CHAPTER XXVIII
I MAKE A FALSE MOVE
I can make no pretence to marshal the train of thought that sweptthrough my brain when the priest took his way and left me to myself.Engrossed as I was with my own affairs, I could not but speculateon the curious chance that had driven him into a life of renunciationand me to one of exile at the same time and for the same cause,and that now brought us together before the woman we both loved.I use the word advisedly and without any reflection on his integrity;but it would be an insult to my intelligence could I look on hisface, worn by suffering and emotion, and mark the tone of his voice,and, most confirmatory of all, the jealous care with which heavoided any mention of her name, and not acknowledge the presencethere of the gentlest passion that ever refined the soul of man.He had found abundant opportunity for self-denial and sacrifice inthe career he had chosen, but I doubted if he had found eitherpeace or entire resignation. During his interview with GeneralMurray, and especially during his familiar talk with me, I hadcaught a dozen reflections of his old bearing and manner, and Icould not believe he had laid aside all human longings and emotions,however he might refuse to recognise them, when he doffed theoutward habit of his class for the soutane and shovel hat of theJesuit. It were childish to think so.
Thus occupied I sate heedless of the hours that went by, untilchilled by the change of the day to evening. As I moved slowlytowards my quarters, the only result of the hours of solitarythought that remained by me, was that Margaret was unmarried, andthat she had come out to meet with me and for this alone.
That same evening I paid my respects to the Superior, la mere dola Nativite, a well-bred woman, who should have graced the worldrather than a convent, and to her I proffered my request that Imight be allowed to wait upon Mme. de St. Just.
"Most certainly, monsieur, if it be her desire. She is a guest towhom we owe much. If you will permit, I will send and inquire."
In a few moments the sister sent returned with word that Mme. deSt. Just would see the Chevalier de Maxwell at eleven the nextmorning.
"Very well, monsieur, you may then meet her here in the parlour,"added the Superior, pleasantly, and I bowed my thanks and withdrew.
I spent the night in great unrest, inventing imaginary difficultieswhen I overthrew those which really existed, picturing the expectedinterview in a thousand forms, framing and reframing every appealI should make, and so wore out the night in a fever of consuminganticipation.
I was thankful I had been captured while on staff duty; for I hadever made it a practice to dress myself with the most scrupulousattention when going into action, so that death himself might notfind me unprepared--and, thanks to this, I was now enabled to makea fitting appearance.
The feeling that I was outwardly prepared went far to reassure me,and when the time came for my meeting I had banished my uneasyapprehensions of the night, and recovered my habitual confidence.My sole anxiety was, lest I should fail in conveying an adequateimpression of my appreciation of her sacrifice and undertaking formy sake, but when I saw her every doubting fled.
I do not know how she was dressed, beyond that it served but toheighten her queenly beauty; which, rare as I remembered it, hadnow grown and developed beyond all my faint conceptions. Her amberhair had deepened into the richest auburn, its colour was undisguisedby powder, and its abundance undistorted by the art of thehair-dresser. Her eyes were steady, and clear, and truthful; everyline of her face had rounded out the promise of her youth, and hershape and carriage were divine. She moved like a goddess.
"Margaret," I said, as I advanced towards her, forgetting all theopenings I had so carefully rehearsed, "I can scarce believe I amawake. It seems incredible I should speak face to face with youhere."
"It is indeed a strange meeting," she returned. The words werenothing, but they were spoken in a tone of perfect quiet and control,without any trace of the emotion that broke my voice and dissipatedmy self-possession.
"It is a meeting for which I have dreamed, but tried not to hope,"I said, with much feeling.
"And I had lived for nothing else," she returned, with unfalteringvoice and the same absence of emotion.
"Then, Margaret, it has come at last!" I cried, joyously, thetemporary cloud passing as she spake.
