Cameron of Lochiel

"On the 4th of November we were struck by a terrific gale, which lasted two days, and which we weathered with difficulty. On the 7th a fire broke out three times in the cook's galley, and was extinguished only after a desperate struggle. I shall not endeavor to paint the scenes on shipboard while it seemed likely we should be burned in the open sea.

"On the 11th we escaped as by a miracle from being dashed to pieces on a rock off Isle Royale.

"From the 13th to the 15th we were driven blindly before a hurricane, not knowing where we were. As many of us as could do so were obliged to fill the places of the crew, who were so exhausted with their incessant labors that they had taken refuge in their hammocks, from which neither bribes, threats, nor blows could drive them. Our foremast was gone, our tattered sails could no longer be either hoisted or furled, and, as a last resort, the mate proposed that we should run the ship ashore. It was a desperate expedient. The fatal moment arrived. The captain and mate looked at me despairingly, clasping their hands. I understood but too well the silent speech of these men inured to peril. We made for land to starboard, where we saw the mouth of a little river which might perhaps prove navigable. I explained our situation to all the passengers, concealing nothing. Then what entreaties and what vows to the Almighty! But, alas! in vain the vows, and of no avail the prayers!

"Who can paint the madness of the waves? Our masts seemed to touch the sky and then vanish in the deep. A frightful shock announced that the ship had grounded. We cut away the masts and cordage to lighten her, but the waves rolled her on her side. We were stranded about five hundred feet from shore, in a little sandy bay at the mouth of the river in which we had hoped to find refuge. As the ship was now leaking at every joint, the passengers rushed upon deck; and some even, thinking themselves within reach of safety, threw themselves into the sea and perished miserably.

"At this moment Madame de Tillac appeared on deck, holding her little one in her arms, her long hair and her garments streaming about her in confusion. She was the picture of hopeless anguish. She fell on her knees. Then, perceiving me, she cried in a piercing voice: 'My dear friend, must we die like this?'

"I was running to her aid, when a giant wave thundered down upon the deck and swept her into the sea."

"My poor friend," sobbed Madame D'Haberville; "companion of my childhood, my foster-sister, nourished at the same breast with me? They tried to persuade me that it was merely my overwrought imagination that made me see you in my sleep, that 17th of November! I saw you weeping on the deck of the Auguste, your baby in your arms; and I saw you swept into the waves. I was not deceived, my sister! You came to bid me farewell before vanishing to heaven with the angel that nestled in your bosom!"

After a pause, M. de Lacorne went on:

"Crew and passengers were lashed to the shrouds, to escape the waves which dashed ceaselessly over the doomed ship, every moment carrying away new victims. The ship carried but two small boats, one of which was already crushed into splinters. The remaining one, a mere cockle-shell, was launched, and a servant named Étienne threw himself into it, followed by the captain and two or three others. I did not perceive this till one of my children, whom I held in my arms, while the other was tied to my belt, cried eagerly: 'Save us now, father; the boat is going away!' I seized the rope fiercely. At this moment a terrific wave struck us, and hurled me headlong into the boat. The same wave which saved my life swept away my children."

At this point the narrator's voice failed him, and his listeners sobbed aloud. Regaining his self-control, he continued:

"Although under the lee of the ship, the boat was almost swamped by another wave; and the next hurled us landward. In what seemed but a few seconds, in that awful and stupefying tumult, we found ourselves dashed upon the sand. Above the uproar we heard the heart-rending shrieks of those who remained upon the ship.

"Of the seven men thus miraculously thrown upon the unknown shore, I was the only one capable of action. I had just seen my brother and my little ones snatched away, and I strove to keep down my agony of soul by striving for the safety of my fellow-sufferers. I succeeded, after a time, in bringing the captain back to consciousness. The others were numbed with cold, for an icy rain was falling in torrents. Not wishing to lose sight of the ship, I handed them my flint and steel and powder-horn, telling them to light a fire at the edge of the wood. In this they failed signally; scarcely had they strength enough to come and tell me of their failure, so weak were they and numbed with cold. After many attempts, I succeeded in making a fire just in time to save their lives. Then I returned to the beach, hoping to save some poor creatures who might be washed ashore. I remained there from three in the afternoon till six o'clock in the evening, when the ship went to pieces. Never, never shall I forget the sight of the dead bodies stretched upon the sand, more than a hundred in number, many of them with legs or arms broken, their faces battered out of all recognition.

