CHAPTER XXVI. THE CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.
"V'la l'bon vent! V'la l'joli vent! V'la l'bon vent! Ma mie m'appelle! V'la l'bon vent! V'la l'joli vent! V'la l'bon vent! Ma mie m'attend!"
The gay chorus of the voyageurs made the shores ring, as they kepttime with their oars, while the silver spray dripped like a shower ofdiamonds in the bright sunshine at every stroke of their rapid paddles.The graceful bark canoes, things of beauty and almost of life, leapedjoyously over the blue waters of the St. Lawrence as they bore thefamily of the Lady de Tilly and Pierre Philibert with a train ofcensitaires back to the old Manor House.
The broad river was flooded with sunshine as it rolled majesticallybetween the high banks crowned with green fields and woods in full leafof summer. Frequent cottages and villages were visible along the shores,and now and then a little church with its bright spire or belfry markedthe successive parishes on either hand.
The tide had already forced its way two hundred leagues up from theocean, and still pressed irresistibly onward, surging and wrestlingagainst the weight of the descending stream.
The wind too was favorable. A number of yachts and bateaux spread theirsnowy sails to ascend the river with the tide. They were for the mostpart laden with munitions of war for the Richelieu on their way to themilitary posts on Lake Champlain, or merchandise for Montreal to bereladen in fleets of canoes for the trading posts up the river of theOttawas, the Great Lakes, or, mayhap, to supply the new and far-offsettlements on the Belle Riviere and the Illinois.
The line of canoes swept past the sailing vessels with a cheer. Thelight-hearted crews exchanged salutations and bandied jests with eachother, laughing immoderately at the well-worn jokes current upon theriver among the rough voyageurs. A good voyage! a clear run! shortportages and long rests! Some inquired whether their friends hadpaid for the bear and buffalo skins they were going to buy, or theycomplimented each other on their nice heads of hair, which it was hopedthey would not leave behind as keepsakes with the Iroquois squaws.
The boat-songs of the Canadian voyageurs are unique in character, andvery pleasing when sung by a crew of broad-chested fellows dashing theirlight birch-bark canoes over the waters rough or smooth, taking them, asthey take fortune, cheerfully,--sometimes skimming like wild geese overthe long, placid reaches, sometimes bounding like stags down the roughrapids and foaming saults.
Master Jean La Marche, clean as a new pin and in his merriest mood, saterect as the King of Yvetot in the bow of the long canoe which held theLady de Tilly and her family. His sonorous violin was coquettishly fixedin its place of honor under his wagging chin, as it accompanied hisvoice while he chanted an old boat-song which had lightened the labor ofmany a weary oar on lake and river, from the St. Lawrence to the RockyMountains.
Amelie sat in the stern of the canoe, laying her white hand in the coolstream which rushed past her. She looked proud and happy to-day, for thewhole world of her affections was gathered together in that little bark.
She felt grateful for the bright sun; it seemed to have dispelled everycloud that lately shaded her thoughts on account of her brother, and shesilently blessed the light breeze that played with her hair and cooledher cheek, which she felt was tinged with a warm glow of pleasure in thepresence of Pierre Philibert.
She spoke little, and almost thanked the rough voyageurs for theirincessant melodies, which made conversation difficult for the time, andthus left her to her own sweet silent thoughts, which seemed almost toosacred for the profanation of words.
An occasional look, or a sympathetic smile exchanged with her brotherand her aunt, spoke volumes of pure affection. Once or twice the eyesof Pierre Philibert captured a glance of hers which might not have beenintended for him, but which Amelie suffered him to intercept andhide away among the secret treasures of his heart. A glance of trueaffection--brief, it may be, as a flash of lightning--becomes, whencaught by the eyes of love, a real thing, fixed and imperishableforever. A tender smile, a fond word of love's creation, contains auniverse of light and life and immortality,--small things, and of littlevalue to others, but to him or her whom they concern more precious andmore prized than the treasures of Ind.
Master Jean La Marche, after a few minutes' rest, made still morerefreshing by a draught from a suspicious-looking flask, which, out ofrespect for the presence of his mistress, the Lady de Tilly, he saidcontained "milk," began a popular boat-song which every voyageur in NewFrance knew as well as his prayers, and loved to his very finger-ends.
