CHAPTER XX.
SACRAMENTAL.
The military routine of the fortress continued that day as usual, andthe approach of night brought no suspicion of the forthcoming assault.The absence of La Salle was alone commented upon, yet withoutapprehension, for the priest was notoriously lax in the performance ofhis ecclesiastical duties, and only Laroche was seriously troubled inmind for his brother priest. Roussilac indeed breathed more freelywhen La Salle was not present in the fortress. At eventide two littlebells rang out, that to the east of the citadel being the bell of thechapel of Ste. Anne, presided over by the junior priest, St Agapit,that to the west the bell of Ste. Mary Bonsecours upon the hill. HereLaroche, in the absence of La Salle, officiated to recite vespers andhear confessions.
Laroche, though a fighting bully lacking in every priestly quality,was, among the soldiers at least, more popular than St Agapit. Thelatter was a scholar, a man too learned, and somewhat too honest, forhis age, an ascetic, and a priest in every sense. It was well knownthat he looked with a stern eye upon drunken brawls or vengefulthreats, whereas Laroche, himself a brawler when in his cups, judgedsuch offences leniently. St Agapit had no ambition, apart from thefaithful performance of his duty, the carrying out of which rarelybrought him into even remote contact with either of his colleagues.
It was good to feel the cool breath of the evening after the heat andburden of the afternoon. The little stone church of Ste. Mary upon thebrow of the hill darkened, and an aged crone passed into the sanctuaryto light the strong-smelling lamps. Laroche entered to recite vespers,and rolled away to divest his great body of cope and alb; but as heappeared again within the church his eyes fell upon some half-dozenmen, who waited to obtain an easier conscience by confession of theirsins.
"A plague on ye," the priest grumbled as he stumbled into his box."Why are ye all such miserable sinners? Ha! is it you that I see,Michel Ferraud? What sin now, you rogue?"
The keeper of the cabaret in the Rue des Pecheurs fell straightway uponhis knees, and began to whimper:
"The former wickedness. I am driven to the act, my father. Wine isscarce, as your holiness knows, and great is the demand therefor. Imust eke out the supply against the coming of each ship, and it hasever been but a little aqua puralis added to each keg; but to-day,father, the devil jogged my elbow, and that which is blended cannot beseparated. The wine remains a rich colour, holy father, as you shallsee, and none shall know----"
"Vile and shameless sinner that you are," the priest interrupted. "Todilute a wine which is already too thin to gladden the heart of man andmake him a cheerful countenance--to do so, I say, is to commit a mostdeadly sin."
"Exact not so heavy a fine as at last confession, good father. Wouldnot have me close my tavern? The wine is a good wine," Michel addedprofessionally, "and the little water added is methinks an aid tovirtue."
"Art so fond of water?" replied the confessor grimly. "Water you shallhave. Go down now to the river, swim across, and return in likemanner, and afterwards come to me again. Go now! I have lessersinners to absolve."
"The river will be villainous cold, my father. And I cannot swim."
"Learn," said the inexorable priest. "Come not to me again till youhave crossed the river as I have said. May you take into your evilstomach an abundance of cold water while learning."
The taverner retired dissatisfied, and when outside the church rubbedhis head and ruminated. "The confession was ill-timed," he muttered."His reverence is in an evil humour. The devil shall seize me body andsoul before I set one foot into that accursed river. But there isFather St Agapit. I will go forthwith and confess to him."
The taverner's propitious star was in the ascendant. When he reachedthe chapel of Ste. Anne vespers had not concluded, for the office wasthere recited with greater reverence and detail than in the church ofSte. Mary Bonsecours. Michel pushed himself into a front place andhastened to make himself conspicuous by various fussy acts of outwarddevotion. The office over, he lingered until St Agapit came to him,and the taverner then repeated the confession which he had alreadymade, with such disastrous consequences, to Laroche.
"Since the evil nature of man drives him to drink much wine, let himpartake of it as weak as may be, for his soul's health," said thesincere priest. "But, my son, it behoves you to make known to yourpatrons the truth."