"Half stupefied by the calamity, we passed a sleepless and silent night, and on the morning of the 16th we betook ourselves again to the fatal shore. We passed the day in bestowing upon the dead such sad last rites as were possible to such poor wretches as we.

"On the morrow we left this desert and inhospitable coast, and directed our course into the interior. The winter had set in in all its severity. We marched through snow up to our knees. Sometimes we came to deep and rapid rivers, which forced us to make long détours. My companions were so enfeebled by fatigue and famine that sometimes I had to retrace my steps more than once to get their bundles, which they had been compelled to drop. Their courage was utterly broken; and sometimes I had to stop and make them rude moccasins to cover their bleeding feet.

"Thus we dragged ourselves on, or rather I dragged them in tow, for neither courage nor strength once failed me till at length, on the 4th of December, we met two Indians. Imagine if you can the delirious joy of my companions, who for the last few days had been looking forward to death itself as a welcome release from their sufferings! These Indians did not recognize me at first, so much was I changed by what I had gone through, and by the long beard which had covered my face. Once I did their tribe a great service; and you know that these natives never forget a benefit. They welcomed me with delight. We were saved. Then I learned that we were on the island of Cape Breton, about thirty leagues from Louisbourg.

"I made haste to leave my companions at the first Acadian settlement, where I knew they would be nursed back to health. I was eager to return to Quebec, that I might be the first to inform General Murray of our shipwreck. I need not detail to you the incidents of the journey. Suffice to say that with the greatest peril I crossed from Cape Breton to the main-land in a birch canoe, through the sweeping ice cakes; and that I have covered now about five hundred leagues on my snow-shoes. I have had to change my guides very frequently, for after eight days' marching with me, Indian and Acadian alike find themselves utterly used up."

After this story, the family passed the greater part of the night in bewailing the fate of their friends and kinsfolk, the victims of a barbarous decree.

M. de Saint-Luc allowed himself but a few hours rest, so eager was he to present himself before Murray at Quebec as a living protest against the vindictive cruelty which had sent to their death so many brave soldiers, so many unoffending women and little ones. It had been thought that Murray's unreasoning bitterness was due to the fact that he could not forget his defeat of the previous year.

"Do you know, D'Haberville," said M. de Saint-Luc at breakfast, "who was the friend so strong with Murray as to obtain you your two years' respite? Do you know to whom you owe to-day the life which you would probably have lost in our shipwreck?"

"No," said Captain D'Haberville. "I have no idea what friend we can have so powerful. But whoever he is, never shall I forget the debt of gratitude I owe him."

"Well, my friend, it is the young Scotchman Archibald de Lochiel to whom you owe this eternal gratitude."

"I have commanded," almost shouted Captain D'Haberville, "that the name of this viper, whom I warmed in my bosom, should never be pronounced in my presence." And the captain's great black eyes shot fire.

"I dare flatter myself," said M. de Saint-Luc, "that this command hardly extends to me. I am your friend from childhood, your brother in arms, and I know all the obligations which bind us mutually. I know that you will not say to me, as you said to your sister, the superior, when she sought to plead the cause of this innocent young man: 'Enough, my sister. You are a holy woman, bound to forgive your enemies, even those who have been guilty of the blackest ingratitude against you. But as for me, you know that I never forgive an injury. That is my nature. If it be a sin, God has not given me strength to conquer it. Enough, my sister; and never again pronounce his name in my presence, or all intercourse between us shall cease.' No, my dear friend," continued Saint-Luc, "you will not make me this answer; and you will hear what I have to say."

M. D'Haberville knew too well the requirements of hospitality to impose silence upon his friend under his own roof. His thick eyebrows gathered in a heavy frown, he half closed his eyes as if to veil his thoughts, and resigned himself to listen with the air of a criminal to whose satisfaction the judge is endeavoring to prove that he deserves his sentence.

