The Span o' Life Part 14

As we strolled along the clear, hard sands beyond the sound of the men toiling at the water-casks, I felt tempted to cry: "Lucy, Lucy, can you not see my happiness? I am no Madame de St. Just, but Margaret Nairn, the happiest woman in all the world, because my feet press the same ground that bears my love." This, poor Lucy, with her cramped Methodistical ways, would have held savoured only of lightness, or worse; she could never understand the longing that had worn at my heart all these years, and, most of all, she could never conceive of a love such as that of my Hugh. Crowning all my joy came back the words of his dear, dear song--

"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."

No, nothing should part us now. Poverty and pride had kept him silent when my heart was yearning for him; but now, poverty did not exist, for I was here to make him rest.i.tution, and the pride was all mine now, in claiming a love that belonged to me alone.

Love was King, and

"The King shall have his own Once more!

The King shall have his own!"

I sang, mimicking his manly tone as best I might, to the great astonishment of Lucy.

Delighted as we were merely to feel the sands beneath our feet, the soft, fresh green of the forest which edged them close attracted us, and we timidly made our way under the first scattered trees.

Then seeing no wild animals, of which we were greatly in dread, and hearing the rea.s.suring voices of the seamen, we ventured in far enough to gain the thick, sweet-smelling carpet of pine needles, and at length seated ourselves by a little stream, but near enough the sands to see the waters of the bay glinting between the trees.

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I am so happy!" I said, in the fulness of my heart, giving her my hand, for I looked on her more as a companion than a waiting-woman; but before she could reply a hand was clapped over my mouth, and I saw Lucy struggling in the arms of a savage. An overwhelming terror crushed all life and sense out of me, and I swooned away.

When I recovered I found I was being carried swiftly by two savages, one at my shoulders and another at my feet, but my terror was so great upon me that I dared not make a sound. How long, or how far we went I could not even conjecture. I saw the trees pa.s.sing before my upturned eyes as in some horrid dream, but it was not until I began to catch glimpses of the sky through the thinning branches, and my captors halted in an open s.p.a.ce, setting me on my feet, that my senses came back in some degree.

We were beside the water again, dark and empty. The Indians immediately brought forth three of their light canoes, which they had cunningly concealed among the bushes, and laid them gently on the stream. No one molested me, nor, indeed, paid any special attention to me as I sate and watched them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "And laid them gently on the stream."]

The pictures in such works as La Hontain and others I had seen were unreal, and I could not recognise their models in the men about me. They were painted, it is true, but in a manner more grotesque than affrighting; their hair was black and lanky, plastered close to their heads, but with one or two long, plaited braids escaping, ornamented with beads. Their only clothing consisted of leather leggings more or less tattered, and the belts for their weapons, which crossed their naked bodies; each one was shod with soft moccasins neatly ornamented, and I could not but admire the ease and agility of their movements. Strangely enough, I was no longer possessed by my former terrors, my only anxiety being for Lucy; but I could not doubt she was in safety, as the Indians were evidently expecting the arrival of the rest of the band.

Before long we heard sounds of their approach, and my poor Lucy appeared. "Oh, my dear, dear mistress!" she cried, "I was afraid I should never see you again!" and the faithful creature clasped me in her arms and kissed me as if I had been a child. Once she was convinced of my safety, she straight recovered her serenity, for it was more than composure. Her absolute faith and trust that we were in the hand of G.o.d--of "Our Heavenly Father," as she always said--was so complete that I leaned upon her strength and was comforted.

All was now ready for the embarkation, but, to our dismay, we were directed to different canoes. No force was used. Indeed, my captor, who appeared to be the leader, or chief, for he wore somewhat more of their tawdry finery than the others, and his face was decorated by a broad band of white below the eyes, seemed anxious to add to my comfort, directing me how to dispose of myself in the bottom of the canoe. But once separated from Lucy, I lost the courage with which she had inspired me, and I trembled at the rough, guttural voices of the savages, who talked their loudest, filling me with the greater apprehension, as it betokened they held themselves beyond pursuit or discovery.

But Lucy, dear courageous soul that she was, divined my fears, and sent back her message of rea.s.surance to me in one of her people's hymns, which I had learned to love on board the ship:

"Thou very present Aid In suffering and distress, The mind which still on Thee is stayed Is kept in perfect peace."

At length, when the clear September day began to fade, we landed, and Lucy and I were again together. No one seemed to pay any special regard to us, but though we had apparent liberty, I felt sure that any attempt at escape would be futile; indeed, the black forest about us held more terrors, to our minds, than even our captivity.

It was not long before the savages had kindled a fire, and the work of clearing away the brush and making a camp was begun. In spite of our fears, we could not but admire the readiness of those at work, while the chief, with the princ.i.p.al warriors, lay about smoking, and staring at us with their fixed eyes.

In a little s.p.a.ce a fish was broiled on the hot stones, and a portion of it laid before us, cleanly enough, on sweet-smelling bark freshly peeled from one of the great birch-trees near by. It was flat for the want of salt, but we were too hungry to be over-nice, and our spirits revived with the comfort of our meal. Then, wearied out, I laid my head on Lucy's lap and fell fast asleep.