"No, it has not!" she said, with the coldest decision, and, withthat incongruity of thought which springs upon us at the mostinopportune moments, I wondered if every woman for whom I caredwas to change her whole nature, the moment I left her side. Iremembered Lucy, and now here was Margaret, whom I had known asthe embodiment of impulsive affection, fencing with a coolness thatenforced my admiration. I saw she had fully prepared herself, andinstantly I resolved to change my ground.
"Margaret," I said, falling back on the most unstudied tones at mycommand, "it was only yesterday I learned from Gaston the truereason of your presence here. We have both suffered too cruellyfrom the accidents of the past to risk any misunderstanding nowfor the want of perfect openness between us."
"That is what I desire above all things in the world," she answered.
"Then let us begin at the beginning. Why was it you never let meknow of your plan?"
"I do not hold that any explanation is due on my part," she replied,still in the same tone of self-possession. "Remember I did notseek this interview, and I do not see that you have any right toquestion me on matters which concern only myself."
"Great heavens; Margaret! Can anything concern you and not touchme?"
"Once I believed it could not. I am older now."
"How can you speak thus coldly?" I cried, shocked at her incrediblecalm. "If there is anything I can do or say, for Heaven's sake,demand it. You cannot know what torture it is for me to see youlike this. I have dreamed of you, longed for you, despaired of youthrough all these years, and I have a right to a different treatment.Is it on account of Lucy?"
"Partly," she answered, somewhat moved. "Why did you never tell meof her?"
"How could I?"
"There was nothing dishonourable about it."
"A thing does not need to be dishonourable to be ruinous. Thedishonour would have been in my speaking when I was pledged tosilence."
"Was it more honourable, think you, to allow a young girl to livein a world of mock affection, and to expose her to what I have gonethrough?"
"But did I ever by word or sign make the slightest move to engageyour affections, after I discovered the truth?"
"Pardon me, if I say that question could only serve to embarrassa child. I will answer it by another. Does a man need to speak todeclare his love?"
"No, by heavens, he does not, Margaret!" I cried, throwing alldefence to the winds. "It speaks in every tone of his voice, inevery glance of his eye, and I would be a hypocrite beneath contemptwere I to pretend I did not always love you. I loved you from themoment I first saw you, a girl, before Temple Bar, and I will loveyou, God help me, till I die!"
"If this be the case, then, had I not a higher claim on you thanany woman living? Were you not bound to protect me against myignorance of such a barrier?"
"Absence, and I had hoped forgetfulness, would prove your bestprotection," I replied, with happy inspiration.
"The implication is skilful," she said, quietly, without a traceof the emotion I expected from my allusion, "but no mistake on mypart can serve to lessen your want of good faith towards me. Doyou think a woman would have considered any point of personal honourwhere the life of one dearest to her hung on her sacrifice?"
"It is quite beyond my poor powers to judge of what a woman mightdo." I replied, with a sudden rash indiscretion. "I find I havebut little knowledge of women or the motives which sway them."
"Then there is but little to be gained by continuing thisconversation," she returned, with a stately bow, and swept out ofthe room, leaving me to curse the folly that had betrayed me intoso false a move. And with this bitter morsel for reflection I soughtmy solitary room.
Nothing in the world, short of actual dishonour, can cause a
manof sensibility keener suffering than the knowledge that he has madea fool of himself. This I had done to the top of my bent. Why hadI not apprehended the effective point of attack from the outset,and, instead of attempting any defence, thrown myself on hercompassion and generosity? Why had I not...? But it were futile toreiterate the charges I brought against my own folly.
What was the support on which she relied? If her brother--then Iregretted from the bottom of my heart I had missed the occasion ofsquaring that account of which he had spoken. If a man at all, itwas he; for the woman who had so discomfited me was heart-whole Icould swear; a defiant modesty rang in every note of her voice.Possibly the convent, that fallacious sanctuary for disappointment.But if I knew anything of her sex, she was the last to whom sucha retreat could bring satisfaction. Heavens! It was a coil involvedenough to drive a man wellnigh distracted.