M. de Saint-Luc detailed Archie's conduct from the beginning, and his struggle with his implacable foe Montgomery. He spoke energetically of the soldier's obligation to obey the commands of his superior, however unjust. He drew a touching picture of the young man's despair, and added:

"As soon as Lochiel learned that you and yours were ordered to embark at once for Europe, he requested an audience with the general, which was granted.

"'Captain de Lochiel,' said Murray, handing him the brevet of his new rank, 'I was going to look for you. Having witnessed your exploits on the glorious field of 1759, I hastened to ask for your promotion; and I may add that your subsequent conduct has proved you worthy of the favor of His Majesty's Government, and of my utmost efforts on your behalf.'

"'I am most glad, sir,' answered Lochiel, 'that your recommendation has obtained me a reward far beyond anything my poor services could entitle me to expect; and I beg you will accept my grateful thanks for the favor, which emboldens me to ask yet one more. General, it is a great, an inestimable favor which I would ask of you.'

"'Speak, captain,' said Murray, 'for I would do much to gratify you.'

"'If it were myself that was concerned,' said Archie, 'I should have nothing further to desire. It is for others I would speak. The D'Haberville family, ruined, like so many others, by our conquest, has been ordered by Your Excellency to depart at once for France. They have found it impossible to sell, even at the greatest sacrifice, the small remnants of their once considerable fortune. Grant them, I implore you, two years in which to set their affairs in order. Your Excellency is aware how much I owe to this family, which loaded me with kindness during my ten years' sojourn in the colony. It was I who, obeying the orders of my superior officer, completed their ruin by burning their manor and mill at St. Jean-Port-Joli. For the love of Heaven, general, grant them two years, and you will lift a terrible burden from my soul!'

"'Captain de Lochiel,' said Murray severely, 'I am surprised to hear you interceding for the D'Habervilles, who have shown themselves our most implacable enemies.'

"'It is but just to them, general,' answered Archie, 'to recognize that they have fought bravely to defend their country, even as we have done to conquer it. It is with some confidence I address myself to a brave soldier, on behalf of truly valiant enemies.'

"Lochiel had touched the wrong cord, for Murray was brooding over his defeat of the preceding year, and, further, he was hardly susceptible to anything like chivalry of sentiment. He answered icily:

"'Impossible, sir! I can not recall my order. The D'Habervilles must go.'

"'In that case, will Your Excellency be so kind as to accept my resignation?' said Archie.

"'What, sir!' exclaimed the general, paling with anger.

"'Will Your Excellency,' repeated Archie coldly, 'be so good as to accept my resignation, and permit me to serve as a common soldier? They who will seek to point the finger at me as the monster of ingratitude, who, after being loaded with benefits by a family to whom he came a stranger, achieved the final ruin of that family without working any alleviation of their lot – they who would hold me up to scorn for this will find it harder to discover me when buried in the ranks than when I am at the head of men who have no such stain upon them.' Once more he offered his commission to the general.

"The latter became first red and then pale, turned upon his heel, bit his lips, passed his hand across his forehead, muttered something like a 'G – d d – n!' between his teeth, and remained for a moment plunged in thought. Then he calmed himself suddenly, put out his hand, and said:

"'I appreciate your sentiments, Captain de Lochiel. Our sovereign must not be deprived of the services which you can render him as one of his officers, you who are ready to sacrifice your future for a debt of gratitude. Your friends shall remain.'

"'A thousand thanks!' cried Archie. 'You may count on my devotion henceforth, though I be required to march alone to the cannon's mouth to prove it. A mountain of remorse lay on my heart. Now I feel as light as one of our mountain roebucks!'"

Of all the passions that sway men's wills, jealousy and revenge are perhaps the hardest to control. Captain D'Haberville, after having listened with a frown, said merely:

"I perceive that the services of M. de Lochiel have met with due appreciation. As for me, I was unaware that I was so indebted to him." And he turned the conversation into another channel.

