Kitabı oku: «The Forge in the Forest», sayfa 4

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Chapter VII
The Commander is Embarrassed

Next day we set out at a good hour, and came without further adventure to Chignecto. Having landed, amid a little swarm of fishing-boats, we then went straight to de Ramezay's headquarters, leaving Beaudry at the wharf among his cronies. We crossed a strip of dyked marsh, whereon were many sleek Acadian cattle cropping the rich aftermath, and ascended the gentle slope of the uplands. Amid a few scattered cabins were ranged the tents of the soldiers. Camp fires and sheaves of stacked muskets gave the bright scene a warlike countenance. Higher up the hill stood a white cottage, larger than the rest, its door painted red, with green panels; and from a staff on its gable, blown out bravely by the wind which ever sweeps those Fundy marshlands, flapped the white banner with the Lilies of France.

The sentry who challenged us at the foot of the slope knew me, – had once fought under me in a border skirmish, – and, saluting with great respect, summoned a guard to conduct us to headquarters. As we climbed the last dusty rise and turned in, past the long well-sweep and two gaunt, steeple-like Lombardy poplars, to the yard before the cottage, the door opened and the commander himself stood before us. His face lit up gladly as I stepped forward to greet him, and with great warmth he sprang to embrace me.

"My dear Briart!" he cried. "I have long expected you!"

"I am but just returned to Acadie, my dear friend," said I, with no less warmth than he had evinced, "or you would surely have seen me here to greet you on your coming. But the King's service kept me on the Richelieu!"

"And even your restless activity, my Jean, cannot put you in two places at once," said he, as he turned with an air of courteous inquiry to my companions. Perceiving at once by his dress that Tamin was a habitant, his eyes rested upon Marc.

"My son Marc, Monsieur de Ramezay," said I.

The two bowed, Marc very respectfully, as became a young man on presentation to a distinguished officer, but de Ramezay with a sudden and most noticeable coldness. At this I flushed with anger, but the moment was not one for explanations. I restrained myself; and turning to Tamin, I said in an altered tone: —

"And this, de Ramezay, is my good friend and faithful follower, Tamin Violet, of Canard parish, who desires to enlist for service under you. More of him, and all to his credit, I will tell you by and by. I merely commend him to you now as brave, capable, and a good shot!"

"I have ever need of such!" said de Ramezay, quickly. "As you recommend him, he shall serve in Monsieur de Ville d'Avray's company, which forms my own guard."

Summoning an orderly, he gave directions to this effect. As Tamin turned to depart with the orderly, both Marc and I stepped up to him and wrung his hands, and thanked him many times for the courage and craft which had saved Marc's life as well as the honour of our family.

"We'll see you again to-night or in the morning, my Tamin," said Marc.

"And tell you how goes my talk with the commander," added I, quietly.

"And for the boat we wrecked," continued Marc, "why, of course, we won't remain in your debt for a small thing like that; though for the great matter, and for your love, we are always your debtors gladly!"

"And in the King's uniform," said I, cutting short Tamin's attempted protestations, "even the Black Abbé will not try to molest you."

I turned again to de Ramezay, who was waiting a few paces aside, and said, with a courtesy that was something formal after the warmth of our first greeting: —

"Your pardon, de Ramezay! But Tamin has gone through much with us and for us. And now, my son and I would crave an undisturbed conversation with you."

At once, and without a word, he conducted us into his private room, where he invited us to be seated. As we complied, he himself remained standing, with every sign of embarrassment in his frank and fearless countenance. I had ever liked him well. Good cause to like him, indeed, I had in my heart, for I had once stood over his body in a frontier skirmish, and saved his scalp from the knives of the Onondagas. But now my anger was hot against him, for it was plain to me that he had lent ear to some slanders against Marc. For a second or two there was a silence, then Marc sprang to his feet.

"Perhaps if I stand," said he, coldly, "Monsieur de Ramezay will do us the honour of sitting."

De Ramezay's erect figure – a very soldierly and imposing figure it was in its uniform of white and gold – straightened itself haughtily for an instant. Then he began, but with a stammering tongue: —

"I bitterly regret – it grieves me, – it pains me to even hint it, – " and he kept his eyes upon the floor as he spoke, – "but your son, my dear friend, is accused – "

Here I broke in upon him, springing to my feet.

