XX
It was a fine house--that in which I spent many happy years back inmy young manhood. Not, indeed, so elegant and so large as thiswhere I am now writing, but comfortable. To me, then, it had anatmosphere of romance and some look of grandeur. Well, in thosedays I had neither a sated eye, nor gout, nor judgment of goodwine. It was I who gave it the name of Fairacres that day when,coming out of the war, we felt its peace and comfort for the firsttime, and, dumfounded with surprise, heard my mother tell the storyof it.
"My grandfather," said she, "was the Chevalier Ramon Ducet deTrouville, a brave and gallant man who, for no good reason,disinherited my father. The property went to my uncle, the onlyother child of the chevalier, and he, as I have told you, wrotemany kind letters to me, and sent each year a small gift of money.Well, he died before the war,--it was in March,--and, having nochildren, left half his fortune to me. You, Ramon, will rememberthat long before you went away to the war a stranger came to see meone day--a stout man, with white hair and dark eyes. Do you notremember? Well, I did not tell you then, because I was unable tobelieve, that he came to bring the good news. But he came againafter you left us, and brought me money--a draft on account. Forus it was a very large sum, indeed. You know we have always beenso poor, and we knew that when the war was over there would be moreand a-plenty coming. So, what were we to do? 'We will build ahome,' said I; 'we will enjoy life as much as possible. We willsurprise Ramon. When he returns from the war he shall see it, andbe very happy.' The architect came with the builders, and, voila!the house is ready, and you are here, and after so long it isbetter than a fortune to see you. I thought you would never come."
She covered her face a moment, while my father rose abruptly andleft the room. I kissed the dear hands that long since had givento heavy toil their beauty and shapeliness.
But enough of this, for, after all, it is neither here nor there.Quick and unexpected fortune came to many a pioneer, as it came tomy mother, by inheritance, as one may see if he look only at therecords of one court of claims--that of the British.
"Before long you may wish to marry," said my mother, as she lookedup at me proudly, "and you will not be ashamed to bring your wifehere."
I vowed, then and there, I should make my own fortune,--I hadYankee enough in me for that,--but, as will be seen, the wealth ofheart and purse my mother had, helped in the shaping of my destiny.In spite of my feeling, I know it began quickly to hasten thelife-currents that bore me on. And I say, in tender remembrance ofthose very dear to me, I had never a more delightful time than whenI sat by the new fireside with all my clan,--its number as yetundiminished,--or went roistering in wood or field with the youngerchildren.
The day came when D'ri and I were to meet the ladies. We startedearly that morning of the 12th. Long before daylight we weremoving rapidly down-river in our canoes.
I remember seeing a light flash up and die away in the moonlit mistof the river soon after starting.
"The boogy light!" D'ri whispered. "There 't goes ag'in!"
I had heard the river folk tell often of this weird thing--one ofthe odd phenomena of the St. Lawrence.
"Comes alwus where folks hev been drownded," said D'ri. "Thetair's what I've hearn tell."
It was, indeed, the accepted theory of the fishermen, albeit manysaw in the boogy light a warning to mark the place of forgottenmurder, and bore away.
The sun came up in a clear sky, and soon, far and wide, its lightwas tossing in the rippletops. We could see them glowing milesaway. We were both armed with sabre and pistols, for that riverwas the very highway of adventure in those days of the war.
"Don' jes' like this kind uv a hoss," said D'ri. "Got t' keepwhalin' 'im all the while, an' he 's apt t' slobber 'n rough goin'."
He looked thoughtfully at the sun a breath, and then trimmed hisremark with these words; "Ain't eggzac'Iy sure-footed, nuther."
"Don't require much feed, though," I suggested.
"No; ye hev t' dew all the eatin', but ye can alwus eat 'nough ferboth."