M. de Saint-Luc glanced at the other members of the family, who had listened with eyes cast down, not daring to discuss the subject. Rising from the table, he added:

"This respite, D'Haberville, is a most fortunate thing; for you may rest assured that within two years you will find yourself free to go or come as you will. The English governor incurred too heavy a responsibility when he doomed to death so many persons of prominence – persons allied to the most illustrious families, not only on the Continent, but in England as well. He will seek to conciliate the Canadians in order to ward off the consequences of this dreadful catastrophe. Now, farewell, my friends; and remember they are weak souls who let themselves be beaten down by misfortune. One great consolation we have in considering that we did all that could be expected of the bravest, and that, if our country could have been preserved, our arms and our courage would have preserved it."

The night was far advanced when M. de Saint-Luc reached Quebec and presented himself at the Château St. – Louis, where he was at first refused admission. But he was so determined, declaring that his tidings were of the most immediate importance, that at length an aide consented to awaken the governor, who had been some hours in bed. Murray at first failed to recognize M. de Saint-Luc, and asked him angrily how he dared disturb him at such an hour, or what tidings he could bring of such pressing importance.

"An affair which you will assuredly consider worthy of some attention, sir, for I am Captain de Saint-Luc, and my presence here will tell you the rest."

General Murray turned as pale as death. Presently he called for refreshments, and, treating Saint-Luc with the most profound consideration, he inquired of him the fullest particulars of the wreck. He was no longer the same man who had carelessly consigned so many brave officers to their doom just because the sight of their uniforms displeased him.

What M. de Saint-Luc had foreseen presently came to pass. Thenceforward Governor Murray, conscience-stricken by the loss of the Auguste, became very lenient toward the Canadians, and those who wished to remain in the colony were given liberty to do so. M. de Saint-Luc, in particular, whose possible revelations he may have dreaded, became the special object of his favor, and found nothing to complain of in the governor's attitude. He set his tremendous energies to the work of repairing his fortunes, and his efforts were crowned with well-merited success.

CHAPTER XV.

LOCHIEL AND BLANCHE

After seven long years of severe privation, content and even happiness came back to the D'Habervilles. It is true that the great manor house had been replaced by a somewhat humble dwelling; but it was a palace compared to the mill they had just left. The D'Habervilles had, moreover, suffered less than many others in the same position. Loved and respected by their tenants, they had suffered none of those humiliations which the vulgar often inflict upon their betters in distress. The D'Habervilles had never forgotten that it is the privilege of the upper classes to treat their inferiors with respect. They were besieged with offers of service. When it was decided to rebuild the manor, the whole parish volunteered its assistance to help along the work. Every man labored with as much zeal as if it were his own house he was building. With the delicate tact of the Frenchman, they never entered, except as invited guests, the poor chambers which the family had set apart in the mill. If they had been affectionate toward their seigneur in his prosperity, when the iron hand of adversity was laid upon him they became his devoted disciples.

Only they who have known great reverses, who have suffered long and cruelly, can appreciate the blissful content of them who again see better days. Hitherto all had respected Captain D'Haberville's grief, and in his presence had scarcely spoken above their breath; but now the natural gayety of the French heart reasserted itself, and all was changed as by enchantment.

The captain laughed and joked as he used to before the war, the ladies sang as they busied themselves about the house, and again the sonorous voice of Uncle Raoul was heard on fine evenings arousing the echoes of the cape. The faithful José was everywhere at once, and tales of the experiences of his "late father, now dead" flowed incessantly from his lips.

One morning toward the end of August, that same year, Captain D'Haberville was returning from the river Port-Joli, his gun on one shoulder and a well-filled game-bag slung over the other, when he saw a small boat put off from a ship which was anchored a little way out. The boat made directly for the D'Habervilles' landing. The captain sat on a rock to wait for it, imagining that it contained some sailors in quest of milk and fresh victuals. As they landed he was hastening forward to meet them, when he saw with surprise that one of them, who was dressed as a gentleman, was handing a packet to one of the sailors and directing him to take it to the manor house. At the sight of Captain D'Haberville this gentleman seemed to change his mind suddenly, for he stepped forward and handed him the packet with these words:

"I have hardly dared hand you this packet myself, Captain D'Haberville, although it contains news at which you will rejoice."