Dinner, and the intercourse it entailed, did much to restore me tomy ordinary bearing, and when Kit sought me in the afternoon, witha polite request from his Captain that I would wait upon him whenat leisure, I had quite recovered. Nothing could have fallen outmore to my liking; I was anxious to discover his cause of quarrelwith me, and, if possible, to arrive at some solution of Margaret'sattitude. So I followed Kit to his room at once.
Nairn I found a trifle pale, with a well-bandaged head, but hiswelcome was open and unconstrained, and his greeting met me at thethreshold. As I advanced to return it, I caught the flutter of adress out of the opposite door, which informed me that his sufferingswere not without certain consolations.
I took the hand extended to me with the same heartiness as it wasoffered.
"Will you accept a broken man's apology for a whole man's insult,Chevalier? I have promised my sister that I would make you thisreparation, and I am heartily glad we can return to our old footingof Louisbourg."
"Readily, Nairn. I have seen your sister this morning, and I cannotblame your action. I might have done the same myself. Let us sayno more about it."
"With all my heart! Well, Chevalier, the fortune of war has reversedour personal positions from Louisbourg, but I do not see that theend is much more certain now than then."
"Much the same," I answered; "the result altogether depends on thefirst ships."
"And I suppose you abide by it as before?"
"I must, Nairn. We need not reopen that subject."
"I only mention it, because I am anxious about the future of yourboy, Christopher. I congratulate you on finding such a son. Willyou understand me, if I say I trust you have not thought ofinfluencing him to leave our service, though I could not blame youwishing him beside you."
"Nairn, I owe you my thanks for having broached the subject. I havebeen too dependent on my own exertions all my life to make me agood beggar, even for my son. When in Louisbourg you expressedyourself as under some obligation towards me. Will you dischargeit by using your best endeavours for his advancement? He is toogood metal to waste as a common soldier."
"He is that! And if you allow him to remain, I pledge my word heshall not continue as such. It may sound presumptions in a merecaptain to promise so confidently, but if we come out of thissuccessfully, promotions will follow. He has been most favourablymarked by the General, and also by our Colonel."
"Let me see; he is a son of old Lovat, is he not?"
"That he is, and in more ways than one."
"If he be like his sainted father, he will have a longer memoryfor his own interests than those of his friends."
"This is rank treason, Chevalier. I won't listen to another wordof it," said Nairn, laughing. "But I am depending on the General,he never forgets any one, I can tell you, too," he added, eagerly,"he is a stickler for birth, and he will appreciate the fact ofChristopher being your son."
"That is a rare advantage!" I said, banteringly.
"Of course it is! Would you not value a good horse the more if youknew his pedigree?" he answered, without the ghost of a smile.
"Oh, come, come, Nairn! You must not attempt flattery, it has toooverwhelming an effect. But, tell me--in what manner did you meetwith your sister again?" I ventured boldly, knowing there wasnothing to be gained by a subtler policy with him.
"Simple enough. She was in the General Hospital when I was placedin command there, and very pleased I was to find her," he answered,as though the meeting were the most ordinary affair in the world,his tone clearly indicating that he had concluded the matter, anddid not intend to reopen it.
"I should apologise for having frightened her away as I came in,"I continued, feeling for another opening; but he feigned ignoranceof my move, and explained in the most natural manner--"Oh, thatwas not my sister, but a very good friend of hers, to whom we areboth indebted for many kindnesses."
"Ah, that is much. I trust she appreciates your gratitude in yourallowing her to nurse you?"
"Not at all; I do not think she looks upon it in that way. I believethere are some women who love the bother of looking after you. Itry to give her as little trouble as I can," he ended, with a catchin his voice.
"Nairn, you are a gentleman! Forgive my humbugging."
"I didn't know you were, or I shouldn't have been so simple as toanswer you. Do you know, I've often wished I could tell when a manis in earnest. I'm no good at guessing what his intent may be unlesshe has a sword in his hand; and as for a woman, I can never tellat all."
"You're no worse off than the best of us, in that respect, Nairn.Some day I trust some good woman will engage you in dead earnest,and then the quicker you surrender at discretion the better. Andfor your sake, I hope the day will come soon."