It was a fine day, and a ride to remember. We had a warm sun, aclear sky, and now and then we could feel the soft feet of thesouth wind romping over us in the river way. Here and there aswallow came coasting to the ripples, sprinkling the holy water ofdelight upon us, or a crow's shadow ploughed silently across ourbows. It thrilled me to go cantering beside the noisy Rapides duPlats or the wild-footed Galloup, two troops of water hurrying tothe mighty battles of the sea. We mounted reeling knolls, andcoasted over whirling dips, and rushed to boiling levels, andjumped foamy ridges, and went galloping in the rush and tumble oflong slopes.
"Let 'er rip!" I could hear D'ri shouting, once in a while, as heflashed up ahead of me. "Let 'er rip! Consarn 'er pictur'!"
He gave a great yell of triumph as we slowed in a long stretch ofstill, broad water. "Judas Priest!" said he, as I came alongside,"thet air's rougher 'n the bog trail."
We came to Paleyville with time only for a bite of luncheon beforedark. We could see no sign of life on the island or the "Canuckshore" as we turned our bows to the south channel. That eveningthe innkeeper sat with us under a creeking sign, our chairs tiltedto the tavernside.
D'ri was making a moose-horn of birch-bark as he smokedthoughtfully. When he had finished, he raised it to his lips andmoved the flaring end in a wide circle as he blew a blast that rangmiles away in the far forest.
"Ef we heppen t' git separated in any way, shape, er manner 'ceptone," said he, as he slung it over his shoulder with a string,"ye'll know purty nigh where I be when ye hear thet air thing."
"You said, 'in any way, shape, er manner 'cept one.'" I quoted."What do you mean by that?"
My friend expectorated, looking off into the night soberly a moment.
"Guess I didn't mean nuthin'," said he, presently. "When I set outt' say suthin', don't never know where I 'm goin' t' land. Gooddeal luk settin' sail without a compass. Thet 's one reason Idon't never say much 'fore women."
Our good host hurried the lagging hours with many a tale of theriver and that island we were soon to visit, once the refuge ofTadusac, the old river pirate, so he told us, with a cave nowhaunted by some ghost. We started for the shore near ten o'clock,the innkeeper leading us with a lantern, its light flickering in awest wind. The sky was cloudy, the night dark. Our host lent usthe lantern, kindly offering to build a bonfire on the beach ateleven, to light us home.
"Careful, boys," said the innkeeper, as we got aboard. "Aimstraight fer th' head o' th' island, Can't ye see it--right overyer heads there? 'Member, they 's awful rough water below."
We pushed off, D'ri leading. I could see nothing of the island,but D'ri had better eyes, and kept calling me as he went ahead.After a few strokes of the paddle I could see on the dark sky thedarker mass of tree-tops.
"Better light up," I suggested. We were now close in.
"Hush!" he hissed. Then, as I came up to him, he went on,whispering: "'T ain't bes' t' mek no noise here. Don' know nonetew much 'bout this here business. Don' cal'late we 're goin' t'hev any trouble, but if we dew--Hark!"
We had both heard a stir in the bushes, and stuck our paddles inthe sand, listening. After a little silence I heard D'ri get upand step stealthily into the water and buckle on his sword. Then Icould hear him sinking the canoe and shoving her anchor deep intothe sand. He did it with no noise that, fifty feet away, couldhave been distinguished from that of the ever-murmuring waters. Ina moment he came and held my canoe, while I also took up my trustyblade, stepping out of the canoe into the shallow water. Then heshoved her off a little, and sank her beside the other. I knew nothis purpose, and made no question of it, following him as he strodethe shore with measured paces, the lantern upon his arm. Thenpresently he stuck his paddle into the bushes, and mine beside it.We were near the head of the island, walking on a reedy strip ofsoft earth at the river margin. After a few paces we halted tolisten, but heard only the voice of the water and the murmur ofpines. Then
we pushed through a thicket of small fir trees towhere we groped along in utter darkness among the big tree trunkson a muffle-footing. After a moment or so we got a spray of light.We halted, peering at the glow that now sprinkled out through manya pinhole aperture in a fairy lattice of pine needles.
