The Span o' Life Part 22

Suddenly I remembered Gabriel and the promise which I had dismissed so lightly at the time of its making, and at once a way of escape opened before me.

I did not hesitate a moment; slipping noiselessly out of bed, I dressed myself, and taking my heavy cloak and shoes in my hand, I stole out of my room and into the kitchen, where I felt for the box with the steel and flint beside the fireplace, and then opening the door, I stood alone in the quiet night.

I was country-born, if not country-bred, which served me in good stead now; for the night had not the terrors for me I had feared, and I marvelled at my courage as I went on. I had only one anxiety in mind, and that was lest the beacon should not be in a fit state for firing. Thinking of nothing else, I hurried down the path by the Little River until I reached the Beacon Point, where, to my relief, I found the pile of wood dry and undisturbed.

I knelt beside it; but at first my hands trembled so I could not strike a spark; however, the very effort steadied me, and, gathering some small twigs, in a few minutes I had my tinder alight, the twigs caught, with them I lighted others, and when I rose to my feet the flame was curling up through the skilfully piled branches, and in a few moments a straight pillar of fire went leaping up into the night.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A straight pillar of fire went leaping up into the night."]

CHAPTER XIX

ON THE ISLE AUX COUDRES

Now that the beacon was fairly alight my purpose was accomplished, and I was free to return to the house; but the night was warm, there was no sound save the lapping of the rising tide, or the short quick puff of some slowly turning porpoise from out the darkness beyond, and I stood there for what I suppose was a long time, held by the spell of the perfect quiet. At length I roused myself, and began to retrace my steps, but as I gained the line of the pine wood I turned aside and stood a moment for a last look at the friendly beacon flaring up into the darkness. The loud crackle of the wood seemed like joyous cries of encouragement, and the strong ruddy flame filled me with a fresh confidence. On the morrow, if Gabriel should appear, I would announce our departure for Quebec, and once there would place myself under the protection of M. de Montcalm until...

"Oh, Heaven!" I almost screamed, for I heard footsteps hurriedly approaching, and had only time to withdraw more completely into the shadow of the trees when Luntook, the Indian, came running down the path, and in an instant scattered the fire on all sides, hurling the blazing brands over the cliff and covering up the embers until not a spark remained.

When the fire was completely extinguished he looked about him slowly, while I cowered there in mortal terror, believing he would immediately search for and certainly discover me; but, to my surprise, he walked silently past my shelter and kept his way along the path.

I was simply paralysed with fear. I could not have screamed or made a move had my life depended on it; the very presence of the man struck terror to my soul, for he seemed the personification of all the possibility of evil in his master. He it was, I well knew, who would carry out any violence which might be determined against me, and the fact of his remaining about the place when his master was supposed to have left, filled me with alarm. I was persuaded I was to be carried off, perhaps on the morrow, and the priest's warning came back to me with renewed insistence.

My burden of fear so grew upon me that I dared not remain within the shadow of the wood, for every sound in its depths shook me with a new terror, and every moment I imagined I could feel the Indian stealing nearer me in the darkness. I dared not look behind me, I dared hardly move forward, but my dread of the wood was greater than that of the open beach, and I somehow managed to clamber down the cliff and took shelter behind a great bowlder, where I could hear the soothing ripple of the water and feel the soft wind against my face. It brought a sense of being removed from the land and men; I was more alone, but I felt safer.

The chill of the night struck through me to the bone, and I was burdened with its length; it seemed as if time were standing still.

But at last I was roused by the hoa.r.s.e call of birds pa.s.sing high overhead, and saw the sky was paling in the east. Slowly, slowly the gray dawn came, trees began to detach themselves and stand out against the sky, rocks took a vague form against the sands, the wicker lines of the fishery grew distinct in the receding waters, while white wreaths of mist rose smoke-like from the Little River.

Slowly, slowly grew the glory in the east, and when at length the first beams of the sun struck strong and clear across the bay, making a shining pathway to my very feet, it seemed so actually a Heaven-sent way of escape that, trembling in every limb, I rose and staggered forward as if it were possible to tread it; and then, recovering my distracted senses, I fell to crying like a child.

The tears brought relief, and I began to bestir myself, to move about quickly, until I could feel my stiffened limbs again, and recovered some sense of warmth. I did not dare to leave the open security of the beach until the sun was higher, when I wandered out to the extreme end of the sands, looking anxiously for some answer to my signal from the Isle aux Coudres, but the opposite sh.o.r.e, was hidden by a close bank of white cloud, broken only by the rounded tops of the mountains above Les Eboulements. Presently the cloud began to lift and scatter, and I could make out the island lying low and dun against the higher main-land. But no answering smoke broke the clear morning air; indeed, it seemed impossible that my signal, which had not burned for an hour at most, could be seen at such a distance. I turned away with an empty heart, when I caught sight of a boat standing up close insh.o.r.e, her sails filled with the freshening morning breeze.

