"'Tis plain that they have seen or heard us as we pa.s.sed the strip of beach!" said I, in deep vexation, for I hated to be overreached by any one in woodcraft. "If we outwit them now, it's no thanks to my tactics, but only to that generous and astonishing madman. You both seemed to know him. Who, in the name of all the saints, might he be?

What was it you called him, Tamin?"

"Grul!" replied Tamin; and said no more, discreetly husbanding his wind. But Marc spoke for him.

"I have heard him called no other name but Grul! Madman he is, at times, I think. But sane for the most part, and with some touches of a wisdom beyond the wisdom of men. The guise of madness he wears always; and the Indians, as well as our own people, reverence him mightily. It is nigh upon three years since he first appeared in Acadie. He hates the Black Abbe,--who, they say, once did him some great mischief in some other land than this,--and his strange ravings, his prodigious prophesyings, do something here and there to weaken the Abbe's influence with our people."

"Then how does he evade the good father's wrath?" I questioned, in wonder.

"Oh," said Marc, "the good father hates him cordially enough. But the Indians could not be persuaded, or bullied, or bribed, to lift a hand against him. They say a Manitou dwells in him."

"Maybe they're not far wrong!" grunted Tamin.

And now I, like Tamin, found it prudent to spare my wind. But Marc, whose lungs seemed untiring, spoke from time to time as he went, and told me certain incidents, now of Grul's acuteness, now of his gift of prophecy, now of his fantastic madness. We came at length, after pa.s.sing two small rivulets on the right, to the stream on the left which Grul had indicated. It had a firm bed, wherein our footsteps left no trace, and we ascended it for perhaps a mile, by many windings.

Then, with crafty care, we crept up from the stream, in such a fashion as to leave no mark of our divergence if, as I thought not likely, our pursuers should come that way. After that we fetched a great circuit, crossed the parent brook, and shortly before noon judged that we might account ourselves secure. Where a tiny spring bubbled beneath a granite boulder and trickled away north toward the Fundy sh.o.r.e, we stopped to munch black bread and the remnant of the fish. We rested for an hour,--Tamin and I sleeping, while Marc, who protested that he felt no motion toward slumber, kept watch. When he roused us, we set off pleasantly refreshed, our faces toward Shulie.

Till late that night we journeyed, having a clear moon to guide us.

Coming at length to the edge of a small lake set with islands, "Here,"

said I, "is the place where we may sleep secure!"

We stripped, took our bundles on our heads, and swam out into the shining stillness. We swam past two islets, and landed upon one which caught my fancy. There we lay down in a bed of sweet-smelling fern, and were well content. As we supped on Tamin's good black bread, two loons laughed to each other out on the silver surface. We saw their black, watchful heads, moving slowly. Then we slept. It was high day when we awoke. The bread was now scarce, so we husbanded it, and made such good speed all day that while it wanted yet some hours of sunset we came out upon a bluff's edge and saw below us the wash and roll of Fundy. We were some way west of Shulie, but not far, Tamin said, from the house of his good friend with the good boat.

To this house we came within the hour. It was a small, home-like cabin, among apple trees, in a slant clearing that overhung a narrow creek. There, by a little jetty, I rejoiced to see the boat. The man of the house, one Beaudry, was in the woods looking for his cow, but the goodwife made us welcome. When Beaudry came in he and Tamin fell on each other's necks. And I found, too, that the name of Jean de Briart, with something of his poor exploits, was not all unknown in the cabin.

How well we supped that night, on fresh shad well broiled, and fresh sweet barley bread, and thin brown buckwheat cakes! It was settled at once that Beaudry should put us over to de Ramezay's camp with the first of the morrow's tide. Then, over our pipes, sitting under the apple tree by the porch, we told our late adventures. I say we, but Tamin told them, and gave them a droll colouring which delighted me.

It must have tickled Marc's fancy, too, for I took note that he let his pipe out many times during the story. Beaudry kept crying "Hein!" and "Bien!" and "Tiens!" in an ecstasy of admiration. The goodwife, however, was seemingly most touched by the loss of Tamin's knitted cap.

With a face of great concern, as who should say "Poor soul!" she jumped up, ran into the house, was gone a few moments, and returned beaming benevolence.

"V'la!" she cried; and stuck upon Tamin's wiry black head a bran-new cap of red wool.

Chapter VII

The Commander is Embarra.s.sed

Next day we set out at a good hour, and came without further adventure to Chignecto. Having landed, amid a little swarm of fishing-boats, we then went straight to de Ramezay's headquarters, leaving Beaudry at the wharf among his cronies. We crossed a strip of d.y.k.ed marsh, whereon were many sleek Acadian cattle cropping the rich aftermath, and ascended the gentle slope of the uplands. Amid a few scattered cabins were ranged the tents of the soldiers. Camp fires and sheaves of stacked muskets gave the bright scene a warlike countenance. Higher up the hill stood a white cottage, larger than the rest, its door painted red, with green panels; and from a staff on its gable, blown out bravely by the wind which ever sweeps those Fundy marshlands, flapped the white banner with the Lilies of France.