My heart was beating loudly, for there was the promised lantern.Was I not soon to see the brighter light of those dear faces? Itwas all the kind of thing I enjoyed then,--the atmosphere of periland romance,--wild youth that I was. It is a pity, God knows, Ihad so little consideration for old D'ri; but he loved me,and--well, he himself had some pleasure in excitement.
We halted for only a moment, pushing boldly through a thicket ofyoung pines into the light. A lantern hung on the bough of a talltree, and beneath it was a wide opening well carpeted with moss andneedles. We peered off into the gloom, but saw nothing.
D'ri blew out a thoughtful breath, looking up into the air coolly,as he filled his pipe.
"Consarned if ever I wanted t' have a smoke s' bad 'n all my borndays," he remarked.
Then he moved his holster, turned his scabbard, and sat downquietly, puffing his pipe with some look of weariness andreflection. We were sitting there less than five minutes when weheard a footfall near by; then suddenly two men strode up to us inthe dim light. I recognized at once the easy step, the long, lithefigure, of his Lordship in the dress of a citizen, saving sword andpistols.
"Ah, good evening, gentlemen," said he, quietly. "How are you?"
"Better than--than when we saw you last," I answered.
D'ri had not moved; he looked up at me with a sympathetic smile.
"I presume," said his Lordship, in that familiar, lazy tone, as helighted a cigar, "there was--ah--good room for improvement, wasthere not?"
"Abundant," said I, thoughtfully. "You were not in the best ofhealth yourself that evening."
"True," said he; "I--I was in bad fettle and worse luck."
"How are the ladies?"
"Quite well," said he, blowing a long puff.
"Ready to deliver them?" I inquired.
"Presently," said he. "There are--some formalities."
"Which are--?" I added quickly.
"A trifle of expenses and a condition," said he, lazily.
"How much, and what?" I inquired, as D'ri turned his ear.
"One thousand pounds," said his Lordship, quickly. "Not a pennymore than this matter has cost me and his Majesty."
"What else?" said I.
"This man," he answered calmly, with a little gesture aimed at D'ri.
My friend rose, struck his palm with the pipe-bowl, and put up hisknife.
"Ef ye're goin' t' tek me," said he, "better begin right off, er yewon't hev time 'fore breakfust."
Then he clapped the moose-horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast.It made the two men jump and set the near thicket reeling. Theweird barytone went off moaning in the far wastes of timber. Itsrush of echoes had begun. I put my hand to my sabre, for there inthe edge of the gloom I saw a thing that stirred me to the marrow.The low firs were moving toward us, root and branch, their twigsfalling. Gods of war! it made my hair stand for a jiffy to see thevery brush take feet and legs. On sea or land I never saw a thingthat gave me so odd a feeling. We stood for a breath or two, thenstarted back, our sabres flashing; for, as the twigs fell, we sawthey had been decorating a squad of the British. They came on. Istruck at the lantern, but too late, for his Lordship had swung itaway. He stumbled, going to his knees; the lantern hit the earthand went out. I had seen the squad break, running each way, tosurround us. D'ri grabbed my hand as the dark fell, and we wentplunging through the little pines, hitting a man heavily, who fellgrunting. We had begun to hear the rattle of boats, a shouting,and quick steps on the shore. We crouched a moment. D'ri blew themoose-horn, pulling me aside with him quickly after the blast.Lights were now flashing near. I could see little hope for us, andD'ri, I thought, had gone crazy. He ran at the oncomers, yelling,"Hey, Rube!" at the top of his lungs. I lay low in the brush amoment. They rushed by me, D'ri in the fore with fending sabre. Atawny hound was running in the lead, his nose down, baying loudly.Then I saw the truth, and made after them with all the speed of mylegs. They hustled over the ridge, their lights flashing under.For a jiffy I could see only, here and there, a leaping glow in thetree-tops. I rushed on, passing one who had tumbled headlong. Thelights below me scattered quickly and stopped. I heard a greatyelling, a roar of muskets, and a clash of swords. A hush fell onthem as I came near, Then I heard a voice that thrilled me.