"I don't know, I'm sure," he answered, in so woe-begone a tone thatI left him, convinced his enemy had already been making seriousadvances, and that his defence was likely to be as feeble as hismost ardent well-wisher could desire.
I discovered my ex-Jacobite sergeant to be as matter-of-fact ashis captain. He would discuss military matters freely enough, buton the subject of our night's adventure I could not get him toadvance a word. _Exempli gratia_ "Neil, how is the officer youassisted on the field the other night?"
"Indeed, Captain, you must go away in and ask for yourself."
"You are not uneasy as to his hurt proving dangerous?"
"Not half as dangerous as undigested catechising, sir, saving yourpresence, and meaning no offence."
And in the face of so diplomatic a rebuke I would abandon thesubject and fall back on the safer ground of mines and countermines,carcasses and grenadoes.
I made no attempt to see Margaret, for I felt I would be foolishto risk another rebuff, which might be final, and that my best playwas a waiting game. My reflections had been bitter; possibly herswould be generous.
The garrison was fully occupied, for M. de Levis had made suchadvances to invest the town as to call for constant watchfulness.His fire throughout had necessarily been light, as he was wretchedlysupplied with artillery, but he succeeded in blowing up one of themagazines the very first night, and there were the usual number ofcasualties. General Murray, on his part, attempted one sortie, butas it was unsuccessful, and the officer in command captured, hethereafter held himself strictly on the defensive. No general attackwas attempted on our side, and wisely too; for even the capture ofthe town would avail nothing, if the first reinforcements by seawere not ours.
I passed my time making further acquaintance with Kit, whose eageraffection went far to relieve my melancholy, in a few visits ofcourtesy to various officers, and in renewing my friendship withGaston and with Nairn.
Each day, as I visited the latter towards eleven o'clock, I wastreated to the same disappearing flutter of what I did not doubtwas the same petticoat, until at length I became piqued.
"Nairn," I declared, "I must either give up visiting you, or youmust persuade that timid lady-in-waiting that I am not to be runaway from with impunity. Either she must remain in her placeto-morrow, or I cease disturbing her."
"Indeed, that is what I have been doing my best to persuade her,but she i
s somewhat shy until a little matter of difference betweenus is settled."
"What, Nairn! Is it possible you have already met the fair onestrong in fight, of whom I prophesied?"
"Yes, I suppose so," he said, with a happy laugh. "I may as welltell you. She is Mademoiselle de Sarennes. The only thing thattroubles me is, that she wishes to leave the matter to chance."
"I congratulate you on the lady, first of all, sir. And now, whatare the chances?"
He moved uneasily. "Just a woman's fancy, I suppose; but she wishesit to depend on the arrival of the ships."
"What! Are those fateful ships to carry the decisions of Cupid aswell as Mars? What part are they to play in your affairs?"
"Part enough. If a French ship arrives first, she marries me; ifan English, then I marry her."
"Good heavens, Nairn! What an anxiety to have hanging over you!Have you provided against the possible appearance of a Spaniard?"
"None of your nonsense, Chevalier!" he exclaimed, hotly. "This isno jesting matter for me. Cannot you take anything seriously? Iconceive it to make all the difference in the world, whether theman take the woman, or the woman the man. I hate turning thingsupside-down, and, if I marry at all, I must do so in a decent,orderly way, like my fathers before me."
"That is all very well, but shouldn't you allow the lady somechoice, especially if you should turn out to be a prisoner, as willcertainly be the case should a French ship appear first?"
"But why not let me exercise the choice? I have my feelings as wellas a woman," he returned, stubbornly.
"That is conceivable, or you would never have advanced as far asyour present difficulty. But I think this is a matter which can bearranged with a little diplomacy."
"Then there's little hope for it if the diplomacy rests with me,for I've no more of it about me than a brass carronade."
"Never mind. You can safely depend for that upon the lady. In themean time, pray present her with my compliments and congratulationson so ingenious a shifting of responsibility, and remind her thatI expect to pay her my respects on the morrow."
