Part 23 (1/2)
”Is that where the husband of Madame de Foret got his name?” interrupted Vesper, indicating his landlady by a gesture.
”Yes,” said the old man, ”it is a name of long ago,--besides Charlitte was Bonaventure, an' dese five men suffered horrible, mos' horrible, for winter came on, an' dey was all de time hungry w'en dey wasn't eatin', an' dey had to roam by night like dogs, to pick up w'at dey could. But dey live till de spring, an' dey wander like de wile beasties roun' de fores' of Beausejour, an' dey was well watched by de English. If dey had been shot, dis man would not be talkin' to you, for Bonaventure was my ancessor on my modder's side. On a day w'en dey come to Tintamarre--you know de great ma'sh of Tintamarre?”
”No; I never heard of it.”
”Well, it big ma'sh in Westmoreland County. One day dey come dere, an'
dey perceive not far from dem a _goelette_,--a schooner. De sea was low, an' all de men in de schooner atten' de return of de tide, for dey was high an' dry. Dose five Acadiens look at dat schooner, den dey w'isper,--den dey wander, as perchance, near dat schooner. De cap'en look at dem like a happy wile beas', 'cause he was sent from Port Royal to catch the runawoods. He call out, he invite dose Acadiens, he say, 'Come on, we make you no harm,' an' dey go, meek like sheep; soon de sea mount, de cap'en shout, 'Raise de anchor,' but Pierre said, 'We mus' go ash.o.r.e.' 'Trow dose Romans in _la cale_,' say dat bad man. _La cale c'est_--”
”In the hold,” supplied the two other eager old men, in a breath.
”Yes, in de hole,--but tink you dey went? No; Charlitte he was big, he had de force of five men, he look at Pierre. Pierre he shout, '_Fesse_, Charlitte,' and Charlitte he s.n.a.t.c.h a bar from de deck, he bang it on de head of de Englishman an' ma.s.sacre him. 'Debarra.s.s us of anoder,' cried Pierre. Charlitte he raise his bar again,--an' still anoder, an' tree Englishmen lay on de deck. Only de cap'en remain, an' a sailor very big,--mos' as big as Charlitte. De cap'en was consternate, yet he made a sign of de han'. De sailor jump on Pierre an' try to pitch him in de hole. Tink you Charlitte let him go? No; he runs, he chucks dat sailor in de sea. Den de cap'en falls on his knees. 'Spare me de life an' I will spare you de lives.' 'Spare us de lives!' said Pierre, 'did you spare de lives of dose unhappy ones of Port Royal whom you sen' to exile? No; an' you would carry us to Halifax to de cruel English. Dat is how you spare. Where are our mudders an' fadders, our brudders an'
sisters? You carry dem to a way-off sh.o.r.e w'ere dey cry mos' all de time. We shall see dem never. Recommen' your soul to G.o.d.' Den after a little he say very low, 'Charlitte _fesse_,' again. An' Charlitte he _fesse_, an' dey brush de han' over de eyes an' lower dat cap'en in de sea.
”Den Pierre, who was fine sailor, run de schooner up to Pet.i.tcodiac.
Later on, de son of Bonaventure come to dis Bay, an' his daughter was my mudder.”
When the old man finished speaking, a shudder ran over the little group, and Vesper gazed thoughtfully at the lively scene beyond them. This was a dearly bought picnic. These quiet old men, gentle Mrs. Rose, the prattling children, the vivacious young men and women, were all descendants of ancestors who had with tears and blood sought a resting-place for their children. He longed to hear more of their exploits, and he was just about to prefer a request when little Narcisse, who had been listening with parted lips, leaned forward and patted the old man's boot. ”Tell Narcisse yet another story with trees in it.”
The fat old man nodded his head. ”I know anodder of a Belliveau, dis one Charles. He was a carpenter an' he made s.h.i.+ps from trees. At de great derangement de English hole him prisoner at Port Royal. One of de s.h.i.+ps to take away de Acadiens had broke her mas' in a tempes'. Charles he make anodder, and w'en he finish dat mas' he ask his pay. One refuse him dat. Den de mas' will fall,' he say. 'I done someting to it.' De cap'en hurry to give him de price, an' Charlie he say, 'It all right.' W'en dey embark de prisoners dey put Charles on dat schooner. Dey soon leave de war-s.h.i.+p dat go wid dem, but de cap'en of de war-s.h.i.+p he say to de cap'en of de schooner, 'Take care, my fren', you got some good sailors 'mong dose Acadiens.' De cap'en of de schooner laugh. He was like dose trees, Narcisse, dat is rooted so strong dey tink dat no ting can never upset dem. He still let dose Acadiens come on deck,--six, seven at a times, cause de hole pretty foul, an' dey might die. One day, w'en de order was given, 'Go down, you Acadiens, an' come up seven odder,' de firs' lot dey open de hatch, den spring on de bridge. Dey garrotte de cap'en and crew, an' Charles go to turn de schooner. De cap'en call, 'Dat gran' mas' is weak,--you go for to break it.' 'Liar,' shouted Charles, 'dis is I dat make it.' Dose Acadiens mount de River St.
John,--I don' know what dey did wid dose English. I hope dey kill 'em,”
he added, mildly.
”Pere Baudouin,” said Rose, bending forward, ”this is an Englishman from Boston.”
”I know,” said the old man; ”he is good English, dose were bad.”
Vesper smiled, and asked him whether he had ever heard of the Fiery Frenchman of Grand Pre.
The old man considered carefully and consulted with his cousins. Neither of them had ever heard of such a person. There were so many Acadiens, they said, in an explanatory way, so many different bands, so many scattering groups journeying homeward. But they would inquire.
”Here comes Father La Croix,” said Rose, softly; ”will you not ask him to help you?”
”You are very kind to be so much interested in this search of mine,”
said Vesper, in a low voice.
Rose's lip trembled, and avoiding his glance, she kept her eyes fixed steadily on the ex-colonel and present priest, who was expressing a courteous hope that Vesper had obtained the information he wished.
”Not yet,” said Vesper, ”though I am greatly indebted to these gentlemen,” and he turned to thank the old men.
”I know of your mission,” said Father La Croix, ”and if you will favor me with some details, perhaps I can help you.”
Vesper walked to and fro on the gra.s.s with him for some minutes, and then watched him threading his way in and out among the groups of his paris.h.i.+oners and their guests until at last he mounted the band-stand, and extended his hand over the crowd.
He did not utter a word, yet there was almost instantaneous silence. The merry-go-round stopped, the dancers paused, and a hush fell on all present.
”My dear people,” he said, ”it rejoices me to see so many of you here to-day, and to know that you are enjoying yourselves. Let us be thankful to G.o.d for the fine weather. I am here to request you to do me a favor.
You all have old people in your homes,--you hear them talking of the great expulsion. I wish you to ask these old ones whether they remember a certain Etex LeNoir, called the Fiery Frenchman of Grand Pre. He, too, was carried away, but never reached his destination, having died on the s.h.i.+p _Confidence_, but his wife and child probably arrived in Philadelphia. Find out, if you can, the fate of this widow and her child,--whether they died in a foreign land, or whether she succeeded in coming back to Acadie,--and bring the information to me.”
He descended the steps, and Vesper hastened to thank him warmly for his interest.