Marguerite De Roberval: A Romance of the Days of Jacques Cartier

  CHAPTER XIII

  It was a sad duty that Bastienne and Marguerite had to perform when theymade Marie's poor broken body ready for burial. And while they toiledwith loving hands within the hut, Claude worked as best he could toprepare a rude coffin from some of the planks which had remained afterthe building of their dwelling. Each blow of his hammer went to thehearts of the women, from whom this sad calamity seemed to have takenthe last ray of hope.

  By the evening of the day which followed her death all was ready, andClaude, with an aching heart, dug a grave in the level, grassy sod, justback of the cliff from which she had fallen. All completed, he returnedto the hut, and the three watched silently by their dead till morningbroke upon them. Shivering in body and mind, they made ready to carryher remains to their island grave, while the wild sea-birds, which flewscreaming in the face of the coming storm, seemed, to their saddenedhearts, to wail of human impotence.

  Bastienne and Marguerite took the head of the coffin between them, whileClaude carried the foot, and the mournful little procession left thehut, and climbed the hill on which the grave had been dug. Slowly theirburden was lowered into the shallow earth; and, holding the crucifixabove it, they offered up prayers for the rest of the soul which hadbeen so suddenly snatched from among them. It was hard to cast the firstspadeful of earth upon the coffin. As each pebble struck the lid, itseemed to them as if Marie must feel the blows. But the bitter duty wasat last at an end, the last stone was placed on the rude monument whichmarked Marie's resting-place, and sadly they turned to leave the spot.

  The storm had been steadily increasing, and now the mad waves lashed androlled like mighty, moving mountains upon the shore. The far-thrownspray fell in torrents about their hut. They were chilled to the bone,and sat shivering all day about the great log fire which burned in theirhuge, out-of-door fireplace. At last the fury of the gale drove themindoors, and all three sat huddled in their blankets, unable to keepwarm.

  This was but the prelude to winter. But before that dread season settleddown in all its northern fierceness, they were to know a few days ofhappy respite. Next morning the storm had abated, and a bright sungleamed across the long, smooth rollers that still swept in upon theshore. There was a strange feeling of summer in the air, and Claude, whoremembered his experiences at Quebec, when with Cartier on his secondvoyage, knew that the "Indian Summer," the time set apart by the red mento make their final preparations for winter, was upon them. For a weekthe warm sun shone through the mellow haze, and for a week, frommorning till night, all three toiled to lay an abundant store offirewood about their hut. It was well that they had this work to occupytheir time, for the heap of stones, marking the spot where their deadcompanion lay, weighed upon their spirits. By the end of the week theirlittle hut was almost hidden from view by the great piles of wood theyhad gathered, and the ringing blows of Claude's axe ceased.

  He had not been wrong; it was but a short respite. Scarcely had theyfinished their preparations when a raw, penetrating wind, that seemed toseparate the flesh from the bone, blew down from the north. The birdshad now all gone, except the hardier northern ones. Their songs hadceased; naught was heard but the sound of the restless waves, which keptup an eternal moaning, the soughing of the pines, and the wild shrieksof the sea-birds, whose cries seemed to grow drearier with the approachof winter--modulated, as it were, to the weird north wind.

  The three were now forced to remain inside their hut, but the great firewhich burned at the door gave them no warmth. There was but one courseto follow; a fire must be made within the hut. Claude had long dreadedthis inevitable thing, and had put off the evil day while he could. Hehad been in the huts of the Montagnais, at Tadousac, during the depth ofwinter, and had seen those shivering savages, half blind with the smoke,crouching about a fire in the centre of their hut, while the smoke,after circling their abode, found its way out through an opening cut inthe roof. But as winter drew nearer, he could only imitate the red men;and, with great reluctance, he began to build a fireplace inside theirdwelling. The task completed, with saw and axe he cut an aperture aboveit, and, piling a heap of branches on the stones, set fire to them. Thelurid flames for a moment brightened the interior; but soon, halfblinded, the women rushed choking into the open air, while the smokecurled upwards, and the warm fire glowed within. There was nothing elseto do; they must become accustomed to the discomfort; and, driven in bythe cold, they crowded about the blaze. Claude could not but feel howsoon such a life must make them even as the red men. Their eyes grewweak and bloodshot; poor old Bastienne became almost blind, and sooncould only grope her way about the hut.

  Winter in Canada is now a delightful season for those who have the meansto resist its fiercer aspects, and can battle with and conquer it. Thekeen, bracing air, that makes the blood tingle in the veins, and theroses come to the cheek, calls out the latent energy of the Canadian;but even now, for the poor, winter is a source of dread; the savagestill sees its approach with terror, and the sick, shut off from theclear air of heaven, pray for its flight. In those early times it was aseason to be dreaded by all alike, even along the banks of the broadHochelaga; but none can conceive, save those who have experienced them,the awful horrors of a winter spent far north on a lonely island in theAtlantic. The cold ceased not, day or night; the wind kept up acontinual moaning; the mighty sea swept in with long green rollers,smashed the ice that made about the shores, and heaped it in great,glittering grinding piles upon the beach. The hungry animals prowledabout the hut, and fought over the bones which were cast out to them.The hares had changed their coats, and now bounded snow-white across thesnow-covered ground. They were dainty eating, and Claude's arquebusecracked through the woods on the short winter days, as he kept thelarder stocked with food--a welcome change after the salt beef which hadbeen set ashore with the women.