"Stop!" said I, sternly.

He looked at me with a face of sorrowful inquiry, into which a tinge of anger rose slowly.

"Remember," I continued, "that whatever accusation or imputation you make now, I shall require you to prove beyond a peradventure, – or to make good with your sword against mine! My son is the victim of a vile conspiracy. He is – "

"Then he is loyal, you say, to France?" interrupted de Ramezay, eagerly.

"I say," said I, in a voice of steel, "that he has done nothing that his father, a soldier of France, should blush to tell, – nothing that an honest gentleman should not do." My voice softened a little as I noticed the change in his countenance. "And oh, Ramezay," I continued, "had any man an hour ago told me that you would condemn a son of mine unheard, – that you, on the mere word of a false priest or his wretched tools, would have believed that a son of Jean de Mer could be a traitor, I would have driven the words down his throat for a black lie, a slander on my friend!"

De Ramezay was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon the floor. Then he lifted his head.

"I was wrong. Forgive me, my friend!" said he, very simply. "I see clearly that I ought to have held the teller of those tales in suspicion, knowing of him what I do know. And now, since you give me your word the tales are false, they are false. Pardon me, I beg of you, Monsieur!" he added, turning to Marc and holding out his hand.

Marc bowed very low, but appeared not to see the hand.

"If you have heard, Monsieur de Ramezay," said he, "that, before it was made plain that France would seek to recover Acadie out of English hands, I, a mere boy, urged my fellow Acadians to accept the rule in good faith; – if you have heard that I then urged them not to be misled to their own undoing by an unscrupulous and merciless intriguer who disgraces his priestly office; – if you have heard that, since then, I have cursed bitterly the corruption at Quebec which is threatening New France with instant ruin, – you have heard but truly!"

De Ramezay bit his lips and flushed slightly. Marc was not making the situation easier; but I could scarce blame him. Our host, however, motioned us to our seats, taking his own chair immediately that he saw us seated. For my own part, my anger was quite assuaged. I hastened to clear the atmosphere.

"Let me tell you the whole story, Ramezay," said I, "and you will understand. But first let me say that my son is wholly devoted to the cause of France. His former friendly intercourse with the English, a boyish matter, he brought to an utter end when the war came this way."

"And let me say," interrupted de Ramezay, manfully striving to amend his error, "that when one whom I need not name was filling my ear with matter not creditable to a young man named Marc de Mer, it did not come at all to my mind – and can you wonder? – that the person so spoken of was a son of my Briart, of the man who had so perilled his own life to save mine! I thought your son was but a child. It was thus that the accusations were allowed to stick in my mind, – which I do most heartily repent of! And for which I again crave pardon!"

"I beg of you, Monsieur, that you will think no more of it!" said Marc, heartily, being by this quite appeased.

Then with some particularity I told our story, – not omitting Marc's visit to his little Puritan at Annapolis, whereat de Ramezay smiled, and seemed to understand something which had before been dark to him. When the Black Abbé came upon the scene (I had none of our host's reluctance to mention the Abbé's name!) de Ramezay's brows gathered gloomily. But he heard the tale through with breathless attention up to the point of our landing at Chignecto.

"And now, right glad am I that you are here," he exclaimed, stretching out a hand to each of us. The frank welcome that illuminated the strong lines of his face left no more shadow of anger in our hearts.

"And here are the Abbé's precious documents!" said I, fetching forth the packet.

De Ramezay examined both letters with the utmost care.

"The reward," he said presently, with a dry smile, "is on a scale that savours of Quebec rather more than of thrifty New England. When Boston holds the purse-strings, information is bought cheaper than that! As for the signature, it is passable. But I fear it would scarce satisfy Master Apthorp!"

"I thought as much," said I, "though I have seen Mascarene's signature but once."

De Ramezay fingered the paper, and held it up to the light.

"But a point which will interest you particularly, Monsieur," he continued, addressing Marc, "is the fact that this paper was made in France!"

"It is gratifying to know that, Monsieur!" replied Marc, with his vanishing smile.