The sentry who challenged us at the foot of the slope knew me,--had once fought under me in a border skirmish,--and, saluting with great respect, summoned a guard to conduct us to headquarters. As we climbed the last dusty rise and turned in, past the long well-sweep and two gaunt, steeple-like Lombardy poplars, to the yard before the cottage, the door opened and the commander himself stood before us. His face lit up gladly as I stepped forward to greet him, and with great warmth he sprang to embrace me.

"My dear Briart!" he cried. "I have long expected you!"

"I am but just returned to Acadie, my dear friend," said I, with no less warmth than he had evinced, "or you would surely have seen me here to greet you on your coming. But the King's service kept me on the Richelieu!"

"And even your restless activity, my Jean, cannot put you in two places at once," said he, as he turned with an air of courteous inquiry to my companions. Perceiving at once by his dress that Tamin was a habitant, his eyes rested upon Marc.

"My son Marc, Monsieur de Ramezay," said I.

The two bowed, Marc very respectfully, as became a young man on presentation to a distinguished officer, but de Ramezay with a sudden and most noticeable coldness. At this I flushed with anger, but the moment was not one for explanations. I restrained myself; and turning to Tamin, I said in an altered tone:--

"And this, de Ramezay, is my good friend and faithful follower, Tamin Violet, of Canard parish, who desires to enlist for service under you.

More of him, and all to his credit, I will tell you by and by. I merely commend him to you now as brave, capable, and a good shot!"

"I have ever need of such!" said de Ramezay, quickly. "As you recommend him, he shall serve in Monsieur de Ville d'Avray's company, which forms my own guard."

Summoning an orderly, he gave directions to this effect. As Tamin turned to depart with the orderly, both Marc and I stepped up to him and wrung his hands, and thanked him many times for the courage and craft which had saved Marc's life as well as the honour of our family.

"We'll see you again to-night or in the morning, my Tamin," said Marc.

"And tell you how goes my talk with the commander," added I, quietly.

"And for the boat we wrecked," continued Marc, "why, of course, we won't remain in your debt for a small thing like that; though for the great matter, and for your love, we are always your debtors gladly!"

"And in the King's uniform," said I, cutting short Tamin's attempted protestations, "even the Black Abbe will not try to molest you."

I turned again to de Ramezay, who was waiting a few paces aside, and said, with a courtesy that was something formal after the warmth of our first greeting:--

"Your pardon, de Ramezay! But Tamin has gone through much with us and for us. And now, my son and I would crave an undisturbed conversation with you."

At once, and without a word, he conducted us into his private room, where he invited us to be seated. As we complied, he himself remained standing, with every sign of embarra.s.sment in his frank and fearless countenance. I had ever liked him well. Good cause to like him, indeed, I had in my heart, for I had once stood over his body in a frontier skirmish, and saved his scalp from the knives of the Onondagas. But now my anger was hot against him, for it was plain to me that he had lent ear to some slanders against Marc. For a second or two there was a silence, then Marc sprang to his feet.

"Perhaps if I stand," said he, coldly, "Monsieur de Ramezay will do us the honour of sitting."

De Ramezay's erect figure--a very soldierly and imposing figure it was in its uniform of white and gold--straightened itself haughtily for an instant. Then he began, but with a stammering tongue:--

"I bitterly regret--it grieves me,--it pains me to even hint it,--" and he kept his eyes upon the floor as he spoke,--"but your son, my dear friend, is accused--"

Here I broke in upon him, springing to my feet.

"Stop!" said I, sternly.

He looked at me with a face of sorrowful inquiry, into which a tinge of anger rose slowly.

"Remember," I continued, "that whatever accusation or imputation you make now, I shall require you to prove beyond a peradventure,--or to make good with your sword against mine! My son is the victim of a vile conspiracy. He is--"

"Then he _is_ loyal, you say, to France?" interrupted de Ramezay, eagerly.

"I say," said I, in a voice of steel, "that he has done nothing that his father, a soldier of France, should blush to tell,--nothing that an honest gentleman should not do." My voice softened a little as I noticed the change in his countenance. "And oh, Ramezay," I continued, "had any man an hour ago told me that _you_ would condemn a son of mine unheard,--that you, on the mere word of a false priest or his wretched tools, would have believed that a son of Jean de Mer could be a traitor, I would have driven the words down his throat for a black lie, a slander on my friend!"

De Ramezay was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon the floor.

Then he lifted his head.

"I was wrong. Forgive me, my friend!" said he, very simply. "I see clearly that I ought to have held the teller of those tales in suspicion, knowing of him what I do know. And now, since you give me your word the tales are false, they are false. Pardon me, I beg of you, Monsieur!" he added, turning to Marc and holding out his hand.

Marc bowed very low, but appeared not to see the hand.

"If you have heard, Monsieur de Ramezay," said he, "that, before it was made plain that France would seek to recover Acadie out of English hands, I, a mere boy, urged my fellow Acadians to accept the rule in good faith;--if you have heard that I then urged them not to be misled to their own undoing by an unscrupulous and merciless intriguer who disgraces his priestly office;--if you have heard that, since then, I have cursed bitterly the corruption at Quebec which is threatening New France with instant ruin,--you have heard but truly!"

De Ramezay bit his lips and flushed slightly. Marc was not making the situation easier; but I could scarce blame him. Our host, however, motioned us to our seats, taking his own chair immediately that he saw us seated. For my own part, my anger was quite a.s.suaged. I hastened to clear the atmosphere.