Cameron of Lochiel

"Come," said Jules to his friend after supper, "let us go and see the preparations for the May-day feast. As neither of us has had the advantage of being present at those famous nuptials of the opulent Gamache, which so ravished the heart of Sancho Panza, the present occasion may give us some faint idea of that entertainment."

In the kitchen all was bustle and confusion. The laughing shrill voices of the women were mixed with those of the six men off guard, who were occupied in drinking, smoking, and chaffing. Three servants, armed each with a frying-pan, were making, or, to use the common expression, "turning" pancakes over the fire in an ample fireplace, whose flames threw ruddy lights and shadows, à la Rembrandt, over the merry faces thronging the great kitchen. Some of the neighbor women, armed with dish and spoon and seated at a long table, kept dropping into the frying-pans, as fast as they were emptied, the liquid paste of which the pancakes were made; while others sprinkled them with maple sugar as they were piled upon the plates. A great kettle, half full of boiling lard, received the doughnuts which two cooks kept incessantly dropping in and ladling out.

The faithful José, the right hand of the establishment, seemed to be everywhere at once on these solemn occasions.

Seated at the end of a table, coat thrown off, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, his inseparable knife in hand, he was hacking fiercely at a great loaf of maple-sugar and at the same time urging on two servants who were engaged at the same task. The next moment he was running for fine flour and eggs, as the pancake paste got low in the bowls; nor did he forget to visit the refreshment table from time to time to assure himself that nothing was lacking, or to take a drink with his friends.

Jules and Archie passed from the kitchen to the bake-house, where the cooks were taking out of the oven a batch of pies, shaped like half-moons and about fourteen inches long; while quarters of veal and mutton, spare-ribs, and cutlets of fresh pork, ranged around in pans, waited to take their places in the oven. Their last visit was to the wash-house where, in a ten-gallon caldron, bubbled a stew of pork and mutton for the special delectation of the old folks whose jaws had grown feeble.

"Why!" exclaimed Archie, "it is a veritable feast of Sardanapalus – a feast to last six months!"

"But you have only seen a part of it," said Jules. "The dessert is yet ahead of us. I had imagined, however, that you knew more about the customs of our habitants. If at the end of the feast the table were not as well supplied as at the beginning, the host would be accused of stinginess. Whenever a dish even threatens to become empty, you will see the servants hasten to replace it."

"I am the more surprised at that," said Archie, "because your habitants are generally economical, even to the point of meanness. How do you reconcile this with the great waste which must take place after a feast?"

"Our habitants, scattered wide apart over all New France, and consequently deprived of markets during spring, summer, and autumn, live then on nothing but salt meat, bread, and milk, and, except in the infrequent case of a wedding, they rarely give a feast at either of those seasons. In winter, on the other hand, there is a lavish abundance of fresh meats of all kinds; there is a universal feasting, and hospitality is carried to an extreme from Christmas time to Lent; there is a perpetual interchange of visits. Four or five carrioles, containing a dozen people, drive up; the horses are unhitched, the visitors take off their wraps, the table is set, and in an hour or so it is loaded down with smoking dishes."

"Your habitants must possess Aladdin's lamp!" exclaimed Archie.

"You must understand," said Jules, "that if the habitants' wives had to make such preparations as are necessary in higher circles, their hospitality would be much restricted or even put a stop to, for few of them are able to keep a servant. As it is, however, their social diversions are little more trouble to them than to their husbands. Their method is very simple. From time to time, in their leisure moments, they cook three or four batches of various kinds of meat, which in our climate keeps without difficulty; when visitors come, all they have to do is to warm up these dishes in their ovens, which at this season of the year are kept hot enough to roast an ox. The habitants abhor cold meat. It is good to see our Canadian women, so gay at all times, making ready these hasty banquets – to see them tripping about, lilting a bit of a song, or mixing in the general chatter, and dancing backward and forward between the table and the stove. Josephte sits down among her guests, but jumps up to wait upon them twenty times during the meal. She keeps up her singing and her chaffing, and makes everybody as merry as herself.