But on the morrow I did not keep my appointment. About ten o'clockthat morning, as I was with General Murray, chatting over the firein his quarters in the rue St. Louis, we were interrupted by anaide, who entered in great excitement.
"Your Excellency, a ship is in sight from the lookout!"
"Good heavens, Kirkconnel! This decides it!" exclaimed the General,rising, and generously extending to me his hand. "God bless you,whichever it be!" he added, heartily, and we parted.
In all haste I made my way to the Chateau and gained such point ofvantage as was possible. I eagerly scanned every foot of the river,but there was nothing I could make out, though from the excitementof the little knot at the signalling-point above it was evidentthey could sight her.
In an incredibly short time every available foothold was occupied.Men, women, and children, soldiers and sailors, sick and sound,flocked to the ramparts to strain their eyes for the reported sail.
Suddenly a cheer arose from the crowd, and all hearts leaped inresponse. No--it was but a sailor climbing the flag-staff on theCape to bend new cordage for the colours, and presently they wereunrolled and spread out on the sharp May wind. With every momentthe crowd increased; the wounded even left their beds at the news,and painfully crawled to have the sooner tidings.
At length her top-sails shone white over the bare trees of St.Joseph. Inch by inch they grew, until the vessel swam clear of thepoint. A frigate! A man-of-war! And, at the sight, the crowd,French and English alike, set up a shout, though as yet neitherknew the message she would soon send flying from her halyards.
On she came, and, the first burst of excitement stilled, we hungon her every movement in a silence that was almost painful. Atlength a gasp ran through the crowd. Against her white sails ablack spot could be distinctly seen running swiftly up to themasthead. No sooner did it touch it than it broke, and the whitefield barred by the red cross of St. George streamed forth to ourwaiting eyes.
A perfect scream of shouts and cheers answered the declaration.Men swore and blasphemed in their joy, some shrieked and laughedin hysterical excitement, while others broke down and wept likechildren at the sight of their deliverance.
Before long the frigate's sides were swathed in smoke, and her gunsthundered their proud salute against the swarming cliff, whilefrantic groups ran through the town shouting the news, until, fromthe line of defences opposite the Heights, the artillery boomedforth in one long, continuous roar its message of exultation anddefiance to the gallant Levis and his men, to whom it meantirretrievable failure and despair.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to meet the pale face ofGaston.
"This is the end!" he said, with tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER XXIX
I PUT MY FORTUNE TO THE TOUCH
On that 9th of May which saw the _Lowestaffe_ anchor in Quebec topractically settle the fortunes of France and England in the NewWorld, as I walked back along the rue St. Louis arm in arm withGaston, neither of us speaking a word, I determined that now thetime had come to put my fortune to the touch; and as soon as possibleI sent word to Margaret, praying I might be granted an interview,and in a state of anxiety, not far removed from panic, I awaitedher answer.
She would see me at once, and I repaired to the parlour where tome she entered, pale and dignified, the nobility of her soul shewingforth in every movement of her body, and its beauty in every lineof her face.
"Margaret," I cried, "forgive me, if I have forced myself upon you,but I have no courage to endure longer. You have heard that allhope for the French arms is now virtually at an end, and I mustknow what lies before me."
"That must rest with you," she answered, in the same calm tonewhich had so upset me in our last meeting.
"Then, Margaret, I am here to plead my own cause," I answered,firmly, determined not to be swayed by any passing mood, "and Iplead _in forma pauperis_, for I have no one to rely on save myself,and no hope save in you."
"You must not count upon me," she returned, calmly. "I cannotacknowledge that you have any claim upon me."
"I have the claim which comes from your own affection, Margaret.You loved me once, and in the strength of that love I stand to-day.In the name of that love I ask you to hear me."
"That is a thing of the past. You have no right to presume upon itnow."
"Is it presumption for one who has lived in such loneliness as I,to hold to the one bright day of his life? There is no past forthe heart."
"I will not argue the point," she answered, coldly; "but there isa past I have shut out of mine."
