A Little Girl in Old Quebec

  CHAPTER XV

  HELD IN AN ENEMY'S GRASP

  These were sad times for old Quebec and for the little girl who wasblossoming into a womanhood that should have been joyous and serene, sheasked so little of life.

  When the news of the reverse and the loss of the stores reached them,they were still more greatly burthened by the influx from Tadoussac andthe settlements around. Then, too, the wandering Indians joined in theclamor for food. Trade was stopped. Mont Real took the furs and disposedof them in other channels. No one knew how many English vessels werelying outside, ready to confiscate anything valuable.

  Madame Destournier was in a state of ungovernable terror.

  "Why should we stay here and be murdered?" she would cry. "Or starve todeath! Let us return to France, as we planned. Am I of not as muchconsideration as an Indian squaw, that you all profess so much anxietyfor?"

  "It would not be prudent to cross the ocean now," her husband said. "Wemight be taken prisoners and carried to England. You are in no state toface hardships."

  "As if I did not face them continually! Oh, I should have gone at once,when Laurent died. And if the English take the town, where will be thefortune he struggled for! I wish I had never seen the place."

  She would go on bewailing her hard fate until utterly exhausted. Therewere days when she would not let Rose out of her sight, except when herhusband entered the room. It was well that he had a motive of thehighest honor, to hold himself well in hand, though there were timeswhen his whole heart went out in pity for Rose. Was there another soulin the world that would have been so pitiful and tender?

  Eustache Boulle had come from Tadoussac, since so little could be donetoward rehabilitating that, and proved himself a most worthy compatriotto Champlain. Rose was sorely troubled at first, but she soon found thatmiladi no longer cared for the marriage. She was too selfish to think oflosing one who was so useful to her. The girl's vigor and vivacity werea daily tonic to her. Would she sap the strength out of this splendidcreature? Ralph Destournier wondered, with a pang. Yet to interfere wasnot possible. He understood the jealous nature, that if given theslightest ground would precipitate an _esclandre_.

  Among the Indians flocking in was Savignon, who had gone to France yearsbefore with Champlain, and who had been in demand as an interpreter. Hehad spent a year or two up at the strait, where there was quite acentre, and the priests had established a station, and gone further onto the company's outpost. An unusually fine-looking brave, with many ofthe white man's graces, that had not sunk deep enough to be called realqualities. But they were glad to see him, and gave him a warm welcome.

  And now what was to be done? All supplies being cut off, the grainfields laid in ruin, the crops failing, how were they to sustainthemselves through the winter? Various plans were suggested. One of themost feasible, though fraught with danger, was to lead a party ofAlgonquins against the Iroquois, and capture some of their villages. Thetribe had proved itself deceitful and unfriendly on several occasions.The Algonquins were ready for this. Another was to accept the proffer ofa number settled at Gaspe, who had been warm friends with Pontgrave, andwho would winter about twenty of the suffering people.

  Ralph Destournier offered to head the expedition, as it needed a personof some experience to restrain the Indians, and good judgment in notwasting supplies, if any could be found. Savignon consented to accompanythem, and several others who were weary of the suffering around them andpreferred activity. They would be back before winter set in if they metwith any success.

  Destournier planned that his wife should be made comfortable while hewas gone. At first she protested, then she sank into a kind of sullensilence. She had seemed stronger for some weeks.

  Rose had gone for her daily walk late in the afternoon. She read miladito sleep about this time and was sure of an hour to herself. She wasfeeling the severe drain upon her quite sensibly, and though she longedto throw herself on a couch of moss and study the drifting clouds in theglory of the parting day, when the sun had gone behind the hills and thewake of splendor was paling to softer colors; lavender and pale green,that mingled in an indescribable tint, for which there could be no name.There was a little coolness in the air, but the breath of the river wassweet and revived her. Many of the leaves had dried and fallen from thedrought, yet the juniper and cedar were bluish-green in the comingtwilight, with their clusters of berries frostily gray.