"You will, doubtless, imagine that these warmed-up dishes lose a good deal of their flavor; but habit is second nature, and our habitants do not find fault. Moreover, as their taste is more wholesome and natural than ours, I imagine that these dinners, washed down with a few glasses of brandy, leave them little cause to envy us. But we shall return to this subject later on; let us now rejoin my father and mother, who are probably getting impatient at our absence. I merely wanted to initiate you a little beforehand in the customs of our habitants, whom you have never before observed in their winter life."

Everybody sat up late that night at D'Haberville Manor. There was so much to talk about. It was not till the small hours that the good-nights were said; and soon the watchers of the May-pole were the only ones left awake in the manor house of St. Jean-Port-Joli.

CHAPTER VII.

THE MAY-FEAST

Le premier jour de Mai,Labourez,J'm'en fus planter un mai,Labourez,A la porte à ma mie.Ancienne Chanson.

It was scarcely five o'clock in the morning when Jules, who slept like a cat, shouted to Lochiel in the next room that it was high time they were up; but as the latter would make no response, Jules took the surest way of arousing him by getting up himself. Arming himself with a towel dipped in cold water, he entered his friend's bedroom and squeezed the icy fluid in his face. In spite of his aquatic inclinations, Archie found this attention very little to his taste; he snatched the towel, rolled it into a ball, and hurled it at Jules's head. Then he turned over and was preparing to go to sleep again, when Jules snatched off all the bed-clothes. It looked as if the fortress, in this extremity, had nothing to do but surrender at discretion; but the garrison, in the person of Lochiel, was more numerous than the besieging force in the person of Jules, and, shaking the latter fiercely, he asked if sleeping was forbidden at D'Haberville Manor. He was even proceeding to hurl the besieger from the ramparts when Jules, struggling in his adversary's mighty arms, begged him to listen a moment before inflicting such a disgrace upon a future soldier of France.

"What have you to say for yourself, you wretched boy?" exclaimed Archie, now thoroughly awake. Is it not enough for you that all day long you give me no peace, but even in the night you must come and torment me?"

"I am grieved, indeed," said Jules, "at having interrupted your slumbers; but as our folk have to set up another May-pole at the place of Bélanger of the Cross, a good mile and a half from here, they intend to present my father with his at six o'clock; and if you don't want to lose any of the ceremony it is time for you to dress. I declare, I thought everybody was like myself, wrapped up in everything that can bring us more in touch with our habitants. I do not know anything that moves me more than this sympathy between my father and his tenants, between our family and these brave lads; moreover, as my adopted brother, you will have your part to play in the approaching spectacle."

As soon as the young men had finished dressing, they passed from their room to one which looked out on the yard, where a lively scene met their view. There were at least a hundred habitants scattered about in groups. With their long guns, their powder-horns suspended from the neck, their tomahawks stuck in the girdle, their inseparable axes, they looked less like peaceful tillers of the soil than a band of desperadoes ready for a foray.

Lochiel was much amused by the spectacle, and wished to go out and join the groups, but Jules vetoed his proposal, saying that it would be contrary to etiquette. He explained that the family were all supposed to be unaware of what was going on outside, no matter how great the noise and excitement. Some were decorating the May-pole, others were digging the hole in which it was to be planted, while yet others were sharpening long stakes to be used in bracing it firmly. As for the May-pole itself, it was of the utmost simplicity. It consisted of a tall fir tree, with its branches cut off and peeled to within two or three feet of the top. Here a tuft of greenery, about three feet long, was permitted to remain, and dignified with the title of "the bouquet." This "bouquet" was ornamental enough so long as it kept green, but when withered by the heat of summer its appearance became anything but cheerful. A rod six feet long, painted red, surmounted with a green weather cock and adorned with a large red ball, was thrust between the branches of "the bouquet" and nailed to the tree, which completed the decoration of the May-pole. It is necessary to add that strong wooden pegs, driven into the trunk at regular intervals, facilitated the climbing of the May-pole, and served also as points of support for the props by aid of which it was raised into position.

