CHAPTER XIV.

THE SHIPWRECK OF THE AUGUSTE.

The predictions of the witch of the manor were accomplished. After the

surrender of Quebec, the rich D'Habervilles had been but too glad to

accept the hospitality of M. d'Egmont's cabin, whose remoteness had

saved it from the flames. "The good gentleman" and Uncle Raoul, with

the faithful André, had gone at once to work and raised the narrow

attic, so as to leave the ground floor to the use of the ladies. To

cheer the latter, the men affected a gayety which they were far from

feeling; and their songs were often heard, mingled with the rapid

strokes of the axe, the grating of the saw, the sharp whistling of the

plane. By dint of toil and perseverance, they succeeded in sheltering

themselves tolerably from the severity of the season; and had it

not been for the anxiety which they suffered in regard to Captain

D'Haberville and Jules, the winter would have passed pleasantly enough

in their solitude.

Their most difficult problem was that of provisions, for a veritable

famine held sway in all the country-side. The little grain which

the _habitants_ had harvested was for the most part eaten boiled,

in default of mill to grind it. The sole remaining resource lay in

fishing and hunting, but M. d'Egmont and his servant were rather old

to indulge in such exercises during the severe weather. Uncle Raoul,

lame as he was, took charge of the commissariat. He set snares to

catch rabbits and partridges, and his fair niece helped him. Blanche

made herself a sort of hunting costume; and simply ravishing she looked

in her half-savage garb, her petticoat of blue cloth falling half-way

below the knee, her scarlet gaiters, her deer-hide moccasins worked

with beads and porcupine quills in vivid colors. Lovely, indeed, she

looked as she returned to the house on her little snow-shoes, her

face delicately flushed, her hands laden with her spoils. During the

famine the _habitants_ frequented Trois Saumons Lake in great numbers;

they had beaten a hard road over the snow, which enabled Uncle Raoul

to visit the lake on a sledge drawn by a huge dog. He always returned

with an ample provision of trout and partridge. On such fare they

got through the long winter. In the spring a veritable manna of wild

pigeons came to the salvation of the colony; they were so innumerable

that they could be knocked down with a stick.

When Captain D'Haberville returned to his _seigneurie_ he was utterly

ruined, having saved nothing but the family plate. He did not care to

come down on his impoverished tenants for their arrearages of rent,

but rather hastened to their aid by rebuilding his mill on the Trois

Saumons River. In this mill he lived several years with his family,

till able to build a new manor house.

A poor lodging, truly--three narrow chambers in a mill--for a family

once so wealthy as the D'Habervilles! But they bore their misfortunes

cheerfully. Only Captain D'Haberville, toiling with tireless energy,

seemed unable to reconcile himself to his losses. His grief gnawed at

his heart, and for six years there was never a smile upon his lips.

It was not till the manor was rebuilt and the household restored to a

certain degree of comfort and prosperity that he regained his native

cheerfulness.

It was the 22d of February, 1762, and about nine o'clock in the

evening, when an ill-clad stranger entered the mill and begged shelter

for the night. As was his custom when not occupied in work, Captain

D'Haberville was seated in a corner of the room, his head hanging

dejectedly on his breast. The voice of the stranger made him tremble

without knowing why. It was some moments before he could answer, but at

last he said:

"You are welcome, my friend; you shall have supper and breakfast here,

and my miller will give you a bed for the night."

"Thank you," said the stranger, "but I am very tired; give me a glass

of brandy."

M. D'Haberville was not disposed to bestow upon a vagabond stranger

even one drink of the meager supply of brandy, which he was keeping in

case of absolute necessity. He answered that he had none.

"If thou didst know me, D'Haberville," replied the stranger, "thou

wouldst certainly not refuse me a drink of brandy, though it were the

last drop in thy house."

The first feeling of the captain was one of wrath on hearing himself

addressed so familiarly by one who appeared to be a tramp; but there

was something in the hoarse voice of the unknown which made him tremble

anew, and he checked himself. At this moment Blanche appeared with a

light, and every one was stupefied at the appearance of this man, a

veritable living specter, who stood with folded arms and gazed upon

them sadly. So deathlike was his pallor that one would have thought a

vampire had sucked all the blood from his veins. His bones threatened

to pierce his skin, which was yellow like that of a mummy; and his dim

and sunken eyes were vacant--without speculation, like those of the

ghost of Banquo. Everybody was astonished that such a corpse could

walk.

After one moment of hesitation, Captain D'Haberville threw himself into

the stranger's arms, crying:

"You here, my dear Saint-Luc! The sight of my bitterest enemy could not

cause me such dismay. Speak; and tell us that all our relations and

friends who took passage in the Auguste are buried in the sea, and that

you, the one survivor, are come to bring us the sad tidings!"

The silence of M. Saint-Luc de Lacorne, the grief stamped upon his

countenance, confirmed Captain D'Haberville's worst fears.

"Accursed be the tyrant," cried the captain, "who in the bitterness of

his hate against the French sent so many good men to their death in an

old ship utterly unseaworthy!"

"Instead of cursing your enemies," said M. de Saint-Luc in a hoarse

voice, "thank God that you and your family got leave to remain in the

colony two years longer. And now, a glass of brandy and a little soup.

I have been so nearly starved that my stomach refuses solid food. Let

me also take a little rest before telling you a story which will call

forth many tears."

In the neighborhood of half an hour, for this man of iron needed but

little rest to recover his strength, M. de Saint-Luc began as follows:

"In spite of the English governor's impatience to banish from New

France those who had so valiantly defended her, the authorities had

placed at our disposal only two ships, which were found utterly

insufficient for the great number of French and Canadians who were

waiting to sail. I pointed this out to General Murray, and proposed to

buy one at my own expense. This he would not hear, but two days later

he placed at our disposal the ship Auguste, hastily commissioned for

the purpose. By a payment of five hundred Spanish piasters, I obtained

from the English captain the exclusive use of his cabin for myself and

family.

"I then pointed out to General Murray the danger to which we should be

exposed at this stormy season with a captain not familiar with the St.

Lawrence. I offered to hire and pay for a pilot myself. His answer was,

that we would have the same chance as the rest; but he ended by sending

a little vessel to pilot us clear of the river.

"We were all in deep dejection, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings,

when we raised anchor on the 15th of October last. Many of us, forced

to sell our properties at a ruinous sacrifice, had but a future of

poverty to look forward to in the mother country. Speeding at first

before a favorable wind, with swelling hearts we saw the cherished and

familiar scenes fade out behind us and fall below the horizon.

"I will not detail the many perils we underwent before the great

calamity out of which but myself and six others escaped alive. On the

16th we came within an ace of shipwreck on the Isle aux Coudres, after

the loss of our main anchor.

"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.