was amazed.
"The latest news," continued Pere Michel, "is, that England is going
to send an army to assist Austria. The queen, Maria Theresa, will now
be able to turn the scales against France. This means war, and the
declaration must follow soon. Well, poor old Fleury kept out of war
with England till he died. But that was Walpole's doing, perhaps.
They were wonderful friends; and perhaps it was just as well. But
this new ministry--this woman and her friends--they will make a
change for France; and I only hope, while they are reversing Fleury's
policy in some things, they'll do it in others.
"France," continued Pere Michel, in a gloomy tone, "France is rotten
to the core--all France, both at home and abroad. Why, even out here
the fatal system reigns. This commandant," he went on, dropping his
voice, "is as deeply implicated as any of them. He was appointed by a
court favorite; so was Cazeneau. He came out with the intention of
making his fortune, not for the sake of building up a French empire
in America.
"It's no use. France can't build up an empire here. The English will
get America. They come out as a people, and settle in the forest; but
we come out as officials, to make money out of our country. Already
the English are millions, and we are thousands. What chance is there
for us? Some day an English army will come and drive us out of Ile
Royale, and out of Canada, as they've already driven us out of
Acadie. Our own people are discouraged; and, though they love France,
yet they feel less oppressed under English rule. Can there be a worse
commentary on French rule than that?
"And you, my son," continued the priest, in a milder tone, but one
which was equally earnest, "don't think of going to France. You can
do nothing there. It would require the expenditure of a fortune in
bribery to get to the ears of those who surround the king; and then
there would be no hope of obtaining justice from them. All are
interested in letting things remain as they were. The wrong done was
committed years ago. The estates have passed into other hands, and
from one owner to another. The present holders are all-powerful at
court; and if you wore to go there, you would only wear out your
youth, and accomplish nothing."