I was awakened by the sound of voices raised in discussion, and, to my amazement, I saw in the light of the fire a man in the garb of a priest. Instead of a hat he wore a tight-fitting cap, his soutane was rusty and patched in many places, and his feet were shod with moccasins like the Indians. To my dismay, instead of the accents which I expected, he was speaking to the chief in the same guttural tongue as his own; yet his very gown was a protection, and I rose and went to him without hesitation.

"Oh, father! You have been sent in answer to our prayers. Thank G.o.d, we are safe!"

He started at the sound of my voice, and stared at me for what seemed a long time without a word. "Yes, you are safe," he said, at length, but in halting English; "these Indians will do you no harm. They will carry you to some post farther south, whence word will be sent to your friends among the English, and you will be ransomed. Yes, you are safe."

"O, mon pere," I implored, breaking into French, for I saw that was his tongue, "do not speak so! You will not leave us with them!

For the sake of the mother who bore you, listen to me!" and I threw myself on my knees and stretched out my hands to him, but he drew back as if my touch would have hurt him. "Do not forsake us; take us with you! We are women, and are helpless. I do not desire to reach any English post. I have no friends among the English. Do not abandon us to these men; we are both women, and I am a lady."

"I see that," he said, more softly. "Where do you wish to go?"

"To Louisbourg, mon pere; our ship was bound there when we were carried off."

"Had you any friends on board the ship?"

"My woman had her son."

"Have you a husband, or a brother, in Louisbourg?"

My face flamed scarlet at the unexpected question, but I answered that I had not, without further explanation.

"Then you cannot go to Louisbourg. It is quite impossible," he declared, with authority. "Louisbourg is no place for women at any time, least of all now. The important matter is to set you free from these savages, but you may rest without alarm to-night, and I will decide what is to be done before morning."

He spake these last words wearily, like a man who had received a hurt, which moved my heart towards him in quick pity, and I waited to see if he would speak again, but he only raised his hand and blessed me.

Lucy received my report with her usual quiet; even the tidings that we were not to go to Louisbourg did not disturb her. "He knows better than we, and he will be guided in all his decisions."

Despite the a.s.surances of our safety, we neither of us closed our eyes that night. Apart from the anxiety as to our destination, the strangeness of our situation, the crackling of the fire, and the uncanny noises of the forest kept us at such a tension that sleep was impossible, and we were awake before any of our captors were astir.

I looked eagerly for the priest, and saw him kneeling at a little distance, absorbed in his morning devotions. Thereupon we withdrew quietly to the river, and soon returned, greatly refreshed, to find the whole camp afoot, and the priest awaiting us at the water's edge. Going directly to him, I asked, "Mon pere, what have you decided?"

"That you go with me," he said, quietly. And I turned to Lucy, but she had already caught the joyous message of our deliverance from my face.

CHAPTER XIII

LE PeRE JEAN, MISSIONARY TO THE INDIANS

Though the priest spake with confidence, I judged he had no small difficulty in persuading the savages to part with us, for there was much discussion and apparently grumbling on the part of the chief; but at length the obstacle, whatever it was, was overcome, and the priest announced we were free to depart.

"My canoe is small for four people, and would be too heavy when we begin the ascent of the Matapediac," he said, "but I will borrow another from the savages, with two men to paddle. Explain to your woman that she is to go with my servant Andre in the one, and you will follow in the other with me. She need have no fear; Andre is to be trusted in all things."

These matters being settled, we were made spectators to surely the strangest sight my eyes had ever looked upon. Andre brought forth a small folding-table, and the priest, still in his rusty soutane, recited the holy office of the ma.s.s to the kneeling savages under the shade of the great pines, and only the ripple of the water broke the pauses in the service. To my astonishment, the Indians recited the Venite, but this was the extent of their knowledge, apart from the Pater-Noster, the Confiteor, and some of the responses.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The priest recited the holy office of the ma.s.s."]

When the service was ended we breakfasted heartily, and, as soon as the priest's preparations were made, we embarked with, oh, such different hearts from yesterday!

Now that our anxiety was at rest, I had time to observe the priest more closely. Though his figure was slight, it moved to the dip of his paddle like that of a man vigorous in all exercise; his long, thin hands were full of strength; and his face, though worn, and burned to almost as dark a colour as that of an Indian, was that of a man who must have been handsome in his youth. At his age I could not even guess, beyond that he looked old with his scanty beard and long white hair, which fell almost to his shoulders. We sat face to face as he paddled in the stern of the canoe, and I marvelled at the wild grandeur of the river and forest, which I had barely marked before.

"It is beautiful--yes, very beautiful," he said, presently, noticing my admiration; "but it wears another face in winter; then it is even terrible."

"Have you been long among these people, mon pere?"

"So long, that I know their tongue like our own; I know their faults and virtues, which are also like our own, but more simple, more direct; so long, that sometimes I forget I ever knew anything different. But come, my daughter, I can tell my story at any time, while you cannot have a better opportunity than the present to tell me yours, which I must know if I am to be of service to you. The man behind you cannot understand a word of French, so you may speak freely."

Though I foresaw some explanation on my part would be necessary, I had so far hardly looked upon the man before me as other than our rescuer, one of our own blood and habit and tongue; but now it was the priest, and, more than that, my equal, for he invited my confidence not by right of his office but by right of his equality, for gentle I divined him to be; and at his demand I was sore confused, for I knew that questionings must follow which had been spared me on shipboard.