  But she walked on. There was a craving in her heart for a change, alarger outlook. It would not be in marrying M. Boulle, though more thanonce when she had surprised his eyes bent wistfully upon her, a pang ofpity for him had gone to her heart. Could she spend years waiting onmiladi, whose strength of will kept her alive. Or was it that horriblefear of death? If it was true as the priests taught--oh, yes, it mustbe. God could not be so cruel as to put creatures in this world to toiland suffer, and then drop back to dust, to nothingness. Even the Indiansbelieved in another sphere, in their crude superstitious fashion, andthere must be some better place as a reward for the pain here that wasnot one's own fault. She loved to peer beyond the skies as she thought,and to drift midway between them and the grand woods, the changeful sea.What if one floated off and never came back!

  There was a step beside her, and she drew a long breath, though she wasnot alarmed, for she almost felt a presence, and turned, waited.

  "Rose," the voice said, "I have wanted to find you alone. I have severalthings to say. I have promised to go on this expedition because I feltit was necessary. You will not blame me. I have made all arrangementsfor you and miladi, and I shall be back before the real cold weathersets in. I only pray that we may be successful."

  "Yes," she said under her breath, yet in vague surprise.

  "It is a hard burthen to lay upon you. Do not imagine I have not seenit. At first I thought it only the restless whim of failing health, butI believe she loves you as much as she can love any human being. Irealize now that she should have gone to her own sunny France long ago.She is formed for pleasure and brightness, variety, and to have newpeople about her when she exhausts the old. I should not have marriedher, but it seemed the best step then. I truly believed----"

  No, he would not drag his weak justification before this pure, sweetgirl, though he had almost said "I believed she loved me." And he hadlearned since that she loved no one but her own self. Laurent Giffardhad never awakened to the truth. But he had taken the best of her youth.

  "Oh, you must know that I am glad to make some return for all yourkindness in my childhood. And she was sweet and tender. I think it isthe illness that has changed her. Oh, I can recall many delightful hoursspent with her. I should be an ingrate if I could not minister to hernow of my best."

  "You could never be an ingrate," he protested.

  "I hope not," fervently.

  "I count confidently on returning. I can't tell why, for we shall riskthe fate of war, but I can almost see myself here again in the oldplace. Like our beloved Commandant I, too, have dreams of what Quebeccan be made, a glorious place to hand down to posterity. Meanwhile youwill care for her as you do now, and comfort her with your many pleasantarts. I am a man formed for business and active endeavor, and cannotminister in that manner. Perhaps Providence did not intend me for ahusband, and I have thwarted the will of Providence."

  There was a humorous strain in his voice at the last sentence.

  "Oh, you need not fear but that I will do my best. And I, too, shalllook for your home-coming, believe in it, pray for it."

  "The women will remain, and Pani will serve you to the uttermost. Whenthis weary time is ended, and we are in better condition, you will haveyour reward."

  "I do not want any reward, it is only returning what has been given."

  He knew many things miladi had grudged her, most of all the home, sinceit was of his providing and intent.

  They wandered on in silence for some time. Both hearts were too full forcommonplace talk, and he did not dare venture out of safe lines. Hecould not pretend to fat
herly love, even that cloaked by brotherlinesswould be but a sham, he knew. He had his own honor to satisfy, as wellas her guilelessness.

  Now it was quite dark.

  "Oh, I must go back. It has been so pleasant that I have loitered. Letus run down this slope."

  She held out her hand, and he took it. They skimmed over the ground likechildren. Then there were the steps to climb, but she was up the first.

  "Good-night." She waved her white hand, and he saw it in the darkness.

  "The saints bless and keep you."

  She ran over to the level and then up again toward the kitchen end.There was a savory smell of supper. A moose had been killed and dividedaround.

  "Oh, how delightful! Is there enough for two bites? One will not satisfyme. But I must see miladi."