"I dare not," said Michel, rejoicing at heart because he saw a prospectof cheating the devil.
"Then are you guilty of deceit," said the priest. "Mix water with yourwine no more, and for your deceit you shall say the litany of St.Anthony of Padua six times before the altar of Ste. Anne. But see thatyou wash before approaching the holy shrine, because I perceive uponyou the odour of wine-casks."
Having brought his duty to an end, St Agapit drew his cloak round himand went out. While studying that day the work of a German philosopherhe had been confronted by the startling theory that the brain andstomach of the human system were possibly connected by means of nerves.He desired to procure from one of the settler-soldiers a dead rabbitwhich he might dissect for his own enlightenment.
As he went a woman met him.
"Father," she cried, "a soldier lies at my house at the point of death,praying for a priest to confess him."
"Follow me to the church," said St Agapit.
He passed back into the little log-building, took the reserved Host andthe sacred oils from an inlaid case, and wrapping these consolations ofthe Church in his cloak accompanied the woman.
Upon a palliasse in one of the cabins on the eastern slope a young manlay dying of pneumonia, that fell disease which the medical science ofthe day could only fight by sage shakings of the head and a judicioususe of the cupping-glass. The commandant's own doctor stood there, aman with some knowledge of medicinal plants and skilled by longexperience in the treatment of sword-cuts, helplessly watching theexodus of his patient.
"I resign him to your charge, good father," he said, bending his backto the priest. "He has passed beyond the help of science. Had I beensummoned earlier"--he shrugged his shoulders--"a discreet use of thelance might well have relieved the fatal rush of blood to the brain andsaved a life for the king."
"Perchance an incision in the stomach to release the foul vapours----"began St Agapit.
"Useless, my father. The disease, I do assure you, is in the blood."
The abbe knelt and administered the last sacraments of his Church. Theyoung soldier remained entirely conscious and his confession came in asteady whisper.
"Father," he concluded, "I would speak with the commandant."
St Agapit looked at the physician by the flickering light of a pinetorch. The latter shook his head.
"'Tis impossible. Roussilac is at supper. But I may leave a messageas I pass."
"Say that Jean-Marie Labroquerie calls on him with his dying breath,"whispered the soldier.
The physician left; the woman who owned the cabin moved silently inpreparation for the carrying out of the body, because people werepractical in the days when death by violence occurred almost hourly.St Agapit lowered his thin face to catch the message of the passing man.
"Hidden in the straw you shall find a roll of parchment. I pray youtake it and use it as you will. It is the work of my father, a learnedman. We quarrelled. I stole his work and left my home. I repentedand would have taken it back. It was of no service to me. I cannotread. If it be of value, let my old father gain the profit."
"Does he live within the New World?"
"Two days' journey beyond the river. In a log cabin surrounded by apalisade which these hands erected. My father healed some Indians whowere sick, and thus obtained their friendship. There was I brought upwith my sister, my fair sister. Oh, my father, I would see again mysister. I would feel the touch of her hand, and see her bright hairthat flamed in the sun. I would give these my last moments for thesight of her eyes, and the sound of her voice, saying as she was wont,'Jean-Marie, my brother! Life is a glori
ous gift.' Ah, my father!"
"Peace, son. Set your mind upon this suffering."
The abbe held a crucifix into the glow of the torch.
"Jesus is not so jealous, father, that He forbids us to love our own.I was going back when I could obtain my conge, like the prodigal, toseek my father's forgiveness. My mother was to blame for ourunhappiness. Solitude and disappointment had embittered her life. Shehad a cruel tongue and her hand was rough. I was a coward. I fled.My sister's eyes have pursued me. I made myself a profligate, toforget. But memory is a knife in an open wound."
The minutes passed punctuated by the gasps of the sufferer. The torchburnt down to its knot, and another was kindled by the pale woman. Thesound without was the wash of the tide.
"He comes not," moaned the soldier. "Bear me a message, father."
The dry rattling of beads broke the silence.
"Speak, my son."
The soldier uttered a piteous cry: "Madeleine! Madeleine!"
"Oh, son! Call rather on the name of Mary."
