D'Ri and I

by Irving Bacheller

  XVIII

  It was a lucky and a stubborn sea-fight. More blood to the numberI never saw than fell on the _Lawrence_, eighty-three of ourhundred and two men having been killed or laid up for repair. Onehas to search a bit for record of a more wicked fire. But wedeserve not all the glory some histories have bestowed, for we hada larger fleet and better, if fewer, guns. It was, however, athing to be proud of, that victory of the young captain. Our men,of whom many were raw recruits,--farmers and woodsmen,--stood totheir work with splendid valor, and, for us in the North, it camenear being decisive. D'ri and I were so put out of business thatno part of the glory was ours, albeit we were praised in orders forvalor under fire. But for both I say we had never less pride ofourselves in any affair we had had to do with. Well, as I havesaid before, we were ever at our best with a sabre, and big gunswere out of our line.

  We went into hospital awhile, D'ri having caught cold and gone outof his head with fever. We had need of a spell on our backs, forwhat with all our steeplechasing over yawning graves--that is theway I always think of it--we were somewhat out of breath. No newshad reached me of the count or the young ladies, and I took someworry to bed with me, but was up in a week and ready for moretrouble, I had to sit with D'ri awhile before he could mount ahorse.

  September was nearing its last day when we got off a brig at theHarbor. We were no sooner at the dock than some one began to tellus of a new plan for the invasion of Canada. I knew Brown had hadno part in it, for he said in my hearing once that it was too big achunk to bite off.

  There were letters from the count and Therese, his daughter. Theyhad news for me, and would I not ride over as soon as I hadreturned? My mother--dearest and best of mothers--had written me,and her tenderness cut me like a sword for the way I had neglectedher. Well, it is ever so with a young man whose heart has found anew queen. I took the missive with wet eyes to our goodfarmer-general of the North. He read it, and spoke with feeling ofhis own mother gone to her long rest.

  "Bell," said he, "you are worn out. After mess in the morningmount your horses, you and the corporal, and go and visit them.Report here for duty on October 16."

  Then, as ever after a kindness, he renewed his quid of tobacco,turning quickly to the littered desk at headquarters.

  We mounted our own horses a fine, frosty morning. The white earthglimmered in the first touch of sunlight. All the fairy lanternsof the frost king, hanging in the stubble and the dead grass,glowed a brief time, flickered faintly, and went out. Then thebrown sward lay bare, save in the shadows of rock or hill or forestthat were still white. A great glory had fallen over thefar-reaching woods. Looking down a long valley, we could seetowers of evergreen, terraces of red and brown, goldensteeple-tops, gilded domes minareted with lavender and purple anddraped with scarlet banners. It seemed as if the trees wereshriving after all the green riot of summer, and making ready forsackcloth and ashes. Some stood trembling, and as if drenched intheir own blood. Now and then a head was bare and bent, and nakedarms were lifted high, as if to implore mercy.

  "Fine air," said I, breathing deep as we rode on slowly.

  "'T is sart'n," said D'ri. "Mother used t' say 'at the frost wusonly the breath o' angels, an' when it melted it gin us a leetle o'the air o' heaven."

  Of earth or heaven, it quickened us all with a new life. Thehorses fretted for their heads, and went off at a gallop, needingno cluck or spur. We pulled up at the chateau well before theluncheon hour. D'ri took the horses, and I was shown to thelibrary, where the count came shortly, to give me hearty welcome.

  "And what of the captives?" I inquired, our greeting over.

  "Alas! it is terrible; they have not returned," said he, "and I amin great trouble, for I have not written to France of their peril.Dieu! I hoped they would be soon released. They are well and nowwe have good news. Eh bien, we hope to see them soon. But of thatTherese shall tell you. And you have had a terrible time on LakeErie?"

  He had read of the battle, but wanted my view of it. I told thestory of the _Lawrence_ and Perry; of what D'ri and I had hoped todo, and of what had been done to us. My account of D'ri--his drollcomment, his valor, his misfortune--touched and tickled the count.He laughed, he clapped his hands, he shed tears of enthusiasm; thenhe rang a bell,

  "The M'sieur D'ri--bring him here," said he to a servant.

