Chapter XXVII
Dead Days and Withered Dreams
But to me awaking in the raw of the morning, a prisoner, the comfortseemed less sure. All through the weary, soul-sapping weeks thatfollowed, it paled and shrank, till nothing was left of it but ahopeless sort of obstinacy, so rooted in the central fibre-knots of mybeing that to the very teeth of fate my pulses still kept beating outthe vow, “I _will_ win! I _will_ win!”
For cheer, all my cousin’s sober and well-considered confidence couldnot keep that in my heart. Of Yvonne, I could get not one word directly.I saw her hand in the fact that nothing more was heard of the charge of“spy” against me. Yet this benefit had a bitterness in it, for I knewshe must have done it through Anderson. Intolerably did that knowledgegrate.
Mother Pêche came daily to the wicket, but could never boast a messagefor my ear—and in this reticence of Yvonne’s I saw a hardness of resolvewhich made my heart sink. Father Fafard, too, came daily with food forme, and with many a little loving kindness; but of Yvonne he would notspeak. Marc, one day, encountered him on the subject, but prevailed notat all, in so much that they two parted in some heat.
At last from Mother Pêche came word that my dear maid was ill, obscurelyailing, pale-lipped, and with no more of the fathomless light in hergreat eyes. The reassurance that this gave me on the score of her lovewas beyond measure overbalanced by the new fear that it bred andnourished. Would not the strain become too great for her—so great thateither her promise to wait would break down, or else her health? Herewas a dilemma, and upon one or the other of the horns of it I writhedhourly. It cost little to feed me, those weeks in the Grand Pré chapelprison.
Meanwhile, it is but just to our English jailers—they were men of NewEngland chiefly, from Boston, Plymouth, Salem, and that vicinage—torecord it of them that they were kind and little loved their employment.They held the doom of banishment to be just, but they deplored theinescapable harshness of it. As I came to learn, it was for NewEngland’s sake chiefly, and at her instance, that old England hadordained the great expulsion. Boston would not trust the Acadians, andvowed she could no longer endure a wasp’s nest at her door. Thus it wasthat the decree had at last gone forth; and even I could not quite denythe justice of it. I knew that patient forbearance had long been triedin vain; and I bethought me, too, of the great Louis’ once plan, tobanish and utterly purge away all the English of New England and NewYork.
Of affairs and public policy in the world outside our walls I learnedfrom Lieutenant Waldron, who came in often among us and made me hisdebtor by many kindly courtesies. He had an interest in me from thefirst—in the beginning, as I felt, an interest merely of curiosity, forhe doubtless wondered that Mademoiselle de Lamourie should stoop to beentangled with two lovers. But soon he conceived a friendship for me,which I heartily reciprocated. I have ever loved the English as a braveand worthy enemy; and this young officer from Plymouth town presented tomy admiration a fair epitome of the qualities I most liked in his race.In appearance he was not unlike Anderson, but of slimmer build, with theair of the fighter added, and a something besides which I felt, butcould not name. This something Anderson lacked—and the lack was subtlyconspicuous in a character which even my jealous rivalry was forced tocall worthy of love.
The reservation in my own mind I found to lie in Waldron’s also, andwith even more consequence attached to it. Anderson having chanced to beone day the subject of our conversation, I let slip hint of the way itgalled me to feel myself in his debt for exemption from the charge ofspying.
“I can easily understand,” said he, “that you feel it intolerable. I amsurprised, more and more daily, at Mademoiselle de Lamourie’s acceptanceof his suit. Oh, you French,—may I say it, monsieur?—what a merchandiseyou make of your young girls!”
“You put it unpleasantly, sir,” said I; “but too truly for me to resentit. You surprise me, however, in what you imply of Anderson. I liked himheartily at first sight. I know him to be brave, though he does notcarry arms. He is capable and clear-sighted, kind and frank; and surelyhe has beauty to delight a woman’s eyes. I am in despair when I think ofhim.”
“He is all you say,” acknowledged Waldron, with a shrewd twinkle in hissharp blue eyes; “nevertheless there is something he is not, which damnshim for me. I don’t _quite_ like him, and that’s a fact. At the sametime I know he’s a fine fellow, and I ought to like him. I don’t mindtelling you, for your discomfort, that he has done all that man could doto get you out of this place. He has been to Halifax about it, and daredto make himself very disagreeable to the governor when he was refused.It is not his fault you are not out and off by this time.”
“Thank God, he failed!” said I, with fervour.
“So should I say in your case, monsieur,” he replied, with a kind of drygoodwill.