"Why, sir," replied the captain, searching his memory for the name of this person, whose face seemed half familiar, "why should you have hesitated to hand me the packet yourself if chance had not thrown me in your way?"

"Because, sir," said the other, hesitating, "I might have feared that it would be disagreeable to you to receive it at my hands. I know that Captain D'Haberville never forgets either a benefit or an injury."

Captain D'Haberville stared at the stranger; then, frowning heavily, he shut his eyes and was silent for some moments. The stranger, watching him intently, could see that a violent struggle was raging in his breast. Presently Captain D'Haberville recovered his self-possession and said, with scrupulous politeness:

"Let us leave to each man's own conscience the remembrance of past wrongs. You are here, Captain de Lochiel, and as the bearer of letters from my son you are entitled to every welcome on my part. The family will be glad to see you. You will receive at my house – a cordial hospitality." He was going to say bitterly a princely hospitality, but the reproach died upon his lips. The lion was as yet but half appeased.

Archie instinctively put out his hand to grasp that of his old friend; but Captain D'Haberville responded with a visible effort, and his hand lay passive in the young man's clasp.

A sigh burst from Archie's lips, and for a time he seemed uncertain what to do. At length he said sorrowfully:

"Captain D'Haberville can refuse to forgive him whom once he loved and overwhelmed with benefits, but he has too noble a soul to wantonly inflict a punishment too great to be endured. To see again the places which will recall such poignant memories will be trial enough in itself, without meeting there the cold welcome which hospitality extends to the stranger. Farewell, Captain D'Haberville; farewell forever to him whom I once called my father, if he will no longer regard me as a son. I call Heaven to witness that every hour has been embittered with remorse since the fatal day when my duty as a soldier under orders forced me to enact a barbarism at which my very soul sickened. I swear to you that a great weight has lain ceaselessly upon my heart, through the hours of excitement on the battle-field, of gayety at ball and festival, not less than through the silence of the long and weary nights. Farewell forever, for I perceive that you have refused to hear from the lips of the good superior the story of my pain and my despair. Farewell for the last time, and, since all intercourse must cease between us, tell me, oh, tell me, I implore you, that some measure of peace and happiness has been restored to your family! Oh, tell me that you are not continually miserable! Nothing remains for me but to pray God on my knees that he will shed his best blessings on a family which I so deeply love! To offer to repair with my own fortune the losses which I caused would be an insult to a D'Haberville."

Though M. D'Haberville had refused to listen to his sister, he had none the less been impressed by the recital of M. de Saint-Luc, and by Archie's devotion in offering to sacrifice his fortune and his future to a sentiment of gratitude. Hence the degree of welcome with which he had received him. Otherwise, it is probable he would have turned his back upon him.

The suggestion of pecuniary compensation made M. D'Haberville start as if he had been touched with a red-hot iron; but this passing emotion was forgotten in the conflict of his feelings. He clasped his breast with both hands, as if he would tear out the bitterness which, in spite of him, clung to his heart. Making Lochiel a sign to remain where he was, he strode rapidly down the shore; then he came back slowly and thoughtfully, and said:

"I have done my utmost, Archie, to banish the last of my bitterness; but you know me, and you know it will be a work of time to blot it completely from my remembrance. All that I can say is that my heart forgives you. My sister the superior told me all. I listened to her, after hearing of your good offices in interceding with the governor on my behalf, of which I learned through my friend de Saint-Luc. I concluded that he who was ready to sacrifice rank and fortune for his friends could only have been acting by compulsion in those circumstances to which I now allude for the last time. If you should notice occasionally any coldness in my attitude toward yourself, please pay no attention to it. Let us leave it all to time."

He pressed Lochiel's hand cordially. The lion was appeased.

"As it is probable," said M. D'Haberville, "that the calm is going to continue, send back your sailors after they have had something to eat; and if by chance a favorable wind should arise, my good nag Lubine will carry you to Quebec in six hours – that is, if your business prevents your staying with us so long as we would wish. This will be convenient for you, will it not?"