Chapter I
The Capture at the Forge
It was good to be alive that afternoon. A speckled patch of sunshine,having pushed its way through the branches across the road, lay spreadout on the dusty floor of the forge. On a block just inside the doorsat Marc, his lean, dark face,--the Belleisle face, made more hawklikeby the blood of his Penobscot grandmother,--all aglow with eagerness.The lazy youngster was not shamed at the sight of my diligence, buttalked right on, with a volubility which would have much displeased hisPenobscot grandmother. It was pleasant to be back with the lad again,and I was aweary of the war, which of late had kept my feet forever onthe move from Louisbourg to the Richelieu. My fire gave a cheerfulroar as I heaved upon the bellows, and turned my pike-point in theglowing charcoal. As the roar sighed down into silence there was amerry whirr of wings, and a covey of young partridges flashed acrossthe road. A contented mind and a full stomach do often make a man afool, or I should have made shift to inquire why the partridges had sosharply taken wing. But I never thought of it. I turned, and let theiron grow cool, and leaned with one foot on the anvil, to hear theboy's talk. My soul was indeed asleep, lulled by content, or I wouldsurely have felt the gleam of the beady eyes that watched me through achink in the logs beside the chimney. But I felt those eyes no morethan if I had been a log myself.
"Yes, Father," said Marc, pausing in rich contemplation of the picturein his mind's eye, "you would like her hair! It is unmistakablyred,--a chestnut red. But her sister's is redder still!"
I smiled at his knowledge of my little weakness for hair of thatcolour; but not of a woman's hair was I thinking at that moment, or Ishould surely have made some question about the sister. My mind ranoff upon another trail.
"And what do the English think they're going to do when de Ramezaycomes down upon them?" I inquired. "Do they flatter themselves theirtumble-down Annapolis is strong enough to hold us off?"
The lad flushed resentfully and straightened himself up on his seat.
"Do you suppose, Father, that I was in the fort, and hobnobbing withthe Governor?" he asked coldly. "I spoke with none of the English savePrudence and her sister, and the child."
"But why not?" said I, unwilling to acknowledge that I had saidanything at which he might take offence. "Every one knows your gooddisposition toward the English, and I should suppose you were in favourat Annapolis. The Governor, I know, makes much of all our people whofavour the English cause."
Marc stood up,--lean, and fine, and a good half head taller than hisfather,--and looked at me with eyes of puzzled wrath.
"And you think that I, knowing all I do of de Ramezay's plans, wouldtalk to the English about them!" he exclaimed in a voice of keenreproach.
Now, I understood his anger well enough, and in my heart rejoiced atit; for though I knew his honour would endure no stain, I hadnevertheless feared lest I should find his sympathies all English. Hewas a lad with a way of thinking much and thinking for himself, andeven now, at twenty year, far more of a scholar than I had ever foundtime to be. Therefore, I say, his indignation pleased me mightily.Nevertheless I kept at him.
"Chut!" said I, "all the world knows by now of de Ramezay's plans.There had been no taint of treachery in talking of them!"
Marc sat down again, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his leanface. Though free enough of his speech betimes, he was for the mostpart as unsmiling as an Indian.
"I see you are mocking me, Father," he said presently, relighting hispipe. "Indeed, you know very well I am on your side, for weal or ill.As long as there was a chance of the English being left in peaceablepossession of Acadie, I urged that we should accept their rule fullyand in good faith. No one can say they haven't ruled us gently andgenerously. And I feel right sure they will continue to rule us, forthe odds are on their side in the game they play with France. Butseeing that the game has yet to be played out, there is only one sidefor me, and I believe it to be the losing one. Though as a boy I likedthem well enough, I have nothing more to do with the English now exceptto fight them. How could I have another flag than yours?"
"You are my own true lad, whatever our difference of opinion!" said I.And if my voice trembled in a manner that might show a softnessunsuited to a veteran of my training, bear in mind that, till withinthe past three days, I had not seen the lad for three years, and thenbut briefly. At Grand Pre, and in Quebec at school, Marc had grown upoutside my roving life, and I was just opening my eyes to find acomrade in this tall son of my boyhood's love. His mother, a daughterof old Baron St. Castin by his Penobscot wife, had died while he wasyet at the breast. A babe plays but a small part in the life of aranging bush-fighter, though I had ever a great tenderness for thelittle lad. Now, however, I was looking upon him with new eyes.
Having blown the coals again into a heat, I returned to Marc's words,certain of which had somewhat stuck in my crop.
"But you speak with despondence, lad, of the chances of the war, and ofthe hope of Acadie! By St. Joseph, we'll drive the English all the wayback of the Penobscot before you're a twelvemonth older. And Acadiewill see the Flag of the Lilies flapping once more over the ramparts ofPort Royal."
Marc shook his head slowly, and seemed to be following with his eyesthe vague pattern of the shadows on the floor.