The canoe-men pricked up their ears, like troopers at the sound of abugle, as Jean La Marche began the famous old ballad of the king's sonwho, with his silver gun, aimed at the beautiful black duck, and shotthe white one, out of whose eyes came gold and diamonds, and out ofwhose mouth rained silver, while its pretty feathers, scattered to thefour winds, were picked up by three fair dames, who with them made a bedboth large and deep--
"For poor wayfaring men to sleep."
Master Jean's voice was clear and resonant as a church bell newlychristened; and he sang the old boat-song with an energy that drewthe crews of half-a-dozen other canoes into the wake of his music, alluniting in the stirring chorus:
"Fringue! Fringue sur la riviere! Fringue! Fringue sur l'aviron!"
The performance of Jean La Marche was highly relished by the criticalboatmen, and drew from them that flattering mark of approval, so welcometo a vocalist,--an encore of the whole long ballad, from beginning toend.
As the line of canoes swept up the stream, a welcome cheer occasionallygreeted them from the shore, or a voice on land joined in the gayrefrain. They draw nearer to Tilly, and their voices became more andmore musical, their gaiety more irrepressible, for they were going home;and home to the habitans, as well as to their lady, was the world of alldelights.
The contagion of high spirits caught even Le Gardeur, and drew himout of himself, making him for the time forget the disappointments,resentments, and allurements of the city.
Sitting there in the golden sunshine, the blue sky above him, the bluewaters below,--friends whom he loved around him, mirth in every eye,gaiety on every tongue,--how could Le Gardeur but smile as the music ofthe boatmen brought back a hundred sweet associations? Nay, he laughed,and to the inexpressible delight of Amelie and Pierre, who watched everychange in his demeanor, united in the chorus of the glorious boat-song.
A few hours of this pleasant voyaging brought the little fleet of canoesunder the high bank, which from its summit slopes away in a wide domainof forests, park, and cultivated fields, in the midst of which stood thehigh-pointed and many-gabled Manor House of Tilly.
Upon a promontory--as if placed there for both a land and sea mark,to save souls as well as bodies--rose the belfry of the Chapel of St.Michael, overlooking a cluster of white, old-fashioned cottages, whichformed the village of St. Michael de Tilly.
Upon the sandy beach a crowd of women, children, and old men hadgathered, who were cheering and clapping their hands at the unexpectedreturn of the lady of the Manor with all their friends and relatives.
The fears of the villagers had been greatly excited for some days pastby exaggerated reports of the presence of Iroquois on the upper watersof the Chaudiere. They not unnaturally conjectured, moreover, thatthe general call for men on the King's corvee, to fortify the city,portended an invasion by the English, who, it was rumored, were to comeup in ships from below, as in the days of Sir William Phipps with hisarmy of New Englanders, the story of whose defeat under the walls ofQuebec was still freshly remembered in the traditions of the Colony.
"Never fear them!" said old Louis, the one-eyed pilot. "It was in myfather's days. Many a time have I heard him tell the story--how, in theautumn of the good year 1690, thirty-four great ships of the Bostonianscame up from below, and landed an army of ventres bleus of New Englandon the flats of Beauport. But our stout Governor, Count de Frontenac,came upon them from the woods with his brave soldiers, habitans, andIndians, and drov
e them pell-mell back to their boats, and strippedthe ship of Admiral Phipps of his red flag, which, if you doubt myword,--which no one does,--still hangs over the high altar of the Churchof Notre Dame des Victoires. Blessed be our Lady, who saved our countryfrom our enemies,--and will do so again, if we do not by our wickednesslose her favor! But the arbre sec--the dry tree--still stands upon thePoint de Levis, where the Boston fleet took refuge before beating theirretreat down the river again,--and you know the old prophecy: that whilethat tree stands, the English shall never prevail against Quebec!"
Much comforted by this speech of old Louis the pilot, the villagers ofTilly rushed to the beach to receive their friends.
The canoes came dashing into shore. Men, women, and children ranknee-deep into the water to meet them, and a hundred eager hands wereready to seize their prows and drag them high and dry upon the sandybeach.
"Home again! and welcome to Tilly, Pierre Philibert!" exclaimed Lady deTilly, offering her hand. "Friends like you have the right of welcomehere." Pierre expressed his pleasure in fitting terms, and lent his aidto the noble lady to disembark.