  Bastienne and Marguerite found some relief from the terrible lonelinesswhich brooded over the island by working, when the light permitted, overtheir wardrobe and Claude's. They had abundance of clothing forthemselves, but Claude had nothing but the garb in which he had swumashore. The two women contrived, by taking to pieces some of thestoutest of their own outdoor garments, to patch him up a homely suit.Rough, indeed, it was, and Claude felt like the King's jester when heput it on; but no gay gallants of France were there to see him, and hewas even able to smile at the sorry figure he cut.

  If ever man prayed for winter to end, it was he. He saw that it waskilling the two women, and the sharp pains in his own breast warned himthat the bitter, piercing winds had done their work, and that unlessrelief came soon, he must succumb.

  Old Bastienne was the greatest sufferer. Age was beginning to tell uponher; and she, who had been as strong as a horse, now became weak as achild. She went stumbling about her daily tasks. To save "her children,"as she called the other two, she exposed herself to the cold and storm;and although Claude begged her not to do work beyond her strength, shewould, when he was absent, take his axe and break the logs for the fire,or wade through great drifts of snow to the spring which bubbled, sweet,and fresh, and living, in this land of gloom and death.

  The fire in the hut was never allowed to burn out; and towards springthe three were hardly recognisable, so black had they become with thesmoke and the fierce blaze of the fire, about which they sat during thelong, cold evenings, and often through entire days, when five minutes inthe open air would have frozen any exposed parts of their bodies.

  But the dull monotony of this ice, and snow, and frost could not lastfor ever. In early March a faint feeling of spring was perceptible inthe air; the sea sounded less dread; the birds' cries lost some of theirharshness; and before the end of the month they were aroused by a cheery"Pip, pip, pop!" oft and vigorously repeated from the top of their hut.They knew the cry. It was the first robin. Spring was come at last. Theywent to the door, almost expecting to see the bare ground, and to hearthe rustling leaves. But a full foot of snow buried the whole islandbeneath it; and a winter chill was still in the air, d
espite the robin'swhistle and the warm sun.

  The robin was an old friend. He had been the last bird to leave in theautumn, and, when he saw them, he saucily flew to his accustomedfeeding-place, expecting his morning meal. Nor was he disappointed. Dayby day they delighted his heart with finely-crushed crumbs of the hardbiscuit De Roberval had put on shore with them. Though he came early,spring seemed still far away. No other birds returned for several weeks,not even the mate of this red-breasted fore-runner of summer. Possiblyshe had been lost on the stormy trip from the mainland; or possibly hehad merely been sent ahead as a sentinel to spy out the land, and see ifit were fit for its summer residents.

  April crept slowly by, and towards the end a few plaintive-voicedsparrows added their songs to the vigorous, self-confident notes of therobin. Soon the whole island one morning burst into song, and spring wasindeed with them. The snow had vanished, save in the hollows and in theshaded spots, and the grass here and there began to take on the fresh,living green which rejoiced their hearts.

  But spring was to bring small joy to them. Faithful old Bastienne grewweaker day by day. Claude and Marguerite were filled with pity as theysaw her sitting, helpless and dejected, on the rude seat near theoutdoor fireplace. She could scarcely walk, and the hollow, chokingcough, which sounded like a death-knell in their ears, told them she hadnot long to live. They dreaded seeing her pine and die before theireyes, while they were powerless to help her.

  But the gods were kinder to them all than they had anticipated. Comingback one day early in May from a long ramble through the woods, wherethey had gathered a profusion of wild flowers, Claude and Margueritefound the old servant stretched lifeless on the slope before the door ofthe hut. She had fallen forward on her face from her accustomed seatnear the fire, and was quite dead. There were no marks of suffering uponher features; her end had seemingly been as peaceful as it was sudden,and her spirit had, doubtless, wandered back to the sunny slopes of theSomme, and the broad fields and blooming orchards of her belovedPicardy.

  They laid her body to rest beside Marie's, and the faithful old peasantand the daughter of a noble slept side by side--equal in death.

  The task completed, the two who were left wandered hand in hand insilence about their lonely island, while on every side the birds flutedjoyously, and all Nature rejoiced in the beauty of the spring--unheedingthe presence of death.

  As Claude gazed longingly over the wide, green waters, far off henoticed a tiny speck, which, at first, seemed like the top of aniceberg. Nearer it came, till it grew definite, and he saw, clearlyoutlined against the sky, a vessel under full sail, steering towards thestraits of Belle Isle. It was the first ship they had seen, and theyrushed to their fire, and heaped it high with loads of dry boughs untilthe flames shot into the air, and the smoke curled upwards in a mightycolumn, and then spread over the ocean. They hoped to see the vesselchange her course and bear down upon their island. But their hopes werein vain. She kept steadily on her way, and before night fell she hadvanished from their sight on the horizon.

  On the high poop of the ship La Pommeraye paced with rapid, nervousstep. Land was in sight at last; he would soon be in the St Lawrence,and with Marguerite. So he thought; while they prayed that the unknownvessel might come a little nearer so that they might hail it.

  As the ship passed away, Claude, in his despair, called on God to cursethe tyrant who had brought this suffering upon them; and, while heprayed far away in Charlesbourg Royal, Roberval, on the eve ofdeparture, had six of his men stripped to the waist, lined up in thesquare, and flogged till the blood streamed down their backs. The nextmorning his ships were bearing away for the Old World, his hopes broken,and his heart within him more savage than ever.