  "No," interposed Wanamee. "I took in a cup of broth, but she was soundlyasleep. Have some steak while it is hot. The saints be praised for amouthful of decent food."

  Yes, it was good. Pani watched with eager, hungry eyes and lips aquiver.Rose felt almost conscience-smitten that she should have been satisfiedfirst.

  "Was there much to be divided?" she asked of him.

  "He was a noble, big fellow. And they have gone up in the woods fordeer."

  Miladi was still asleep when she entered the room. She held the lamp alittle close with a sudden fear, but she saw the tranquil movement ofher chest and was reassured. There was a young moon coming up, a goldencrescent in a sky of flawless blue. It was too small to light the savagecliffs, but she could hear the plash of the incoming tide that swirledalong with the current of the river. If the English came, what then?

  It was near ten when miladi woke.

  "What time is it?" she asked. "Not quite morning, for it is dark. I havehad such a splendid sleep. Why, I feel quite well."

  She sat up in the bed.

  "Come and bathe my face, Rose. Do you know whether Madame Hebert has therecipe of this fragrant water? Mine is nearly gone. It is sorefreshing."

  "I am quite sure she has. You have had no supper. There is some tastymeat broth."

  "I'm tired of pease and greens, and make-believe things that don'tnourish you at all. And there was such nice fish. Why do they not getsome? The river certainly hasn't dried up."

  "No, Madame," in almost a merry tone, as if it might take the edge offof complaining. "But there is such a scarcity of hooks. Petit Gabou ismaking a net of dried grass that he thinks will answer the purpose. Andwe have always had such a plentiful supply of fish."

  The broth was very nourishing. Then Rose must sit with both of miladi'shands in hers, so warm and soft, hers being little beside bone andjoints. She talked of France and her youth, when she was a pretty girl,just out of the convent, and went to Paris. "You will like it so much. Ican hardly wait for the summer to come. I shall not mind if Monsieur hasso much business on hand that he cannot leave," and her tone had alittle mocking accent. "When men get older they lose their nice ways ofcompliment and grace. They care less for their wives. Even M. deChamplain does not fret after his, who is no doubt enjoying herselffinely. She was wise not to return."

  The slim, golden crescent had wandered away to other worlds, and thestars grew larger and brighter in their bed of blue. She watched themthrough the open window. A screen was set up so that no draught shouldannoy miladi. Presently she fell asleep again, and Rose stole to her owncouch, the other side of the screen, where she could still watch thestars.

  Savignon had come in with news. The Algonquins knew of a storehouse ofthe Iroquois, who had gone on the war-path, and would hardly be back fora whole moon. It would be best to start at once, and they beganpreparations. Some of the Indian women volunteered, they were used tocarrying burthens. Bags were packed up. They trusted to find most oftheir food upon the route.

  Miladi took the parting tranquilly. M. Ralph had spent weeks onexploring expeditions. If there was any danger in this, she did not heedit. She held up her face to be kissed, and he noted how dry and parchedthe lips were.

  He gave a brief good-bye to Rose, who was standing near.

  "Surely, he does not care for women," Miladi thought exultingly. "Evenher fresh, young beauty is nothing to him. He has no tender, eagersoul."

  Rose went down to the plateau to see the start.

  "You are much interested, Mam'selle?" Savignon said. "Give us the charmof your thoughts and prayers."

  "You have both, most truly." What a fine, stalwart fellow Savignon was,lighter than the average, and picturesque in his Indian costume, thoughhe often wore the garb of civilization. French had become to him almosta mother tongue.

  Yet Rose wondered a little if it was right to rob the storehouse wherethe industrious Indians had been making preparations for the comingwinter. Was it easier for one race to starve than another?

  "And wish us a safe return."

  The look in his eyes disconcerted her for an instant. Her own drooped.She was acquiring a woman's wisdom.

  "I do that most heartily," she made answer, turning aside; but theadmiration lingered over her fine, yet strong figure, with its grace ofmovement. The beautiful eyes haunted him, if they were turned away.