"It would be embarrassing to some people," said de Ramezay, "if they knew we were aware of it. But I may say here frankly that they must not know it. You will readily understand that my hands are something less than free. As things go now at Quebec, there are methods used which I cannot look upon with favour, and which I must therefore seem not to see. I am forced to use the tools which are placed in my hands. This priest of whom you speak is a power in Acadie. He is thought to be indispensable to our cause. He will do the things that, alas, have to be done, but which no one else will do. And I believe he does love France, – he is surely sincere in that. But he rests very heavily, methinks, on the conscience of his good bishop at Quebec, who, but for the powers that interfere, would call him to a sharp account. I tell you all this so that you will see why I must not charge the Abbé with this villany of his. I am compelled to seem ignorant of it."

I assured him that I apprehended the straits in which he found himself, and would be content if he would merely give the Abbé to understand that Marc was not to be meddled with.

"Of course," said Marc, at this point, "I wish to enter active service, with Father; and I shall therefore be, for the most part, beyond the good Abbé's reach. But we have business at Grand Pré and Canard that will hold us there a week or thereabouts; and it is annoying to walk in the hourly peril of being tomahawked and scalped for a spy!"

"I'll undertake to secure you in this regard," laughed de Ramezay; "and in return, perchance I may count on your support when I move against Annapolis, as my purpose is to do ere many weeks!"

"Assuredly!" said Marc, "if my father have made for me no other plans!" And he turned to me for my word in the matter.

As it chanced, this was exactly as I had purposed, which I made at once to appear. It was presently agreed, therefore, that we should tarry some days at Chignecto, returning thereafter to despatch our affairs at home and await de Ramezay's summons. As the Commander's guests we were lodged in his own quarters, and Tamin was detailed to act as our orderly. The good Beaudry, with his good boat, was sent home not empty-handed to his goodwife near Shulie, with instructions to come again for us in five days. And Tamin, having now no more need of it, sent back to Madame Beaudry, with best compliments, her knitted cap of red wool.

Chapter VIII
The Black Abbé Comes to Dinner

Of the pleasant but something irrelevant matter of how merrily we supped that night with de Ramezay and his officers, – many of whom I knew, all of whom knew me or my adventurous repute, – I will not linger to discourse. Nor of the costly dainties from France which enriched the board, side by side with fair salmon from the Tantramar and bursting-fat plover from the Joli-Coeur marshes. Nor of the good red wine of Burgundy which so enhanced the relish of those delectable birds, – and of which I might perhaps have drunk more sparingly had good Providence but made me more abstemious. Let it suffice to say, there was wit enough to spice plainer fare, and courtesy that had shone at Versailles. The long bare room, with its low, black-raftered ceiling and polished floor, its dark walls patterned with shelves, was lit by the smoky flames of two-score tallow candles.

By and by chairs were pushed back, the company sat with less ceremony, the air grew clouded with the blue vapours of the Virginia weed, and tongues wagged something more loosely than before. There were songs, – catches from the banks of Rhone, rolling ballads of our own voyageurs. A young captain quite lately from Versailles, the Sieur de Ville d'Avray, had an excellent gift of singing.

But now, just when the Sieur de Ville d'Avray was rendering, with most commendable taste and spirit, the ballade of "Frère Lubin," there came an interruption.

 
"Il presche en theologien,
Mais pour boire de belle eau claire,
Faictes la boire a vostre chien,
Frère Lubin ne le peult faire," —
 

sang the gay voice, – we all nodding our heads in intent approval, or even, maybe, seeing that the wine was generous, tapping the measure openly with our fingers. But suddenly, though there was no noise to draw them, all eyes turned to the doorway, and the singer paused in his song. I tipped my chair back into the shadow of a shelf, as did Marc, who sat a little beyond me. For the visitor, who thus boldly entered unannounced, was none other than the Black Abbé himself.

I flung de Ramezay a swift glance of anticipation, which he caught as he arose in his place to greet the new-comer. On the faces around the table I took note of an ill-disguised annoyance. The Abbé, it was plain, found small favour in that company. But to do him justice, he seemed but little careful to court favour. He stood in the doorway, frowning, a piercing and bitter light in his close-set eyes. He waited for de Ramezay to come forward and give him welcome, – which de Ramezay presently did, and would have led him to a seat at the table.