Le Gardeur assisted Amelie out of the canoe. As he led her across thebeach, he felt her hand tremble as it rested on his arm. He glanced downat her averted face, and saw her eyes directed to a spot well rememberedby himself--the scene of his rescue from drowning by Pierre Philibert.
The whole scene came before Amelie at this moment. Her vividrecollection conjured up the sight of the inanimate body of her brotheras it was brought ashore by the strong arm of Pierre Philibert and laidupon the beach; her long agony of suspense, and her joy, the greatestshe had ever felt before or since, at his resuscitation to life, andlastly, her passionate vow which she made when clasping the neck of hispreserver--a vow which she had enshrined as a holy thing in her heartever since.
At that moment a strange fancy seized her: that Pierre Philibert wasagain plunging into deep water to rescue her brother, and that she wouldbe called on by some mysterious power to renew her vow or fulfil it tothe very letter.
She twitched Le Gardeur gently by the arm and said to him, in a halfwhisper, "It was there, brother! do you remember?"
"I know it, sister!" replied he; "I was also thinking of it. I amgrateful to Pierre; yet, oh, my Amelie, better he had left me at thebottom of the deep river, where I had found my bed! I have no pleasurein seeing Tilly any more!"
"Why not, brother? Are we not all the same? Are we not all here? Thereis happiness and comfort for you at Tilly."
"There was once, Amelie," replied he, sadly; "but there will be none forme in the future, as I feel too well. I am not worthy of you, Amelie."
"Come, brother!" replied she, cheerily, "you dampen the joy of ourarrival. See, the flag is going up on the staff of the turret, andold Martin is getting ready to fire off the culverin in honor of yourarrival."
Presently there was a flash, a cloud of smoke, and the report of acannon came booming down to the shore from the Manor House.
"That was well done of Martin and the women!" remarked Felix Baudoin,who had served in his youth, and therefore knew what was fitting ina military salute. "'The women of Tilly are better than the men ofBeauce,' says the proverb."
"Ay, or of Tilly either!" remarked Josephte Le Tardeur, in a sharp,snapping tone. Josephte was a short, stout virago, with a turned-up noseand a pair of black eyes that would bore you through like an auger.She wore a wide-brimmed hat of straw, overtopping curls as crisp asher temper. Her short linsey petticoat was not chary of showing hersubstantial ankles, while her rolled-up sleeves displayed a pair of armsso red and robust that a Swiss milkmaid might well have envied them.
Her remark was intended for the ear of Jose Le Tardeur, her husband, alazy, good-natured fellow, whose eyes had been fairly henpecked out ofhis head all the days of his married life. Josephte's speech hit himwithout hurting him, as he remarked to a neighbor. Josephte made atarget of him every day. He was glad, for his part, that the women ofTilly were better soldiers than the men, and so much fonder of lookingafter things! It saved the men a deal of worry and a good deal of work.
"What are you saying, Jose?" exclaimed Felix, who only caught a few halfwords.
"I say, Master Felix, that but for Mere Eve there would have been nocurse upon men, to make them labor when they do not want to, and nosin either. As the Cure says, we could have lain on the grass sunningourselves all day long. Now it is nothing but work and pray, never play,else you will save neither body nor soul. Master Felix, I hope you willremember me if I come up to the Manor house."
"Ay, I will remember you, Jose," replied Felix, tartly; "but if laborwas the curse which Eve brought into the world when she ate the apple,I am sure you are free from it. So ride up with the carts, Jose, and getout of the way of my Lady's carriage!"
Jose obeyed, and taking off his cap, bowed respectfully to the Ladyde Tilly as she passed, leaning on the arm of Pierre Philibert, whoescorted her to her carriage.
A couple of sleek Canadian horses, sure-footed as goats and strong aslittle elephants, drew the coach with a long, steady trot up the windingroad which led to the Manor House.
The road, unfenced and bordered with grass on each side of the track,was smooth and well kept, as became the Grande Chaussee of the Baronyof Tilly. It ran sometimes through stretches of cultivated fields--greenpastures or corn-lands ripening for the sickle of the censitaire.Sometimes it passed through cool, shady woods, full of primevalgrandeur,--part of the great Forest of Tilly, which stretched away faras the eye could reach over the hills of the south shore. Huge oaks thatmight have stood there from the beginning of the world, wide-branchingelms, and dark pines overshadowed the highway, opening now and theninto vistas of green fields where stood a cottage or two, with a herd ofmottled cows grazing down by the brook. On the higher ridges the treesformed a close phalanx, and with their dark tops cut the horizon into along, irregular line of forest, as if offering battle to the woodman'saxe that was threatening to invade their solitudes.