The mere presence of a means of escape changed everything in a moment. I was filled with a new courage, and climbing to the top of the outermost bowlder, I drew the long white scarf from my neck and waved it to and fro above my head. To my intense joy, I was answered by the boat hauling round, and lowering and raising the point of one of her sails--the same signal I had seen Gabriel make to M. de Montcalm off Cap Tourmente. It was Gabriel himself! his signal a.s.sured me of it; and at the sight the morning took on a new glory, for the terror and bitterness of the night had pa.s.sed as I watched the boat as my deliverance hastening towards me.

As she came on, I made out Gabriel distinctly, and before long the boat was lying motionless, Gabriel had his shallop over the side, and a moment later was splashing through the shallow water, and bowing as though he had parted from me only yesterday.

"'Bon chien cha.s.se de race,' madame. I was cruising about, as I always am, ready for the first ship which appears, when I saw the light; and though it did not burn long enough for a signal, I thought it well to look it up; and now, madame, I am at your orders, as I promised. I was sure you would want me some day."

"Oh, Gabriel, I do want you! I never stood in greater need. Take me on board, and I will tell you."

He showed no surprise at my demand, but merely repeating his favourite proverb, "ce que femme vent, Dieu le veut," lifted me in his arms like a child, and carried me through mud and water, and set me in his shallop, when a few strokes brought as alongside the boat, and I was in safety on her deck. Then the sails were once more set, and we stood away from the sh.o.r.e and up the river.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He carried me through mud and water, and set me in his shallop."]

He did not question me, nor, indeed, would he allow me to speak, until he had provided a hot drink of some sweetened spirit, which brought back the glow to my blood, and then he set about preparing breakfast, keeping up an incessant chatter the while, until he had me laughing at his flow of talk.

"Aha! That is better!" he exclaimed, joyfully. "Now, madame, what are your orders?"

"Can you take me to Quebec?"

"I can--but--" and his face lengthened.

"But what?"

"Well, madame, to be truthful, I am expecting the first ships every day now; they are late as it is; and if I am off the ground, why, then the bread must drop into some one else's basket! That is all."

"I can pay you well for what you may lose in this way."

"It is not only the money, madame, 'l'argent est rond et ca roule,'

but I have always brought up the first ship since I was twenty, and that was not last Sunday, as one may guess. Yet, if madame says so, I am at her orders."

"I do not know what to say, Gabriel. I will not return to Beaulieu, and though I want to reach Quebec, I am unwilling you should miss your ship; but I certainly cannot remain on board here while you are with her."

"Bedame! I have a plan, if it will answer. We are at no distance from the Island, my good wife is alone, as usual, and, if I do not ask too much, could you not put up with her for a week or two at most until I pick up my ship, and then the trick is done? Our house is clean, my wife is the best of managers, and will do everything to make you comfortable."

"That will answer admirably, Gabriel."

"Good! Madame, I can also return to Beaulieu and fetch your woman and such things as you may desire."

For the first time I remembered Lucy, and was filled with remorse at the thought of my desertion of her. What could I do? To send word back to Beaulieu now would be to betray my retreat; and what explanation could I offer to my kindly hosts?

Gabriel, with ready tact, saw my distress.

"Pardon, madame; I am not asking questions; I am not even thinking them. You shall come and go as you like with me and mine, and no one shall dare to do aught but obey you. If my plan does not suit, say so freely, madame, and we will go on to Quebec without another thought, and the King's ship must wait, or go on with such bungler as she may find."

"No, no, Gabriel; I will not have it so. I can remain on the Island for a week as well as not, and, in fact, will do nothing else. That is settled. And, Gabriel, because you are a brave and loyal man I shall trust you further--I do not wish any one to know where I am while on the Island, unless I can get word to le pere Jean."

"Oh, as for that, you are going to meet him; for he is due on the Island even now. He always comes about this time to see what is left of us after the winter."

"Then I am quite satisfied. Now tell me, have you any news from Louisbourg?"

"Nothing, madame; no ship has come up yet; but it will not be long before we hear now."

"Then I shall expect to hear when you return for me."

"You will, madame; depend upon it, I will bring you news. And now, if I may offer a counsel, which I am sure is wise, I would say, madame, that you should lie down and try to sleep."

The advice was as welcome as it was wise, and it was not long ere I carried it out.

When I awoke, it was well on in the afternoon, and we were close insh.o.r.e.

"Yes, madame, it is the Island. There is my house--the one with the flag-staff. See, my good woman has the signal flying for me.

I can never come within reach without her scenting me out."

There was a fine pride in his words, and his house was worthy of it. A clean, honest, white face it presented, framed in young hop-vines carefully trained up the low curving roof, and set in a garden which already gave promise of much bloom. His wife, a plump, comely woman, waited for us at the landing-place.

"Ma bonne amie!" said Gabriel, embracing her. "Madame de St. Just has crossed with me from Beaulieu to await le pere Jean here, and will stay with you until he comes."