"You may try to persuade yourself you have, Margaret, but it willcome back when you think it most banished. I know of what I speak,for when I thought I had buried a past that was torture to me torecall, it has awakened me to nights of hopeless regrets and emptylongings; it has stood beside me, unsummoned, when most alone, andhas started into life at some chance word or token, when in company.The more you try to live it down, the more you create a hauntingmemory to fill your hours with bitterness."
"Then I will meet it with other strength than my own. I haveresolved to enter the Community."
"So I feared. What do you hope to gain by so doing?"
"I will gain work, and rest--and peace."
"No, Margaret, you will not gain peace. Listen to me. I know youbetter than you know yourself! You will find work, you may findrest, of a kind, but what peace will come to you even though youare shut in safe from the chance evils of life, when you think ofone who has loved as faithfully, but without the same hope asyourself, wandering, a broken man, because you refused him admittanceto the happiness you alone could offer."
"Do you think it fair to try me by such an appeal? You know I cannever be indifferent to your fate. You know I have thought for youeven above myself," she said, with a tremor in her voice she couldnot entirely suppress.
I saw my advantage, and seized it eagerly. "Then, Margaret, listen!List
en while I plead for myself. What have I to look forward to,if I lose you? Behind me are the best years of my life, wasted inthis wilderness because I had hoped to secure your happiness by myexile. To-day I have seen every hope of my advancement vanish; thatI can take as one of the chances of war--but what have I left ifI lose you now? You are the whole world to me, and all it can offeris nothing, if it does not include you. Margaret, my love! Callback the day when, if I could have spoken, love waited in yourheart to answer. Give me a single hour of that past now! a momentof the old love in which to plead for your life as well as my own."
Her colour came and went as I spake; she had visibly lost thatcontrol which had so far baffled me, and when she answered, it waswith the familiar name she had not uttered, save when she had beensurprised into it on our first meeting.
"Oh, Hugh, do not try me. You know not what I have gone through,and now I am near to God."
"Margaret, my darling, you will be nearer God when you are besidethe man to whom He would confide you. You know I love you withall my soul! How can you look for happiness apart from him whomyou have loved so long, and whom you love even now!" I ended,determined to risk the utmost. "Come to me, Margaret! Come to me!We will face life together, and together there will be no room forfurther doubtings, for further mistakes! I cannot shape my loveinto words. It is all my life, all my being, and yet it is a poorthing to offer you."
"Oh, Hugh, I know not which way to turn."
"Turn to me, Margaret! Turn to me! If ever a man needed a goodwoman's love, I need yours now. Everything is falling about me. Imay have no right to ask, but I cannot help it. My need is greaterthan my strength. Am I to go forth into exile again withoutyou-Margaret?"
"Hugh, my only love!" she cried, in a voice vibrant with tenderness;and with the words she extended to me her trembling, upturned hands.In my eyes it seemed as though they held all the priceless treasureof her enduring love.
For a few days longer the cannon continued to grumble backward andforward between wall and trench, until the arrival of the _Vanguard_,_Diana_, and _Lawrence_ placed matters beyond a peradventure.Thereupon M. de Levis promptly disbanded his Canadians, and duringthe night of the 16th, under a searching fire from the ramparts,he withdrew from his lines, and fell back upon Deschambault.
The siege was at an end. Within the town officers and men rejoicedin their escape from incessant duty, and welcomed the plenty whichsucceeded the semi-starvation of the winter; the towns-people, asis always the case, were ready to accept any rule which wouldguarantee to them security and peace, while the surrounding parisheswere gladdened by the return of their volunteers, seeing thereina promise of the renewal of the quiet for which they longed. Thegates were thrown open, and once more the country-folk throngedwithin the walls to offer their scanty provisions, and to bargainwith the "kilties" and "red-coats" with a confidence that spakewell for the humanising influences of war. General Murray receivedM. Malartic, who had been left in charge of the wounded in theGeneral Hospital, and other of our officers at his table in friendlyhospitality, and ordinary life took up its interrupted course.