Half an hour's driving brought the company to the Manor House, a statelymansion, gabled and pointed like an ancient chateau on the Seine.
It was a large, irregular structure of hammered stone, withdeeply-recessed windows, mullioned and ornamented with grotesquecarvings. A turret, loopholed and battlemented, projected from each ofthe four corners of the house, enabling its inmates to enfilade everyside with a raking fire of musketry, affording an adequate defenceagainst Indian foes. A stone tablet over the main entrance of the ManorHouse was carved with the armorial bearings of the ancient family ofTilly, with the date of its erection, and a pious invocation placing thehouse under the special protection of St. Michael de Thury, the patronsaint of the House of Tilly.
The Manor House of Tilly had been built by Charles Le Gardeur de Tilly,a gentleman of Normandy, one of whose ancestors, the Sieur de Tilly,figures on the roll of Battle Abbey as a follower of Duke William atHastings. His descendant, Charles Le Gardeur, came over to Canada with alarge body of his vassals in 1636, having obtained from the King a grantof the lands of Tilly, on the bank of the St. Lawrence, "to hold infief and seigniory,"--so ran the royal patent,--"with the right andjurisdiction of superior, moyenne and basse justice, and of hunting,fishing, and trading with the Indians throughout the whole of this royalconcession; subject to the condition of foi et hommage, which he shallbe held to perform at the Castle of St. Louis in Quebec, of which heshall hold under the customary duties and dues, agreeably to the coutumede Paris followed in this country."
Such was the style of the royal grants of seignioral rights concededin New France, by virtue of one of which this gallant Norman gentlemanfounded his settlement and built this Manor House on the shores of theSt. Lawrence.
A broad, smooth carriage road led up to the mansion across a park dottedwith clumps of evergreens and deciduous trees. Here and there an ancientpatriarch of the forest stood alone,--some old oak or elm, whose goodlyproportions and amplitude of shade had found favor in the eyes of theseigniors of Ti
lly, and saved it from the axe of the woodman.
A pretty brook, not too wide to be crossed over by a rustic bridge,meandered through the domain, peeping occasionally out of the openingsin the woods as it stole away like a bashful girl from the eyes of heradmirer.
This brook was the outflow of a romantic little lake that lay hiddenaway among the wooded hills that bounded the horizon, an irregular sheetof water a league in circumference, dotted with islands and aboundingwith fish and waterfowl that haunted its quiet pools. That primitive bitof nature had never been disturbed by axe or fire, and was a favoritespot for recreation to the inmates of the Manor House, to whom it wasaccessible either by boat up the little stream, or by a pleasant drivethrough the old woods.
As the carriages drew up in front of the Manor House, every door,window, and gable of which looked like an old friend in the eyes ofPierre Philibert, a body of female servants--the men had all been awayat the city--stood ranged in their best gowns and gayest ribbons towelcome home their mistress and Mademoiselle Amelie, who was the idol ofthem all.
Great was their delight to see Monsieur Le Gardeur, as they usuallystyled their young master, with another gentleman in military costume,whom it did not take two minutes for some of the sharp-eyed lasses torecognize as Pierre Philibert, who had once saved the life of Le Gardeuron a memorable occasion, and who now, they said one to another, was cometo the Manor House to--to--they whispered what it was to each other, andsmiled in a knowing manner.
Women's wits fly swiftly to conclusions, and right ones too on mostoccasions. The lively maids of Tilly told one another in whispers thatthey were sure Pierre Philibert had come back to the Manor House asa suitor for the hand of Mademoiselle Amelie, as was most natural heshould do, so handsome and manly looking as he was, and mademoisellealways liked to hear any of them mention his name. The maids ran outthe whole chain of logical sequences before either Pierre or Ameliehad ventured to draw a conclusion of any kind from the premises of thisvisit.