"Your sword, sir!" it commanded.
"Stop," said I, sharply, coming near.
There stood my father in the lantern-light, his sword drawn, hisgray hair stirring in the breeze. Before him was my old adversary,his Lordship, sword in hand. Near by, the squad of British, nowsurrounded, were giving up their arms. They had backed to theriver's edge; I could hear it lapping their heels. His Lordshipsneered, looking at the veteran who stood in a gray frock ofhomespun, for all the world, I fancy, like one of those old yeomenwho fought with Cromwell.
"Your sword, sir," my father repeated.
"Pardon me," said the young man, with a fascinating coolness ofmanner, "but I shall have to trouble you--"
He hesitated, feeling his blade.
"How?" said my father.
"To fight for it," said his Lordship, quietly.
"Surrender--fool!" my father answered. "You cannot escape."
"Tut, tut!" said his Lordship. "I never heard so poor acompliment. Come in reach, and I shall make you think better ofme."
"Give up your sword."
"After my life, then my sword," said he, with a quick thrust.
Before I could take a step, their swords were clashing in deadlycombat. I rushed up to break in upon them, but the air was full ofsteel, and then my father needed no help. He was driving his manwith fiery vigor. I had never seen him fight; all I had seen ofhis power had been mere play.
It was grand to see the old man fighting as if, for a moment, hisyouth had come back to him. I knew it could not go far. His firewould burn out quickly; then the blade of the young Britisher,tireless and quick as I knew it to be, would let his blood beforemy very eyes. What to do I knew not. Again I came up to them; butmy father warned me off hotly. He was fighting with terrificenergy. I swear to you that in half a minute he had broken thesword of his Lordship, who took to the water, swimming for hislife. I leaped in, catching him half over the eddy, where wefought like roadmen, striking in the air and bumping on the bottom.We were both near drowned when D'ri swam out and gave me hisbelt-end, hauling us in.
I got to my feet soon. My father came up to me, and wiped a cuton my forehead.
"Damn you, my boy!" said he. "Don't ever interfere with me in amatter of that kind. You might have been hurt."
We searched the island, high and low, for the ladies, but with nosuccess. Then we marched our prisoners to the south channel, wherea bateau--the same that brought us help--had been waiting. One ofour men had been shot in the shoulder, another gored in the hipwith a bayonet, and we left a young Briton dead on the shore. Wetook our prisoners to Paleyville, and locked them overnight in theblockhouse.
The channel was lighted by a big bonfire on the south bank, as wecame over. Its flames went high, and made a great, sloping volcanoof light in the darkness.
After the posting of the guard, some gathered about my father andbegan to cheer him. It nettled the veteran. He would take nohonor for his defeat of the clever man, claiming the latter had nochance to fight.
"He had no foot-room with the boy one side and D'ri t' other," saidhe. "I had only to drive him back."
My father and the innkeeper and D'ri and I sat awhile, smoking, inthe warm glow of the bonfire.
"You 're a long-headed man," said I, turning to my comrade.
"Kind o' thought they'd be trouble," said D'ri. "So I tuk 'n astyer father t' come over hossback with hef a dozen good men. They
got three more et the tavern here, an' lay off 'n thet air bateau,waitin' fer the moosecall. I cal'lated I did n't want no moreslidin' over there 'n Canady."
After a little snicker, he added: "Hed all 't wus good fer me thelas' time. 'S a leetle tew swift."
"Gets rather scary when you see the bushes walk," I suggested.
"Seen whut wus up 'fore ever they med a move," said D'ri. "Themair bushes did n't look jest es nat'ral es they'd orter. Bet yethey're some o' them bushwhackers o' Fitzgibbon. Got loops allover their uniforms, so ye c'u'd stick 'em full o' boughs.Jerushy! never see nuthin' s' joemightful cur'us 'n all my borndays--never." He stopped a breath, and then added: "Could n't benuthin' cur'user 'n thet."
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