To this obliging officer—in more kindly after-years, I am proud to say,destined to become my close friend—I owed some flattering messages fromMadame de Lamourie. I knew she liked me—had ever liked me, save duringthose days of my ignominious eclipse when I seemed to all Grand Pré anaccomplice of the Black Abbé and Vaurin. I had a suspicion that shewould not be deeply displeased should I, by any hook or crook,accomplish the discomfiture of Anderson. But I well knew herfriendliness to me would not go so far as open championship. She wouldobey her husband, for peace’ sake; and take her satisfaction in a littlemore delicate malice. I pictured her as making the handsome EnglishQuaker subtly miserable by times.
From Giles de Lamourie, however, I received no greeting. I took it thathe regarded me as a menace not only to his own authority, but to hisdaughter’s peace. A prudent marriage,—a regular, well-ordered, decentlyarranged for marriage,—in such he fancied happiness for Yvonne. But Iconcerned me not at all for opposition of his. I thought that Yvonne, ifever she should choose, could bring him to her feet.
At last there came a break in the monotony of the days—a break which,for all its bitterness, was welcomed. Word came that another ship wastardily ready for its freight of exiles. The weary faces of the guardbrightened, for here was evidence that something was being done. Withinthe chapel rose a hum of expectation, and all speculated on theirchances. For if exile was to be, “Let it come quickly” was the cry ofall.
But no—not of all. I feared it, with a physical fear till then unknownto me. To me it meant a new and appalling barrier. Here but two woodenwalls and a stone’s throw of wintry space fenced me from her bodilypresence. But after exile, how many seas, and vicissitudes, anduncomprehending alien faces!
But I was not to go this time; nor yet my cousin Marc, who, having atlast received from Quebec authentic word of the health and safety of hisPuritan, was looking out upon events with his old enviable calm.
On the day when a stir in the cottages betokened that embarkation was tobegin, the south windows of the chapel were in demand. They afforded aclear view of the village and a partial view of the landing-place.Benches were piled before them, and we took turns by the half hour inlooking out, those at the post of observation passing messages back tothe eager rows behind. It was plain at once that the cottages at thewest end of the village were to be cleared in a block. On a sudden therewas a sharp outcry from the three Le Boutilliers, as they saw theirhomely house-gear being carried from their doorways and heaped upon alumbering hay-wagon. They were of a nervous stock, and forthwith began agreat lamentation, thinking that their wives and families were to besent away without them. When the little procession started down thestreet toward the landing—the old grandmother and the two littlestchildren perched on the wagon-load, the wives and other children walkingbeside in attitudes that proclaimed their tears—the good fellows becameso excited as to trouble our company.
“Chut, men!” cried Marc, in a tone of sharp command. “Are you becomewomen all at once? There will be no separation of families this time,when there is but one ship and no room for mistakes. The guards yonderwill be calling for you presently, never
fear.”
This quieted them; for my cousin had a convincing way with him, and theyaccounted his wisdom something beyond natural.
Then there came by two more wagons, and another sorrowful procession,appearing from the direction of the Habitants; and the word “LeMarchands” went muttering through the prison. Le Marchand settlement wasmoving to the ship—and even now a cloud of black smoke, with red tonguesvisible on the morning air, showed us what would befall the houses ofGrand Pré when the folk of Grand Pré should be gone.
The Le Marchand men made no sign, save to glower under their brows andgrip the window sashes with tense fingers. They were of different stufffrom the Le Boutilliers, these black Le Marchands. They set their teethhard, and waited.
So it went on through the morning, one man after another seeing hisfamily led away to the ship—his family and some scant portion of hisgoods; and thus we came to know what men among us were like to be calledforth on this voyage.
Presently the big door was thrown open, and all faces flashed about tothe new interest. Outside stood a double red line of English soldiers.An officer—the round-faced Colonel Winslow himself—stepped in, a scrollof paper curling in his hand. In a precise and something pompous voicehe read aloud the names of those to go. The Le Marchands were first onthe roll; then the Le Boutilliers, Ba’tiste Chouan, Jean and TaminMasson, and a long list that promised to thin our crowded benches byone-third. But I was left among the unsummoned; and my cousin Marc, andlong Philibert Trou, and the wily fox La Mouche; and I saw Marc’s lipscompress with a significant satisfaction when he saw these tworemaining. Vaguely I thought—“He has a plan!” But thereafter, in mygloom, I thought no more of it.
So these chosen ones marched off between their guards; and thatafternoon the ship went out on the ebb tide with a wind that carriedher, white-sailed, around the dark point of Blomidon. Grand Pré chapelprison settled apathetically back to a deeper calm.