  D'ri came soon with a worried look, his trousers caught on hisboot-tops, an old felt hat in his hand. Somehow he and his hatwere as king and coronal in their mutual fitness; if he lost one,he swapped for another of about the same shade and shape. Hisbrows were lifted, his eyes wide with watchful timidity. Thecount had opened a leather case and taken out of it a shiny disk ofsilver. He stepped to D'ri, and fastened it upon his waistcoat.

  "'Pour la valeur eprouvee--de l'Empereur,'" said he, reading theinscription as he clapped him on the shoulder. "It was given to asoldier for bravery at Austerlitz by the great Napoleon," said he."And, God rest him! the soldier he died of his wounds. And to mehe have left the medal in trust for some man, the most brave,intrepid, honorable. M'sieur D'ri, I have the pleasure to put itwhere it belong."

  D'ri shifted his weight, looking down at the medal and blushinglike a boy.

  "Much obleeged," he said presently. "Dunno but mebbe I better putit 'n my wallet. 'Fraid I 'll lose it off o' there."

  He threw at me a glance of inquiry.

  "No," said I, "do not bury your honors in a wallet."

  He bowed stiffly, and, as he looked down at the medal, went away,spurs clattering.

  Therese came in presently, her face full of vivacity and color.

  "M'sieur le Capitaine," said she, "we are going for a little ride,the marquis and I. Will you come with us? You shall have the besthorse in the stable."

  "And you my best thanks for the honor," I said.

  Our horses came up presently, and we all made off at a quickgallop. The forest avenues were now aglow and filled with hazysunlight as with a flood, through which yellow leaves were slowlysinking. Our horses went to their fetlocks in a golden drift. Themarquis rode on at a rapid pace, but soon Therese pulled rein, Ikeeping abreast of her.

  In a moment our horses were walking quietly.

  "You have news for me, ma'm'selle?" I remarked.

  "Indeed, I have much news," said she, as always, in French. "I wasafraid you were not coming in time, m'sieur."

  She took a dainty letter from her bosom, passing it to me.

  My old passion flashed up as I took the perfumed sheets. I felt myheart quicken, my face burn with it. I was to have good news atlast of those I loved better than my life, those I had notforgotten a moment in all the peril of war.

  I saw the handwriting of Louison and then a vision of her--thelarge eyes, the supple, splendid figure, the queenly bearing. Itread;--

  "MY DEAR THERESE: At last they promise to return us to you on the12th of October. You are to send two men for us--not more--to thehead of Eagle Island, off Ste. Roche, in the St. Lawrence, withcanoes, at ten o'clock in the evening of that day. They will finda lantern hanging on a tree at the place we are to meet them. Wemay be delayed a little, but they are to wait for us there. And,as you love me, see that one is my brave captain--I do not careabout the other who comes. First of all I wish to see my emperor,my love, the tall, handsome, and gallant youngster who has won me.What a finish for this odd romance if he only comes! And then I dowish to see you, the count, and the others. I read your note withsuch a pleasure! You are sure that he loves me? And that he doesnot know that I love him? I do not wish him to know, to suspect,until he has asked me to be his queen--until he has a right toknow. Once he has my secret. Love is robbed of his best treasure.Mon Dieu! I wish to tell him myself, sometime, if he ever has thecourage to take command of me. I warn you, Therese, if I think heknows--when I see him--I shall be cruel to him; I shall make himhate me. So you see I will not be cheated of my wooing, and I knowyou would not endanger my life's happiness. I have writt
en alittle song--for him. Well, some day I shall sing it to him, andwill he not be glad to know I could do it? Here are the firstlines to give you the idea:--

  My emperor! my emperor! Thy face is fair to see; Thy house is old, thy heart is gold, Oh, take command of me!

  O emperor! my emperor! Thy sceptre is of God; Through all my days I'll sing thy praise, And tremble at thy nod.

  But, dear Therese, you ought to hear the music; I have quitesurprised myself. Indeed, love is a grand thing; it has made menobler and stronger. They really say I am not selfish any more.But I am weary of waiting here, and so eager to get home. You arein love, and you have been through this counting of the hours. Weare very comfortable here, and they let us go and come as we likeinside the high walls. I have told you there is a big, big groveand garden.