  Such forays were not uncommon among the tribes. The Iroquois had plantedmore than one storehouse in the wilderness, in most secluded places. Itsaved carrying burthens, as they wandered about, or if in desperateweather, they set up their wigwams, and remained eating and sleeping,until hunger drove them elsewhere.

  A ship had come down from Acadia with news that several English vesselswere hovering about. They offered to take some of the women andchildren, and M. de Champlain was thankful for this. By spring theremust be some change in affairs. The mother country could not whollyforget them.

  Rose wondered at times that miladi remained so tranquil. She slept agreat deal, and it was an immense relief. It seemed occasionally thather mind wandered, though it was mostly vague mutterings.

  Once she said quite clearly--"I will not have the child. You will cometo love her better than you do me."

  Then she opened her eyes and fixed them on Rose, with a hard, coldstare.

  "Go away," she cried. "Go away. I will not have you here to steal hislove from me. You are only a child, but one day you will be a woman. AndI shall be growing old, old! A woman's youth ought to come back to herfor a brief while."

  Rose's heart swelled within her. Was this why miladi had taken suchqueer spells, and sometimes been unkind to her for days? And M.Destournier had always stood her friend.

  Yet she felt infinitely sorry for miladi, and that calmed her firstburst of indignation. She went out to the forest to walk. The witheredleaves lay thick on the ground, they had not been as beautiful as insome autumns, the drought had turned them brown too soon. The whitebirches seemed like lovely ghosts haunting the darkened spaces. Childrenwere digging for fallen nuts, even edible roots, and breaking offsassafras twigs. What would they do before spring, if relief did notcome!

  Suppose she went away with the next vessel that came in. But then shehad promised. Oh, yes, she must look after miladi, just as carefully asif there were depths of love between them. How did she come to know somuch about love? Surely she had never loved any one with her whole soul.Neither had she craved an overwhelming affection. But now the worldseemed large, and strange, and empty to her. She rustled the leavesunder her feet, as if they made a sort of company in the loneliness.Perhaps it would not have been so bad to have taken M. Boulle's love. Ifonly love did not mean nearness, some sacred rites, kisses. She felt ifshe raised her hand in permission it might still be hers. No, no, shecould not take it, and she shivered. Why, it was nearly dark, and cold.She must run to warm her blood.

  She came in bright and glowing, her eyes in cordial shining.

  "Thank the Holy Mother that you have come," cried Mawha. "Miladi hasbeen crying and going on and saying that you have deserted her. Wanameecould not comfort her. Run, quick."

  Miladi was sobbing as if her heart would break. Rose bent over her,smoothed her brow and hair,
chafed the cold hands.

  "The way was so long and dark," she cried, "such a long, long path. WillI have to go all alone?" and Rose could feel the terrified shiver.

  "You will not have to go anywhere," began the girl, in a soothing tone."I shall stay here with you."

  "But you were gone," complainingly.

  "I will not go again."

  "Then sit here and hold my hands. I think it was a dream. I am not goingto die. I am really better. I walked about to-day. Is there word fromMonsieur? You know we are going to France in the summer. Do you knowwhat happens when one dies? I've seen the little Indian babies die. Doyou suppose they really have souls?"

  "Every one born in the world has. The priest will tell you." Rose gaineda little courage. "Perhaps you would like to see Father Jamay."

  "I went to confession a long while ago. The priest wanted my Frenchbooks. M. Ralph said I need not give them up. I prayed to the Virgin. Iprayed for many things that did not come. But we will go to France, M.Ralph promised, and he never breaks his word, so I do not need to prayfor that. I am cold. Cover me up warm, and get something for my feet.Then sit here and put your arms around me. Promise me you will never goaway again."

  "I promise"--in a sweet, soft tone.

  Then she sat on the side of the bed and placed her arm about theshoulders. How thin they were.

