Rose à Charlitte

by Marshall Saunders

  CHAPTER II.

  A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD.

  "The glossing words of reason and of song, To tell of hate and virtue to defend, May never set the bitter deed aright, Nor satisfy the ages with the wrong."

  J. F. HERBIN.

  "Now let me read this effusion of my thoughtless grandparent once more,"said Vesper, and he took the top paper from the box and ran over itscontents in a murmuring voice.

  I, John Matthew Nimmo, a Scotchman, born in Glasgow, at present a dying man, in the town of Halifax, Nova Scotia, leave this last message for my son Thomas Nimmo, now voyaging on the high seas.

  My son Thomas, by the will of God, you, my only child, are abroad at this time of great disease and distress with me. My eyes will be closed in death ere you return, and I am forced to commit to paper the words I would fain have spoken with living voice to you.

  You, my son, have known me as a hard and stern man. By the grace of God my heart is now humbled and like that of a little child. My son, my son, by the infinite mercies of our Saviour, let me supplicate you not to leave repentance to a dying bed. On the first day of the last week, I, being stricken down with paralysis, lay here on my couch. The room was quiet; I was alone. Suddenly I heard a great noise, and the weeping and wailing of women and children, and the groans of men. Then a heavy bell began to toll, and a light as of a bright fire sprang up against my wall.

  I entered into a great swoon, in which I seemed to be a young man again,--a stout and hearty man, a high liver, a proud swearer. I had on my uniform; there was a sword in my hand. I trod the deck of my stout ship, the _Confidence_. I heard the plash of waves against the sides, and I lifted my haughty eyes to heaven; I was afraid of none, no not the ruler of the universe.

  Down under the planks that my foot pressed were prisoners, to wit, the Acadiens, that we were carrying to the port of Boston. What mattered their sufferings to me? I did not think of them. I called for a bottle of wine, and looked again over the sea, and wished for a fair wind so that we might the sooner enter our prisoners at the port of Boston, and make merry with our friends.

  My son, as I, in my swoon, contemplated my former self, it is not in the power of mortal man to convey to you my awful scorn of what I then was,--my gross desires, my carnal wishes. I was no better than the beasts of the fields.

  After a time, as I trod the deck, a young Acadien was brought before me. My officers said that he had been endeavouring to stir up a mutiny among the prisoners, and had urged them to make themselves masters of the ship and to cast us into the sea.

  I called him a Papist dog. I asked him whether he wished to be thrown to the fishes. I could speak no French, but he knew somewhat of English, and he answered me proudly. He stretched out his hand to the smoking village of Grand Pre that we were leaving. He called to heaven for a judgment to be sent down on the English for their cruelty.

  I struck him to the deck. He could not rise. I thought he would not; but in a brief space of time he was dead, the last words on his lips a curse on me and my children, and a wish that in our dying moments we might suffer some of the torments he was then enduring. I had his body rolled into the sea, and I forgot him, my son. In the unrighteous work to which I had put my hand in the persecution of the French, a death more or less was a circumstance to be forgotten.

  I was then a young man, and in all the years that have intervened I have been oblivious of him. The hand of the Lord has been laid upon me; I have been despoiled of my goods; nothing that I have done has prospered; and yet I give you my solemn word I never, until now, in these days of dying, have reflected that a curse has been upon me and will descend to you, my son, and to your sons after you.