But with much rejoicing on the one hand came sadness on the other.The news of the death of Sarennes was now received in due courseby his mother and sister, but was borne with surprising spirit,especially by the former, who comforted herself with the thoughtthat the last of his house had found death in a profession whichhis fathers had distinguished by their name, while his sister hadboth youth and love to support her.
Kit was jubilant over his promotion as ensign, which had happenedeven sooner than his captain had foretold; he was received by hissuperiors and equals with flattering congratulations, and the menlooked without jealousy on his advancement. To me it was gratifyingto find he valued it not so much for the position, as for therecognition of his proper standing as a gentleman's son.
Nairn was happy in his escape from the humiliation of being askedin marriage, and impatiently counted the days of mourning until hecould make his demand on Mademoiselle de Sarennes "selon tous lesregles de la bienseance." That he was in love, even to the pointof blindness, was amply proved by his astonishment that there wereothers in the like case as himself.
"Captain Nairn," I said to him, in Margaret's presence, the daybefore his departure for Montreal with the troops, "as you are thehead of your family, I have the honour to demand of you the handof your sister in marriage."
"God bless my soul, Peggy!" he exclaimed, with the utmost honesty."I had never thought of you as marrying. I had planned that youwould always live with me."
"Suppose, Nairn, that Mme. de Sarennes had said the same ofAngelique?"
"But that is different. You see, Peggy is..." But here he fell intoa sadden confusion, and then, correcting himself, cried, with muchvehemence: "No, she isn't! Peggy, you are the dearest girl in thewhole world! You deserve all the world can give you. You take her,Chevalier, with the best wishes of a brother, whose greatestmisfortune has been not to have known her better."
And so matters were settled. Nairn marched with the troops to takehis share in what I have always looked upon as the most admirableof Murray's achievements, a campaign politic, rather than military;at once to overawe and reassure the inhabitants, and, thisaccomplished, to converge on Montreal with Amherst and Haviland.
The situation in which Levis found himself was impossible, and itonly remained for Vaudreuil to accept the terms of capitulationwhich were offered. From his point of view they were no doubthonourable, but in his anxiety to save the goods and chattels ofa parcel of shopkeepers, he saw fit to sacrifice the honour ofthose troops, who, for six arduous campaigns, had stood betweenhim and his fate. Thus, on the 8th of September, 1760, Canada passedforever into the hands of the English; who thus held America fromFlorida to Hudson Bay, from the Atlantic to the Mississippi. Butthese events will no doubt be more fully related by "the gentlemanat his desk--" and I will return.
Soon after the arrival of the victorious troops with their prisonersfrom Montreal, a double marriage was celebrated in the chapel ofthe Ursulines, General Murray standing for Margaret, while M. deLevis rendered the same courtesy to Angelique, and the officiatingpriest was le pere Jean.
At two we sat down to dinner in the General's quarters, surroundedby friends old and new; for those who had withstood each other sostoutly in the field now vied only in expressions of personaladmiration and esteem. Poulariez, Malartic, and le petit Joannessat side by side with Fraser, Burton, and Rollo, while the twogenerals shared the honours of the feast with Margaret and Angelique.
M. de Levis did me the honour to request that I would supplementhis encomium on our hosts by a few words in English, which I didwith poor enough effect; but on being called upon on all sides fora song, I retrieved my halting prose with the following, which Ihad set to the old air of "Dalmeny":
"Though unrelenting fate hath cast In camps opposed our lot, Though we have faced each other oft And Scot hath drawn on Scot, I cannot hold that Chance, or Time, Or waste of sundering sea. Can part the banished hearts that meet At one in their Ain Countrie.
"We've sprung from every mile that lies 'Twixt Tweed-side and Ardshiel, To wake the corners of the world With clash of Scottish steel. We've kept our faith to King and Prince And held it ample fee, If life or death might keep our name Alive in our Ain Countrie.