Behind the mansion, overlooking poultry-yards and stables which werewell hidden from view, rose a high colombiere, or pigeon-house, ofstone, the possession of which was one of the rights which feudallaw reserved to the lord of the manor. This colombiere was capable ofcontaining a large army of pigeons, but the regard which the Lady deTilly had for the corn-fields of her censitaires caused her to thin outits population to such a degree that there remained only a few favoritebirds of rare breed and plumage to strut and coo upon the roofs, andrival the peacocks on the terrace with their bright colors.
In front of the mansion, contrasting oddly with the living trees aroundit, stood a high pole, the long, straight stem of a pine-tree, carefullystripped of its bark, bearing on its top the withered remains of a bunchof evergreens, with the fragments of a flag and ends of ribbon whichfluttered gaily from it. The pole was marked with black spots from thedischarge of guns fired at it by the joyous habitans, who had kept theancient custom of May-day by planting this May-pole in front of theManor House of their lady.
The planting of such a pole was in New France a special mark of respectdue to the feudal superior, and custom as well as politeness requiredthat it should not be taken down until the recurrence of anotheranniversary of Flora, which in New France sometimes found the earthwhite with snow and hardened with frost, instead of covered with flowersas in the Old World whence the custom was derived.
The Lady de Tilly duly appreciated this compliment of her faithfulcensitaires, and would sooner have stripped her park of half its livetrees than have removed that dead pole, with its withered crown, fromthe place of honor in front of her mansion.
The revels of May in New France, the king and queen of St. Philip, therejoicings of a frank, loyal peasantry--illiterate in books but notunlearned in the art of life,--have wholly disappeared before thelevelling spirit of the nineteenth century.
The celebration of the day of St. Philip has been superseded by thefestival of St. John the Baptist, at a season of the year when greenleaves and blooming flowers give the possibility of arches and garlandsin honor of the Canadian summer.
Felix Beaudoin with a wave of his hand scattered the bevy of maidservants who stood chattering as they gazed upon the new arrivals. Theexperience of Felix told him that everything had of course gone wrongduring his absence from the Manor House, and that nothing could befit for his mistress's reception until he had set all to rights againhimself.
The worthy majordomo was in a state of perspiration lest he should notget into the house before his mistress and don his livery to meet her atthe door with his white wand and everything en regle, just as if nothinghad interrupted their usual course of housekeeping.
The Lady de Tilly knew the weakness of her faithful old servitor, andalthough she smiled to herself, she would not hurt his feelings byentering the house before he was ready at his post to receive her. Shecontinued walking about the lawn conversing with Amelie, Pierre, and LeGardeur, until she saw old Felix with his wand and livery standing atthe door, when, taking Pierre's arm, she led the way into the house.
The folding doors were open, and Felix with his wand walked before hislady and her companions into the mansion. They entered without delay,for the day had been warm, and the ladies were weary after sittingseveral hours in a canoe, a mode of travelling which admits of verylittle change of position in the voyagers.
The interior of the Manor House of Tilly presented the appearance ofan old French chateau. A large hall with antique furniture occupied thecenter of the house, used occasionally as a court of justice whenthe Seigneur de Tilly exercised his judicial office for the trial ofoffenders, which was very rarely, thanks to the good morals of thepeople, or held a cour pleniere of his vassals, on affairs ofthe seigniory for apportioning the corvees for road-making andbridge-building, and, not the least important by any means, for theannual feast to his censitaires on the day of St. Michael de Thury.
From this hall, passages led into apartments and suites of roomsarranged for use, comfort, and hospitality. The rooms were of all sizes,panelled, tapestried, and furnished in a style of splendor suited tothe wealth and dignity of the Seigneurs of Tilly. A stair of oak, broadenough for a section of grenadiers to march up it abreast, led tothe upper chambers, bedrooms, and boudoirs, which looked out of oldmullioned windows upon the lawn and gardens that surrounded the house,affording picturesque glimpses of water, hills, and forests far enoughoff for contemplation, and yet near enough to be accessible by a shortride from the mansion.