  "We saw nothing of 'his Lordship' for weeks until three days ago,when they brought him here wounded. That is the reason we couldnot send you a letter before now. You know he has to see them alland arrange for their delivery. Well, he sent for Louise that dayhe came. She went to him badly frightened, poor thing! as, indeed,we all were. He lay in bed helpless, and wept when he saw her.She came back crying, and would not tell what he had said. I dothink he loves her very dearly, and somehow we are all beginning tothink better of him. Surely no one could be more courteous andgallant. Louise went to help nurse him yesterday, dear, sweetlittle mother! Then he told her the good news of our comingrelease, where your men would meet us, and all as I have written.He is up in his chair to-day, the maid tells me. I joked Louiseabout him this morning, and she began to cry at once, and said herheart was not hers to give. The sly thing! I wonder whom sheloves; but she would say no more, and has had a long face all day.She is so stubborn! I have sworn I will never tell her another ofmy secrets. You are to answer quickly, sending your note bycourier to the Indian dockman at Elizabethport, addressed RobinAdair, Box 40, St. Hiliere, Canada. And the love of all to all.Adieu.

  "Your loving "LOUISON.

  "P.S. Can you tell me, is the captain of noble birth? I havenever had any doubt of it, he is so splendid."

  It filled me with a great happiness and a bitter pang. I was neverin such a conflict of emotion.

  "Well," said Therese, "do you see my trouble? Having shown you thefirst letter, I had also to show you the second. I fear I havedone wrong. My soul--"

  "Be blessed for the good tidings," I interrupted.

  "Thanks. I was going to say it accuses me. Louison is a proudgirl; she must never know. She can never know unless--"

  "You tell her," said I, quickly. "And of course you will."

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "That every secret that must not be told is the same as publishedif--if--"

  "If _what_?"

  "If--if it tells a pretty story with some love in it," I said, witha quick sense of caution. "Ah, ma'm'selle, do I not know what hasmade your lips so red?"

  "What may it be?"

  "The attrition of many secrets--burning secrets," I said, laughing.

  "Mordieu! what charming impudence!" said she, her large eyesglowing thoughtfully, with some look of surprise. "You do not knowme, m'sieur. I have kept many secrets and know the trick."

  "Ah, then I shall ask of you a great favor," said I--"that you keepmy secret also, that you do not tell her of my love."

  She wheeled her horse with a merry peal of laughter, hiding herface, now red as her glove.

  "It is too late," said she, "I have written her."

  We rode on, laughing. In spite of the serious character of herwords, I fell a-quaking from crown to stirrup. I was now engagedto Louison, or as good as that, and, being a man of honor, I mustthink no more of her sister.

  "I wrote her of your confession," said she, "for I knew it wouldmake her so happy; but, you know, I did not tell of--of thecircumstances."

  "Well, it will make it all the easier for me," I said."Ma'm'selle, I assure you--I am not sorry."

  "And, my friend, you are lucky: she is so magnificent."

  "Her face will be a study when I tell her."

  "The splendor of it!" said she.

  "And the surprise," I added, laughing.

  "Ah, m'sieur, she will play her part well. She is clever. Thatmoment when the true love comes and claims her it is the sweetestin a woman's life."

  A thought came flying through my brain with the sting of an arrow.

  "She must not be deceived. I have not any noble blood in me. I amonly the son of a soldier-farmer, and have my fortune to make,"said I, quickly.

  "That is only a little folly," she answered, laughing. "Whetheryou be rich or poor, prince or peasant, she cares not a snap of herfinger. Ciel! is she not a republican, has she not money enough?"

  "Nevertheless, I beg you to say, in your letter, that I havenothing but my sword and my honor."

  As we rode along I noted in my book the place and time we were tomeet the captives. The marquis joined us at the Hermitage, where astable-boy watered our horses. Three servants were still there,the others being now in the count's service.

  If any place give me a day's happiness it is dear to me, and thewhere I find love is forever sacred. I like to stand where I stoodthinking of it, and there I see that those dear moments are as mucha part of me as of history. So while Therese and the marquis gotoff their horses for a little parley with the gardener, I canteredup the north trail to where I sat awhile that delightful summer daywith Louise. The grotto had now a lattice roofing of barebranches. Leaves, as red as her blush, as golden as my memories,came rattling through it, falling with a faint rustle. The bigwoods were as a gloomy and deserted mansion, with the lonely cry ofthe wind above and a ghostly rustle within where had been love andsong and laughter and all delight.