"We've ridden far for name and fame. We've never stooped for gold. We've led the flying columns back With victory in our hold. We've won undying name and fame! Yet all o' it I'd gie To see the red sun set at hame, At hame, in my Ain Countrie."
The enthusiasm of our generous hosts over my effort formed a fittingclose to the festivity, and the refrain of "Our Ain Countrie" wascarried forth from the room to pass from lip to lip until the wholegarrison was wild over it, and many a homesick fellow found sadconsolation in my poor effusion of an idle hour. Such a gratificationis the highest which a man of taste can receive, and it is to beregretted that more men of
genius do not direct their efforts tosuch pleasing ends.
With our friends Poulariez, Joannes, and others in command of theRoyal Roussillon, we were provided for in the _Duke_, CaptainRenwick, where Kit, Angelique, with her husband, and a score ofEnglish officers assembled to bid us farewell, so that our leavingresembled more a party of pleasure than the embarkment of a defeatedarmy.
But as we dropped down the stream and stood watching the great rockof Quebec, with its fringe of batteries, and the English flag flyingwhere ours had so proudly held its place for many a day, a sadnessfell upon us all.
Margaret and I stood somewhat apart from the others.
"Hugh, dear, cannot you find some cause for thankfulness?" shesaid, softly.
"Oh yes; like Bougainville, I can at least quote the Psalmist: 'Inexitu Israel de-AEgypto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro.'"
"Oh, Hugh, do not say that! It has been a blessed land to us.Listen, dear, to what has been my comfort all these years," andwith her beauteous face filled with the exaltation of her love sherepeated:
"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, Nor deep eneugh the sea, Nor braid eneugh this weary warld, To part my Love frae me."
"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh."]
EPILOGUE
The desolate point known as Tadoussac, at the mouth of the riverSaguenay, in Canada, is the place of exile of a few officials whoguard the interests of the fur trade.
Their quarters, a few storehouses, and the little church with itsmodest presbytere, form an outpost to the civilised world. Duringthe summer season the wandering Indians flock down in their canoes,build their temporary huts, and a constant bustle of trade andbarter sets in. Furs are examined, valued, and exchanged for guns,ammunition, clothing, and other luxuries of savage existence. Thearrival of the few ships necessary to this primitive commerce makesthe only other break in the monotonous existence of the littlecolony. At the approach of winter the Indiana scatter, and theofficials and the solitary priest are prisoners until the springonce more opens for them the doors of the outside world.
Here it was, on the evening of the 11th of April, 1782, that thepriest sate with his companions in the house of the principalofficial.
At nine o'clock he rose and said good-night to his hosts in hisusual manner, but suddenly his whole appearance changed. Drawingback, he raised his hand, and said, in tones of deepest earnestness:
"My friends, it is not only 'good-night,' it is 'good-bye.' Good-byefor all time, for you will never see me again alive. To-night attwelve I shall be called hence."
The little company were shocked beyond expression. The prieststood before them tall, commanding, his figure full of life andvigour, his eye bright and unfaltering, but his face lighted witha mysterious solemnity that forbade questioning.
"At midnight the bell of the chapel will sound. You may come then,but do not touch my body. To-morrow you will seek M. Compain, thecure of the Isle aux Coudres, and he will prepare my body forburial."
He withdrew, leaving the company in affrighted silence; ten, elevenstruck, and at midnight the bell of the chapel began to toll. Theyarose, awe-stricken, and took their way to the little church.
By the dim light before the sanctuary they caught sight of the robeof the priest. He was lying on the ground motionless, his facecovered by his hands as if in prayer on the first steps of thealtar.
That same night the bells of all the churches along the river, atla Mal Baie, at Les Eboulements, at the Isle aux Coudres, at laBaie St. Paul, and up through every parish to Quebec, rang withoutthe touch of mortal hands, and soon the wondering faithful knewthat the passing soul for which they rang was that of la pere Jean,the missionary to the Indians, once known as Jean Marie Gaston deCaldegues, Vicomte de Trincardel.
"Happy the people who still believe these sweet and holy legends."
THE END
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