A gust of dark air swept into the cabin, the torch flame waved like aflag, and a man stood behind muffled to the eyes, breathing as thoughhe had come with speed. He threw aside his martial cloak, andstraightway stood revealed.
"Jean-Marie," he muttered.
"Arnaud. Stand aside, my father. Let me meet my cousin face to face."
The priest moved back, and the two soldiers, the officer and thefighting-man, stared into each other's eyes.
"Had I known this, Jean-Marie----" began the commandant; but the figureupon the palliasse, straining from death as a dog from the leash, brokein upon him.
"Cousin, you knew. When I have passed have you not averted your eyes,ashamed of the man who has had neither the wit nor the opportunity torise? You have made yourself great, and I--but this is no time forcalling up the past. I am spent. Come to me, cousin--nearer. Why,commandant, art afraid of a dying man?"
"Is he dying?"
"He is in God's hands," the priest answered; and the woman grumbled:"Yes, yes, and a long time lying there, keeping me from my bed."
"Out!" said Roussilac, turning upon her. "Out, and repeat not what youmay have heard."
The woman slunk away frightened.
"Ah, cousin, that old manner," smiled Jean-Marie. "So spoke you as aboy. They said you would find greatness. My father would say, 'He isa Brutus. Would condemn his own son.' I know not who Brutus was, butmy father was a learned man."
He coughed terribly and lay back gasping.
"Say what lies upon your mind and have done," reproved St Agapit. "Iwould have you die with better thoughts."
"Cousin," panted Jean-Marie, "I forgive you as I hope for mercy. Placenow your hand on mine."
Roussilac did so, shrinking at the freezing contact.
"Your aunt and uncle and Madeleine your cousin dwell in this land, twodays' journey beyond the river. My father was hunted for his life.They called him a wizard. You know? Yes, once at home you might haveshielded him, but there was your advancement to be thought on. Swearto me to find them. Tell Madeleine how I died. Be good to her. Ah,cousin, be a brother to Madeleine. You shall find her the fairestsister in all this world. Swear to bring them from their solitude, toprotect my father. Swear before this holy priest to feed and clothethem if they be in want, to care for them, and be to them a brother anda son."
Roussilac, who had softened for the moment, grew again stern. Hisposition was not so sure that it could withstand the attacks of tonguesthat might whisper at home that the young governor of the new colonysheltered a heretic uncle. Jean-Marie was quick to note the change.He knew the hardness of his cousin's heart.
"Swear to me, or have my shadow cursing you through life."
The priest put out his arm with a word of adjuration.
"The crucifix," the commandant muttered.
St Agapit held it over the dying man.
"Touch not the sacred symbol without a prayer, my son. Beware God'swrath!"
With one hand grasping the cold fingers, the other pressed fearfullyupon the metal figure thrilling in the priest's grasp, Roussilac tookthe oath that was required of him.
"And that I will keep it, I call God, our Lady, and the blessed saintsto witness!" he concluded in a hushed voice.
Hardly had he spoken, and while he still watched his cousin lying whitewith the light fading from his eyes, the fortress from end to endbecame tumultuous. A gun roared, a din of shouting, the thud of flyingfeet, the shriek of women, the cry of his soldiery swept up the slopein wave upon wave of uproar.
"An attack!" he cried. "And I am from my post!"
"Peace!" said St Agapit, with a frown. "The God of battles is nothere."
"Arnaud," came the hollow whisper out of the tumult, "I have more tosay. My voice goes. I pray you bend your head."
"I came secretly," said Roussilac wildly. "I cannot stay. Father,duty is calling me. My reputation, my position----"
"Your family," said the priest, pointing sternly.
The night air became a storm with the shout: "The Iroquois! TheIroquois are upon us!"
"Cousin!" whispered the dying man.
"My position!" cried the commandant; and turning with the confession hecaught up his cloak, saying: "I will return. I will come back to you,Jean-Marie. My country calls me."
"His ambition!" murmured the lean priest, as the door swung back, andthe tumult rolled in like a raging sea flung upon a cave.