But "No!" said the grim intruder. "With all thanks for your courtesy, Monsieur, I have no time, nor am I in the temper, for revellings. When I have said my word to you I will get me to the house of one of my flock, and sup plainly, and take what rest I may, for at dawn I must set out for the Shubenacadie. There is much to be done, and few to do it, and the time grows short!" and he swept a look of reprimand about the circle.

"Would you speak with me in private, Father?" asked de Ramezay, with great civility.

"It is not necessary, Monsieur!" replied the Abbé. "I have but to say that I arrested the pestilent young traitor, Marc de Mer, on his father's estate at Canard, and left him under guard while I went to attend to other business. I found upon his person clear proofs of his treachery, which would have justified his hanging on the instant. But I preferred that you should be the judge!"

"You did well!" said de Ramezay, gravely. "I must ask even you, Monsieur l'Abbé, to remember on all occasions that I, and I only, am the judge, so long as I remain in Acadie!"

To this rebuke, courteous though it was, the priest vouchsafed no reply but a slight smile, which uncovered his strong yellow teeth on one side, like a snarl. He continued his report as if there had been no interruption.

"In my brief absence his father, with some disaffected habitants, deceived my faithful followers by a trick, and carried off the prisoner. But I have despatched a strong party on the trail of the fugitives. They will certainly be captured, and brought at once – "

But at this point his voice failed him. His face worked violently with mingled rage and amazement, and following his gaze I saw Marc standing and bowing with elaborate courtesy.

"They are already here, Sir Abbé," said he, "having made haste that they might give you welcome!"

A ripple of laughter went around the table, as the company, recovering from some moments of astonishment, began to understand the situation. I, too, rose to my feet, smiling expectantly. The priest's narrow eyes met mine for a second, with a light that was akin to madness. Then they shifted. But he found his voice again.

"I denounce that man as a proved spy and traitor!" he shouted, striding forward, and pointing a yellow finger of denunciation across the table at Marc, while the revellers over whom he leaned made way for him resentfully. "I demand his instant arrest."

"Gently, Monsieur l'Abbé," said de Ramezay. "These are serious charges to bring against French gentlemen, and friends of the Commander; have you proofs – such as will convince me after the closest scrutiny?" he added, with unmistakable significance.

"I have myself seen the proofs, I tell you," snarled the Abbé, beginning to exert more self-control, but still far unlike the cool, inexorable, smiling cynic who had so galled my soul with his imperturbability when I lay in his bonds beside the Forge.

"I would fain see them, too," insisted de Ramezay.

The priest glared at me, and then at Marc, baffled.

"I have them not," said he, in his slow and biting tones; "but if you would do your duty as the King's servant, Monsieur de Ramezay, and arrest yonder spy, you would doubtless find the proofs upon his person, if he has not taken the pains to dispose of them." Upon this insolent speech, de Ramezay took his seat, and left the priest standing alone. When, after a pause, he spoke, his voice was stern and masterful, as if he were addressing a contumacious servant, though he retained the forms of courtesy in his phrases.

"Monsieur," said he, "when I wish to learn my duty, it will not be the somewhat well-known Abbé la Garne whom I will ask to teach me. I must require you not to presume further upon the sacredness of your office. Your soutane saves you from being called to account by the gentleman whose honour you have aspersed. Monsieur Marc de Mer is the son of my friend. He is also one of my aides-de-camp. I beg that you will understand me without more words when I say that I have examined the whole matter to which you refer. For your own credit, press it no further. I trust you catch my meaning!"

"On the contrary," said the Abbé, coolly, being by this time quite himself again, and seemingly indifferent to the derisive faces confronting him – "on the contrary, your meaning altogether escapes me, Monsieur. All that I understand of your singular behaviour is what the Governor and the Intendant, not I their unworthy instrument, will be called to pass judgment upon."

"I will trouble you to understand also, Sir Priest," said de Ramezay, thoroughly aroused, his tones biting like acid, "that if this young man is further troubled by any of your faithful Shubenacadie flock, I will hold you responsible; and the fact that you are useful, having fewer scruples than trouble a mere layman, shall not save you."