"It seems to me," said he, with a conviction which caught sharply at myheart even though I bore in mind his youth and inexperience, "thatrather will the Flag of the Lilies be cast down even from the strongwalls of Quebec. But may that day be far off! As for our people herein Acadie, during the last twelvemonth it has been made very clear tome that evil days are ahead. The Black Abbe is preparing many sorrowsfor us here in Acadie."
"I suppose you mean La Garne!" said I. "He's a diligent servant toFrance; but I hate a bad priest. He's a dangerous man to cross, Marc!Don't go out of your way to make an enemy of the Black Abbe!"
Again that ghost of a smile glimmered on Marc's lips.
"I fear you speak too late, Father!" said he, quietly. "The reverendAbbe has already marked me. He so far honours me as to think that I aman obstacle in his path. There be some whose eyes I have opened to hisvillany, so that he has lost much credit in certain of the parishes. Idoubt not that he will contrive some shrewd stroke for vengeance."
My face fell somewhat, for I am not ashamed to confess that I fear abad priest, the more so in that I yield to none in my reverence for agood one. I turned my iron sharply in the coals, and then exclaimed:
"Oh, well, we need not greatly trouble ourselves. There are others,methinks, as strong as the Black Abbe, evil though he be!" But Ispoke, as I have often found it expedient to do, with more confidencethan I felt.
Even at this moment, shrill and clear from the leafage at one end ofthe forge, came the call of the big yellow-winged woodpecker. Ipricked up my ears and stiffened my muscles, expectant of I knew notwhat.
Marc looked at me with some surprise.
"It's only a woodpecker!" said he.
"But it's only in the spring," I protested, "that he has a cry likethat!"
"He cries untimely, as an omen of the ills to come!" said Marc, halfmeaning it and half in jest.
Had it been anywhere on the perilous frontier,--on the Richelieu or inthe West, or nigh the bloody Massachusetts line, my suspicions wouldhave sprung up wide awake. But in this quiet land between theHabitants and the Canard I was off my guard,--and what a relief it was,indeed, to let myself be careless for a little! I thought no more ofthe woodpecker, but remembered that sister with the red hair. I cameback to her by indirection, however.
"And how did you manage, lad, to be seeing Mistress Prudence, and hersister, and the child, and yet no others of the English? A matter ofdark nights and back windows? Eh? But come to think of it, there wasa clear moon this day four weeks back, when you were at Annapolis."
"No, Father," answered Marc, "it was all much more simple and lessadventurous than that. Some short way out of the town is a littleriver, th
e Equille, and a pleasant hidden glade set high upon its bank.It is a favoured resort of both the ladies; and there I met them asoften as I was permitted. Mizpah would sometimes choose to play apartwith the child, down by the water's edge if the tide were full, so Ihad some gracious opportunity with Prudence.-- My time being brief, Imade the most of it!" he added drily. His quaint directness amused memightily, and I chuckled as I shaped the red iron upon the anvil.
"And who," I inquired, "is this kind sister, with the even redder hair,who goes away with such a timely discretion?"
"Oh, yes," said Marc, "I forgot you knew nothing of her. She isMistress Mizpah Hanford, the widow of a Captain Hanford who was somefar connection of the Governor's. Her property is in and aboutAnnapolis, and she lives there to manage it, keeping Prudence with herfor companionship. Her child is four or five years old, ayellow-haired, rosy boy called Philip. She's very tall,--a head tallerthan Prudence, and older, of course, by perhaps eight years; and veryfair, though not so fair as Prudence; and altogether--"
But at this point I interrupted him.
"What's the matter with the Indian?" I exclaimed, staring out acrossMarc's shoulders.
He sprang to his feet and looked around sharply. An Indian, carryingthree shad strung upon a sapling, had just appeared on the road beforethe forge door. As he came in view he was reeling heavily, andclutching at his head. He dropped his fish; and a moment later hehimself fell headlong, and lay face downward in the middle of the road.I remember thinking that his legs sprawled childishly. Marc strolledover to him with slow indifference.
"Have a care!" I exclaimed. "There may be some trap in it! It looksnot natural!"
"What trap can there be?" asked Marc, turning the body over. "It's RedMoose, a Shubenacadie Micmac. I like not the breed; but ever since hegot a hurt on the head, in a fight at Canseau last year, he has beensubject to the falling sickness. Let us carry him to a shady place,and he'll come to himself presently!"
I was at his side in a moment, and we stooped to lift the seeminglylifeless figure. In an instant its arms were about my neck in astrangling embrace. At the same time my own arms were seized. I hearda fierce cry from Marc, and a groan that was not his. The next moment,though I writhed and struggled with all my strength, I found myselfbound hand and foot, and seated on the ground with my back against thedoor-post of the forge. Marc, bound like myself, lay by the roadside;and a painted savage sat near him nursing with both hands a broken jaw.A dozen Micmacs stood about us. Leaning against the door-post overagainst me was the black-robed form of La Garne. He eyed me, forperhaps ten seconds, with a smile of fine and penetrating sarcasm.Then he told his followers to stand Marc up against a tree.