Pierre Philibert was startled at the strange familiarity of everythinghe saw: the passages and all their intricacies, where he, Le Gardeur,and Amelie had hid and found one another with cries of delight,--heknew where they all led to; the rooms with their antique and statelyfurniture, the paintings on the wall, before which he had stood andgazed, wondering if the world was as fair as those landscapes of sunnyFrance and Italy and why the men and women of the house of Tilly, whoseportraits hung upon the walls, looked at him so kindly with those darkeyes of theirs, which seemed to follow him everywhere, and he imaginedthey even smiled when their lips were illumined by a ray of sunshine.Pierre looked at them again with a strange interest,--they were like thefaces of living friends who welcomed him back to Tilly after years ofabsence.
Pierre entered a well-remembered apartment which he knew to be thefavorite sitting-room of the Lady de Tilly. He walked hastily acrossit to look at a picture upon the wall which he recognized again with aflush of pleasure.
It was the portrait of Amelie painted by himself during his last visitto Tilly. The young artist, full of enthusiasm, had put his whole soulinto the work, until he was himself startled at the vivid likeness whichalmost unconsciously flowed from his pencil. He had caught the divineupward expression of her eyes, as she turned her head to listen to him,and left upon the canvas the very smile he had seen upon her lips.Those dark eyes of hers had haunted his memory forever after. To hisimagination that picture had become almost a living thing. It was as avoice of his own that returned to his ear
as the voice of Amelie. Inthe painting of that portrait Pierre had the first revelation of aconsciousness of his deep love which became in the end the masterpassion of his life.
He stood for some minutes contemplating this portrait, so different fromher in age now, yet so like in look and expression. He turned suddenlyand saw Amelie; she had silently stepped up behind him, and her featuresin a glow of pleasure took on the very look of the picture.
Pierre started. He looked again, and saw every feature of the girl oftwelve looking through the transparent countenance of the perfectwoman of twenty. It was a moment of blissful revelation, for he felt anassurance at that moment that Amelie was the same to him now as in theirdays of youthful companionship. "How like it is to you yet, Amelie!"said he; "it is more true than I knew how to make it!"
"That sounds like a paradox, Pierre Philibert!" replied she, with asmile. "But it means, I suppose, that you painted a universal portraitof me which will be like through all my seven ages. Such a picture mightbe true of the soul, Pierre, had you painted that, but I have outgrownthe picture of my person."
"I could imagine nothing fairer than that portrait! In soul and body itis all true, Amelie."
"Flatterer that you are!" said she, laughing. "I could almost wishthat portrait would walk out of its frame to thank you for the care youbestowed upon its foolish little original."
"My care was more than rewarded! I find in that picture my beau-ideal ofthe beauty of life, which, belonging to the soul, is true to all ages."
"The girl of twelve would have thanked you more enthusiastically forthat remark, Pierre, than I dare do," replied she.
"The thanks are due from me, not from you, Amelie! I became yourdebtor for a life-long obligation when without genius I could doimpossibilities. You taught me that paradox when you let me paint thatpicture."
Amelie glanced quickly up at him. A slight color came and went on hercheek. "Would that I could do impossibilities," said she, "to thank yousufficiently for your kindness to Le Gardeur and all of us in coming toTilly at this time.
"It would be a novelty, almost a relief, to put Pierre Philibert undersome obligation to us for we all owe him, would it not, Le Gardeur?"continued she, clasping the arm of her brother, who just now came intothe room. "We will discharge a portion of our debt to Pierre for thiswelcome visit by a day on the lake,--we will make up a water-party. Whatsay you, brother? The gentlemen shall light fires, the ladies shall maketea, and we will have guitars and songs, and maybe a dance, brother! andthen a glorious return home by moonlight! What say you to my programme,Le Gardeur de Repentigny? What say you, Pierre Philibert?"
"It is a good programme, sister, but leave me out of it. I shall onlymar the pleasure of the rest; I will not go to the lake. I have beentrying ever since my return home to recognize Tilly; everything looksto me in an eclipse, and nothing bright as it once was, not even you,Amelie. Your smile has a curious touch of sadness in it which does notescape my eyes; accursed as they have been of late, seeing things theyought not to see, yet I can see that, and I know it, too; I have givenyou cause to be sad, sister."
"Hush, brother! it is a sin against your dear eyes to speak of themthus! Tilly is as bright and joyous as ever. As for my smiles, if youdetect in them one trace of that sadness you talk about, I shall grow asmelancholy as yourself, and for as little cause. Come! you shall confessbefore three days, brother, if you will only help me to be gay, thatyour sister has the lightest heart in New France."