  "Sing something. The silence frightens me."

  Rose sang, sometimes like a chant, lines she could recall that had amusical sound. The leaning figure grew heavier, the breathing was slowand tranquil. Wanamee came in.

  "Help me put her down," Rose said, for she was weary with the strainedposition.

  They laid her down tenderly, without waking her.

  "Stay with me," pleaded Rose. "You know when I went away M. Destournierused to come in. I do not like to leave her alone."

  "It is curious," exclaimed Wanamee. "This morning she seemed so well,and walked about. Then she sinks down. How long she has been ill, thisway."

  Rose wanted to ask a solemn question, but she did not dare. PresentlyWanamee dozed off, but Rose watched until the eastern sky began to showlong levels of light. There seemed an awesome stillness in the room.

  "Wanamee," she said faintly.

  The woman rose and looked at the figure on the bed, standing someseconds in silence.

  "Go out quietly, _ma fille_, and find Mawha. Send her in." Then sheturned Rose quite around, and the girl uttered no question.

  "What is the matter?" asked Pani. "Mam'selle, you are white as asnowdrift."

  "I think miladi is dead," and she drew a long, strangling breath, herfigure trembling with unknown dread.

  Pani bowed and crossed himself several times.

  Wanamee came in presently. "The poor lady is gone," she said reverently."She was so afraid of dying, and it was just like a sleep. Pani, youmust row up to the convent at once, and ask some of the fathers to comedown. Stop first at the fort and tell the Governor."

  That Madame Destournier should die surprised no one, but it wasunexpected, for all that. It appeared to accentuate the other sorrowsand anxieties. And that M. Destournier should be away seemed doubly sad.Two of the priests came down with Pani, and held some services over thebody. Her ill health was the excuse of her not having paid moreattention to the offices of the Church, that so far had not flourishedat all well. The convent was really too far, and the chapel service hadwaned since the departure of Madame de Champlain.

  When Rose gained courage to go into the room where a few tapers weredimly burning, she lost her fear in an instant. It was a thin andwrinkled face, but it had a certain placid sweetness that often hallowsit, when pain and fear are ended. Rose pressed her lips to the coldforehead, and breathed a brief prayer that miladi had found entrance toa happier land. A new thought took possession of her. Miladi belongedwholly to Laurent Giffard now. The tie that bound her to M. Destournierwas broken, and it was as if it had never been. She remembered he hadonce said he would relinquish her in that other country. She had simplybeen given to him in her sorrow, to care for a brief while. And howgrandly he had done it. Rose was too just, perhaps with some of theincisive energy of youth, to cover up miladi's faults at once. If shehad been grateful to him for his devotion she would have thought moretenderly of love. Yet she experienced a profound pity.

  There had been set aside a burial plot, one end for the whiteinhabitants. Thither the body was taken, and laid beside her truehusband, with the rites of the Church. M. de Champlain headed theprocession, but on the outskirts there was a curious throng.

  The Heberts pressed their hospitality upon Rose, but even they were ingreat straits. Then Wanamee was less superstitious than most of herrace, and made no demur at remaining in the house, if Rose desired tostay. It was home to the girl, and she could almost fancy the betterpart of miladi's spirit hovered about it, released from suffering.

  How would M. Destournier take it? Would he regret he had not been here?

  Day after day they waited the return of the party. Had there been abattle? Sometimes Rose felt as if she must join them, the suspenseseemed the hardest of all to endure.

  At last most of the Indians returned, with bags and blankets ofsupplies. There had been no battle. They had come unexpectedly upon astorehouse, cunningly hidden in the wood. There were no guards about. Sothey had entered, and after satisfying their hunger, packed corn anddried meats, onions, which would be a great treat, and nuts. Theydivided the party, and sent one relay on ahead, to travel as fast aspossible, with the good news, and relieve the famishing people.