  Therefore, I leave this solemn request. Methinks I shall not lie easy in my narrow bed until that some of my descendants have made restitution to the seed of the Frenchman. I bethink me that he was one Le Noir, called the Fiery Frenchman of Grand Pre, from a birthmark on his face, but of his baptismal name I am ignorant. That he was a married man I well know, for one cause of his complaint was that he had been separated from his wife and child, which thing was not of my doing, but by the orders of Governor Lawrence, who commanded the men and the women to be embarked apart. But seek them not in the city of Boston, my son, nor in that of Philadelphia, where his young wife was carried, but come back to this old Acadien land, whither the refugees are now tending. Ah me! it seems that I am yet a young man, that he is still alive,--the man whom I killed. Alas! I am old and about to die, but, my son, by the love and compassion of God, let me entreat you to carry out the wishes of your father. Seek the family of the Frenchman; make restitution, even to the half of your goods, or you will have no prosperity in this world nor any happiness in the world to come. If you are unable to carry out this, my last wish, let this letter be handed to your children. Eschew riotous living, and fold in your heart my saying, that the forcible dispossession of the Acadien people from their land and properties was an unrighteous and unholy act, brought about chiefly by the lust of hatred and greed on the part of that iniquitous man, Governor Lawrence, of this province, and his counsellors.

  May God have mercy on my soul. Your father, soon to be a clod of clay,

  JOHN MATTHEW NIMMO.

  HALIFAX, May 9, 1800.

  With a slight shudder Vesper dropped the letter back in the box andwiped the dust from his fingers. "Unhappy old man,--there is not theslightest evidence that his callous son Thomas paid any heed to hisexhortations. I can imagine the contempt with which he would throw thisletter aside; he would probably remark that his father had lost hismind. And yet was it a superstition about altering the fortunes of thefamily that made him shortly after exchange his father's grant of landin Nova Scotia for one in this State?" and he picked up another fadeddocument, this one of parchment and containing a record of the transferof certain estates in the vicinity of the town of Boston to ThomasNimmo, removing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to the State ofMassachusetts.

  "Then Thomas got burnt for despising the commands of his father; but mypoor sire,--where does his guilt come in? He did not know of theexistence of this letter,--that I could swear, for with his kind heartand streak of romance he would have looked up this Acadien ghost andlaid it. If I were also romantic, I should say it killed him. As it is,I shall stick to my present opinion that he killed himself by overwork.

  "Now, shall I be cynical and let this thing go, or shall I, like aknight of the Middle Ages, or an adventurous fool of the present, setout in quest of the seed of the Fiery Frenchman? _Ciel!_ I have alreadydecided. It is a floating feather to pursue, an occupation just seriousenough for my convalescent state. _En route_, then, for Acadie," and heclosed his eyes and sank into a reverie, which was, after the lapse ofan hour, interrupted by the entrance of the colored boy with a handfulof papers.

  "Good boy, Henry," said his master, approvingly.

  "Mis' Nimmo, she tole me to hurry," said the boy, with a flash of hisresplendent ivories, "'cause she never like you to wait for nothing. SoI jus' run down to Washington Street."

  Vesper smiled, and took up one of the folders. "H'm, Evangeline route.The Nova Scotians are smart enough to make capital out of thepoem--Henry, come rub my left ankle, there is some rheumatism in it.What is this? 'The Dominion Atlantic Railway have now completed theirmagnificent system to the Hub of the Universe by placing on the routebetween it and Nova Scotia a steamship named after one of theheirs-presumptive of t
he British throne.' Henry, where is the Hub of theUniverse?"

  Henry looked up from the hearth-rug. "I dunno, sir; ain't it heaven?"

  "It ought to be," said the young man; and he went on, "'This steamshipis a dream of beauty, with the lines of an exquisite yacht. Herappointments are as perfect as taste and science can suggest, inmusic-room, dining-room, smoking-room, parlor, staterooms, bathrooms,and all other apartments. The cabinet work is in solid walnut and oak,the softened light falling through domes and panels of stained glass,the upholstery is in figured and other velvets, the tapestries are ofsilk. There is a perfect _cuisine_, and a union of comfort and luxurythroughout.'"

  The young man laid down the folder. "How would you like to go to sea inthat royal craft, Henry?"

  "It sounds fine," said the boy, smacking his lips.

  "No mention is made of seasickness, nor of going to the bottom. A pityit would be to waste all that finery on the fishes--don't rub quite sohard. Let me see," and he took up the folder again. "What days does sheleave? Go to-morrow to the office, Henry, and engage the mostcomfortable stateroom on this bit of magnificence for next Thursday."