"Be not disturbed for your spy, Monsieur," sneered the Abbé, now finely tranquil. "I wash my hands of all responsibility in regard to him; look you to that."

For the space of some seconds there was silence all about that table of feasting, while the Abbé swept a smiling, bitter glance around the room. Last, his eyes rested upon mine and leaped with a sudden light of triumph, so that one might have thought not he but I had been worsted in the present encounter. Then he turned on his heel and went out, scornful of courtesy.

A clamour of talk arose upon this most cherished departure; but I heard it as in a dream, being wrapped up in wonder as to the meaning of that look of triumph.

"Has the Black Abbé cast a spell upon you, Father?" I heard Marc inquiring presently. Whereupon I came to myself with a kind of start, and made merry with the rest of them.

It was late when Marc and I went to the little chamber where our pallets were stretched. There we found Tamin awaiting us. He was in a sweat of fear.

"What is it, my Tamin?" asked Marc.

"The Black Abbé," he grunted, the drollness all chased out of the little wrinkles about his eyes.

"Well," said I, impatiently. "The Black Abbé; and what of him? He is repenting to-night that he ever tried conclusions with me, I'll wager."

I spoke the more confidently because in my heart I was still troubled to know the meaning of the Abbé's glance.

"Hein," said Tamin. "He looked – his eyes would lift a scalp! I was standing in the light just under the window, when of a sudden the door closed; and there he stood beside me, with no sound, and still as a heron. He looked at me with those two narrow eyes, as if he would eat my heart out: and I stood there, and shook. Then, of a sudden, his face changed. It became like a good priest's face when he says the prayer for the soul that is passing; and he looked at me with solemn eyes. And I was yet more afraid. 'It is not for me to rebuke you,' he said, speaking so that each word seemed an hour long; 'red runs your blood on the deep snow beneath the apple tree.' And before I could steady my teeth to ask him what he meant, he was gone. 'Red runs your blood beneath the apple tree.' What did he mean by that?"

"Oh," said I, speaking lightly to encourage him, though in truth the words fell on me with a chill, "he said it to spoil your sleep and poison your content. It was a cunning revenge, seeing that he dare not lift a hand to punish you otherwise."

"To be sure, my Tamin, that is all of it," added Marc. "Who has ever heard that the Black Abbé was a prophet? Faith, 'tis as Father says, a cunning and a devilish revenge. But you can balk it finely by paying no heed to it."

Tamin's face had brightened mightily, but he still looked serious.

"Do you think so?" he exclaimed with eagerness. "'Tis as you say indeed, – the Black Abbé is no prophet. Had it been Grûl, now, that said it, there were something to lie awake for, eh?"

"Yes, indeed, if Grûl had said it," muttered Marc, contemplating him strangely.

But for me, I was something impatient now to be asleep.

"Think no more of it, my friend," said I, and dismissed him. Yet sleepy as I was, I thought of it, and even I must have begun to dream of it. The white sheet of moonlight that lay across my couch became a drift of snow with blood upon it, and the patterned shadow upon the wall an apparition leaning over, – when out of an immense distance, as it were, I heard Marc's voice.

"Father," he cried softly, "are you awake?"

"Yes, dear lad," said I. "What is it?"

"I have been wondering," said he, "why the Black Abbé looked at you, not me, in his going. He had such a countenance as warns me that he purposes some cunning stroke. But I fear his enmity has turned from me to you."

"Well, lad, it was surely I that balked him. What would you have?" I asked.

"Oh," said he, heavily, "that I should have turned that bloodhound onto your trail!"

"Marc, if it will comfort you to know it, carry this in your memory," said I, with a cheerful lightness, like froth upon the strong emotion that flooded my heart. "When the Black Abbé strikes at me, it will be through you. He knows where I am like to prove most vulnerable!"

"'Tis all right, then, so as we sink or swim together, Father," said Marc, quietly.

"That's the way of it now, dear lad! Sweet sleep to you, and dreams of red hair!" said I. And I turned my face drowsily to the wall.

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Litres'teki yayın tarihi:
23 mart 2017
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