  Quebec greeted them with the wildest joy. Savignon headed this party.They had two days' start, and though the ground was frozen, there hadbeen no deep snow to prevent the others from a tolerably comfortablemarch. They would no doubt be in soon. It seemed a large addition totheir scanty store. A great joy pervaded the little colony.

  Two days passed, then a third. A party, headed by Savignon, went out tomeet them. They found a few men, dragging and carrying weary loads.There had been an accident to M. Destournier. He had stumbled into anunseen pitfall and broken his leg. They had carried him on a litter fortwo days, then he had begged the others to leave him with an attendant,and hurry onward, coming back for him as soon as possible.

  Rose was all sympathy and anxiety. She flew to one of the half-breeds,who had borne the litter. Was there much injury beside the broken leg?

  "He was a good deal shaken up, but he knew what to do about bandaging,and he uttered no groans. But when he attempted to walk the next morninghe died for a few moments, as your women sometimes do. And when he cameto life, they made the litter. He was very brave. So we rigged up a sortof tent in the woods, as he insisted on being left."

  The Commandant ordered that a party be formed at once to rescue him.They could not allow him to perish there in the wilderness. He might beill.

  "He might die," Rose said to herself. And then an intense ungovernablelonging came over her to see him once again. Women could minister to himbetter than men. And if Wanamee and Pani would go. Pani had been so muchwith women that he had lost many of the virile Indian traits.

  Yes, they would go, but Wanamee did not quite approve of the journey. Noone could tell how deep a snow would set in.

  "But it will be only a six days' journey, and most of it through theforests. Savignon will be an excellent guide. And no one must speak ofthe great sorrow that awaits him here."

  M. de Champlain opposed the plan. It was too severe for women. Butcuriously enough Savignon said--"The blossom of Quebec is no daintyflower, to be crushed by wind and storm. If she wants to go, I am on herside."

  When Rose heard this she flew out to thank him, catching one hand inboth of hers, her eyes luminous with gladness.

  "Oh, I cannot truly thank you, Monsieur. I must go, even if I ran awayand followed on behind. And I am no delicate house-plant."

  "Thou art a brave girl," admiringly. "Thou hast been used to woods androcks, and art strong and courageous."

  To be called
monsieur was one of Savignon's great delights. He had tirednot a little of the roughness of savage life, and though he had caressedpretty Indian maidens he had never been much in love with them. And thisgirl was different from most of the white women. The courage in everyline of her face, the exuberant bounding life that flushed her veins,her straight lithe figure, and the grace of every movement, appealedstrongly to him.

  "Thou wilt find it hard going, Mam'selle, keeping step to the men, andsleeping in the woods. But three days are soon spent, and we need notmarch back so hastily. Our women have stood more than that."

  "You will see how much I can stand," she answered proudly. She believedthe admiring eyes were for her courage alone.

  Go she must. She did not stop to question. There was only one thinguppermost in her mind. If he died she must see him; if he lived, shemust wait upon him, comfort him in his sorrow, for although in a vagueway she knew he had not come up to the highest joy in his marriage, anymore than her dear Sieur de Champlain, he had cared very tenderly formiladi, and would sorrow to know her shut out of life. And it had beenso quiet at the last, just falling asleep. Her arms had been around her,her voice the last sound miladi had heard. He would rejoice in hissorrow that all had been so tranquil.

  Rose and Wanamee came down in their robes of fur, with their deerskinfrocks underneath. Rose's cap had its visor turned up and it framed inher beautiful face. Her hair fell in loose curls, the way she had alwaysworn it, and the morning sun sent golden gleams amongst it. There was asmall crowd to wish them God-speed.

  The horses that De Champlain had brought over and a few mules that hadbeen at Cape Tourmente were carried off in the English raid. True, theywould not have been of much account in the overgrown brush of thewilderness.

  "Mam'selle," Savignon said, after an hour or two, "do not hurry aheadso. You will tire before night."

  "I feel as if I could run, or fly," she made answer, and she looked so.