The firing of a gun before the main entrance announced that every thing was ready. Immediately on this signal the seigneur and his family gathered in the drawing-room to receive the deputation which would follow immediately after the report. The seigneur occupied a great arm-chair, with Lady D'Haberville seated at his right and his son Jules at his left. Uncle Raoul, erect and leaning upon his sword, stood immediately behind this first group, between Blanche and Madame de Beaumont who were seated. Archie stood at Blanche's left. They were scarcely in position when two old men, introduced by José, the major-domo, approached Seigneur D'Haberville, saluted him with that courteous air which was natural to the early Canadians and begged his permission to plant a May-pole before his threshold. This permission granted, the deputation withdrew and acquainted the crowd with their success. Everybody then knelt down and prayed for protection throughout the day. In about fifteen minutes the May-pole rose over the crowd with a slow, majestic motion, and its green top looked down upon all the buildings surrounding it. A few minutes more and it was firmly planted.

A second gunshot announced a new deputation, and the same two old men, carrying their guns, escorted in two of the leading habitants. One of the habitants carried a little greenish goblet, two inches high, on a plate of faïence, while the other bore a bottle of brandy. Introduced by the indispensable José, they begged the seigneur to come and receive the May-pole which he had so graciously consented to accept. Upon the seigneur's response, one of the old men added:

"Would our seigneur be pleased to 'wet' the Maypole before he blackens it?" With these words he handed the seigneur a gun and a glass of brandy.

"We will 'wet' it together, my friends," said M. D'Haberville, making a sign to José, who at once hastened forward with a tray containing four glasses of the same cordial fluid. Then the seigneur rose, touched glasses with the four delegates, swallowed at a draught their brandy, which he pronounced excellent, took up the gun and started for the door, followed by all that were in the room.

As soon as he appeared on the threshold a young man clambered up the May-pole with the nimbleness of a squirrel, gave three twirls to the weather-cock, and shouted: "Long live the King! Long live the Seigneur D'Haberville!" And the crowd yelled after him with all the vigor of their lungs: "Long live the King! Long live the Seigneur D'Haberville!" Meanwhile the young man had clambered down again, cutting off with his tomahawk as he descended all the pegs of the May-pole.

Thereupon the seigneur proceeded to blacken the May-pole by firing at it a blank charge from his musket. The other members of the family followed his example in the order of their rank, the ladies firing as well as the men.

Then followed a rattling feu-de-joie, which lasted a good half-hour. One might have fancied the manor house was besieged by a hostile army. The May-pole, so white before, seemed suddenly to have been painted black, so zealous were all to do it honor. Indeed, the more powder one could burn on this occasion, the greater the compliment to him for whom the May-pole was erected.

As every pleasure comes to an end, M. D'Haberville seized a moment when the firing appeared to slacken a little to invite the crowd in to breakfast. There was another rattling discharge by way of temporary farewell to the May-pole, some splinters of which were now scattered about the ground beneath, and every one moved silently into the house.

The seigneur, the ladies, and a dozen of the oldest among the leading habitants, were seated at a table in the seigneurial dining-room. This table was set with the plain dishes, wines, and coffee which constituted a Canadian breakfast among the upper classes; there was added also to gratify the guests some excellent brandy, and some sugar-cakes in lieu of bread.

It was no offense to the other guests to be excluded from this table; they were proud, on the contrary, of the compliment paid to their more venerable relations and friends.

The second table in the adjoining room, where Uncle Raoul presided, was supplied as would have been that of a rich habitant on a similar occasion. Besides the superfluity of viands already enumerated, each guest found beside his plate the inevitable sugar-cake, a cruller, a tart about five inches in diameter and more rich in paste than in jam, and an unlimited supply of brandy. There were also some bottles of wine on the table, to which nobody paid the least attention; to use their own energetic expression, it did not "scratch the throat enough." The wine was placed there chiefly for the women, who were occupied in serving the breakfast, and who would take their places at the table after the men's departure. Josephte would take a glass or two of wine without much pressing after she had had her accustomed appetizer.

Over the third table, spread in the mighty kitchen, presided Jules, with Archie to assist him. This was the table for the young men, and it was supplied like that of Uncle Raoul. While there was gayety enough at the first two tables, there was at the same time a certain decorum observed; but at the third, especially toward the end of the repast, which lasted far on into the morning, there was such a perpetual applause that one could hardly hear himself speak.

The reader is much deceived if he imagines that the May-pole was all this time enjoying repose. Almost every moment one or other of the guests would get up, run out and fire his gun at the May-pole, and return to his place at the table after this act of courtesy.

At the beginning of dessert the seigneur, accompanied by the ladies, visited the second and third tables, where they were rapturously received. A friendly word was on his lips for every one. He drank the health of his tenants, and his tenants drank to himself and his family, to the accompaniment of the reports of twenty muskets, which were blazing away outside.

This ceremony at an end, the seigneur returned to his own table, where he was induced to sing a little song, in the chorus of which all joined.

"Oh, here's to the hero,The hero, the hero;Oh, here's to the heroThat taught men to dine!When joy is at zero,At zero, at zero;When joy is at zero,What solace like wine!Chorus. Till he's drunk, or quite near it,No soldier will shrink,But cry shame on the spiritToo craven to drink."When we taste the rare liquor,Rare liquor, rare liquor;When we taste the rare liquorThat tickles our throats,Our hearts they beat quicker,Beat quicker, beat quicker;Our hearts they beat quicker,Which clearly denotesChorus. That till drunk, or quite near it,No soldier should shrink,But cry shame on the spiritToo craven to drink."

Scarcely was this song ended when the sonorous voice of Uncle Raoul arose:

"Oh, I am a drinker, I,For I'm built that way;Let every man stick to his taste,Each dog have his day!The drinker he frights dull careTo flight with a song – He serves the jolliest god,And he serves him long!Chorus. Oh, I am a drinker, I, etc."Let José go fighting and putThe Dutchman to rout,But I'll win my laurels at homeIn the drinking-bout!Chorus. Oh, I am a drinker, I, etc."

"Your turn now, young master!" cried the third table. "Our elders have set us the proper example to follow."

"With all my heart," replied Jules; and he sang the following verses:

"God Bacchus, throned upon a cask,Hath bid me love the bell-mouthed flask;Hath bid me vow these lips of mineShall own no drink but wine!Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine!We'll drain, we'll drain the bottles dry,And swear the drink divine!"Nor emperor nor king may knowThe joys that from our bumpers flow – The mirth that makes the dullest shine – Who owns no drink but wine!Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine! etc."Let wives go knit and sweethearts spin,We've wine to drown our troubles in.We'll sing the praises of the vine,And own no drink but wine!Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine! etc."

The example once set by the hosts, everybody made haste to follow it, and song succeeded song with ever-increasing fervor. Then Father Chouinard, a retired veteran of the French army after two songs which won great applause, suggested that it was time to withdraw. He thanked the seigneur for his hospitality, and proposed to drink his health once again – a proposition which was received with loud enthusiasm.

After this the joyous throng took its departure singing, with the accompaniment of musket-shots, whose echoes, thrown back by the bluff, appeared to linger reluctantly behind them.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE FEAST OF ST. JEAN-BAPTISTE

Every parish used to keep holiday on the feast of its patron saint. The feast of St. John the Baptist, the patron of the parish of St. Jean-Port-Joli, falling in the most delightful season of the year, never failed to attract a host of pilgrims, even from the remotest parishes. The habitant, kept very busy with his farm-work, was ready by this time for a little rest, and the fine weather was an invitation to the road. In every family grand preparations were made for this important occasion. Within doors there was great cleaning up; the whitewash brush went everywhere; the floors were scrubbed and strewed with pine-needles; the fatted calf was killed, and the shopkeepers drove a thriving trade in drinks. Thus by the twenty-third day of June, the eve of the feast, every house was thronged with pilgrims from the manor and the presbytery down.

The seigneur used to present the consecrated bread; while the collection at the high mass was taken up by two young gentlemen and two young ladies, friends of the seigneur, invited down from Quebec long beforehand. For the consecrated bread and for the little cakes (cousins) which accompanied it there was no small need in that multitude which thronged not only the church, but the surrounding yard. All the doors of the church stood wide open, that everybody might have his share in the service.

It was an understood thing that the seigneur and his friends should dine that day at the presbytery, and that the curé and his friends should take supper at the manor house. Very many of the habitants, too far away from home to go and come between mass and vespers, took lunch in the little wood of cedars, pines, and firs which covered the valley between the church and the St. Lawrence. Nothing can be imagined more picturesque and bright than the groups scattered over the mossy green, and gathered merrily around their snowy tablecloths. The curé and his guests never failed to visit the picnickers and exchange a few words with the men.

On all sides rose rude booths, after the fashion of wigwams, covered with branches of maple and spruce, wherein refreshments were sold. In a monotonous voice, with strong emphasis on the first and last words, the proprietors kept crying incessantly, "Good beer for sale here!" And all the papas and the amorous gallants, coaxed up for the occasion, would fumble dubiously in the depths of their wallets for the wherewith to treat youngster or sweetheart.

The habitants had preserved an impressive ceremony handed down from their Norman ancestors. This ceremony consisted of a huge bonfire at sunset of the eve of St. Jean-Baptiste. An octagonal pyramid, about ten feet high, was constructed before the main entrance of the church. Covered with branches of fir interwoven amid the strips of cedar which formed its surface, this structure was eminently ornamental. The curé, accompanied by his assistants, marched out and recited certain prayers belonging to the occasion; then, after having blessed the structure, he set a torch to the little piles of straw arranged at the eight corners of the pyramid. Straightway the whole pile burst crackling into flame, amid the shouts and gun-firing of the crowd which remained in attendance till the pyramid was burned to ashes.

At this joyous ceremony, Blanche D'Haberville did not fail to assist, in company with Jules, Lochiel, and Uncle Raoul. A malicious critic, observing Uncle Raoul as he stood leaning on his sword a little in advance of the throng, might have been reminded of the late lamented Vulcan of game-legged memory, so lurid and grotesque an effect was cast upon his figure; which by no means prevented Uncle Raoul from considering himself the most important personage present.

Uncle Raoul had a very good and sufficient reason for taking part in the bonfire. It was the day of the salmon sale. Every habitant who stretched a net came to sell his first salmon at the church door for the benefit of the souls in purgatory; in other words, with the money obtained for the fish he would pay for a mass to be said for the souls about which he was most concerned. The auctioneer announcing the object of the sale, all strove to outbid each other. Nothing could be more touching than this closeness of communion between friends and relations beyond the grave, this anxious concern extending even to the invisible world. Our brethren of other creeds shed, indeed, as we do, the bitterest of tears over the tomb which covers away their dearest, but there they cease their solicitude and their devotion.

When I was a child my mother taught me to conclude all my prayers with this appeal: "Receive, O Lord, soon into thy blessed paradise the souls of my grandfather and grandmother." My prayers were then for kinsfolk few in number and unknown to me. Now, alas, in my old age, how many names would have to pass my lips were I to enumerate in my prayers all the loved ones who have left me!

It was some time after dark when Uncle Raoul, Blanche, Jules, and Archie quitted the presbytery where they had taken supper. Uncle Raoul, who had a smattering of astronomy, explained to his niece, as they drove along, the mysteries of the starry vault, marvels of which, for all the efforts of their professor in astronomy, our young men knew but little.

The young men were in high spirits, and, excited by the splendor of the night in mid-forest, they laid aside their decorum and began a host of antics, in spite of the frowns of Blanche, who dreaded lest they should displease her uncle.

The road followed the banks of the St. Lawrence. It was bordered by thick woods, with here and there a clearing through which was commanded a perfect view of the giant stream. Coming to one of these clearings, where they could sweep the whole river from Cape Tourmente to Malbaie, Archie was unable to repress a cry of surprise, and, turning to Uncle Raoul, he said:

"You, sir who explain so well the marvels of the heaven, might I beg you to lower your gaze to earth a moment and tell me the meaning of all those lights which are flashing along the north shore as far as eye can see? Verily, I begin to believe José's story. Canada appears to be that land of goblins, imps, and witches of which my nurse used to tell me amid my Scottish hills."