Part 34 (1/2)
”The mouse?--oh, yess, when I go for the cook I find 'im in the corner, a big stick in his 'and. I dunno 'ow 'e stan'. 'Is stove was upside down, an' there was an awful wariwarie” (racket). ”'E seem not to think of danger. ”Ist,' says 'e. 'Don' mek a noise,--I wan' to kill that mouse.'”
Vesper laughed at this, and Mirabelle Marie's face cleared.
”Tell the Englishman who was the cap'en of yous,” she said, impulsively, and she resolutely turned her back on Bidiane's terrific frown.
”Well, 'e was smart,” said Claude, apologetically. ”'E always get on though 'e not know much. One day when 'e fus' wen' to sea 'is wife says, 'All the cap'ens' wives talk about their charts, an' you ain't gut none.
I buy one.' So she wen' to Yarmouth, an' buy 'im a chart. She also buy some of that s.h.i.+ny cloth for kitchen table w'at 'as blue scrawly lines like writin' on it. The cap'en leave the nex' mornin' before she was up, an' 'e takes with 'im the oilcloth instid of the chart, an' 'e 'angs it in 'is cabin; 'e didn't know no differ. 'E never could write,--that man.
He mek always a pictur of 'is men when 'e wan' to write the fish they ketch. But 'e was smart, very smart. 'E mek also money. Onct 'e was pa.s.senger on a schooner that smacks ag'in a steamer in a fog. All 'an's scuttle, 'cause that mek a big scare. They forgit 'im. 'E wake; 'e find 'imself lonely. Was 'e frightful? Oh, no; 'e can't work sails, but 'e steer that schooner to Boston, an' claim salvage.”
”Tell also the name of the cap'en,” said Mirabelle Marie.
Claude moved uneasily in his chair, and would not speak.
”What was it?” asked Vesper.
”It was Crispin,” said Mirabelle Marie, solemnly. ”Crispin, the brother of Charlitte.”
Vesper calmly took a cigarette from his pocket, and lighted it.
”It is a nice place down the Bay,” said Mirabelle Marie, uneasily.
”Very nice,” responded her guest.
”Rose a Charlitte has a good name,” she continued, ”a very good name.”
Vesper fingered his cigarette, and gazed blankly at her.
”They speak good French there,” she said.
Her husband and Bidiane stared at her. They had never heard such a sentiment from her lips before. However, they were accustomed to her ways, and they soon got over their surprise.
”Do you not speak French?” asked Vesper.
Mrs. Watercrow shrugged her shoulders. ”It is no good. We are all English about here. How can one be French? Way back, when we went to ma.s.s, the priest was always botherin'--'Talk French to your young ones.
Don't let them forgit the way the old people talked.' One day I come home and says to my biggest boy, '_Va rama.s.ser des ecopeaux_'” (Go pick up some chips). ”He snarl at me, 'Do you mean potatoes?' He didn't like it.”
”Did he not understand you?” asked Vesper.
”Naw, naw,” said Claude, bitterly. ”We 'ave French nebbors, but our young ones don' play with. They don' know French. My wife she speak it w'en we don' want 'em to know w'at we say.”
”You always like French,” said his wife, contemptuously. ”I guess you gut somethin' French inside you.”
Claude, for some reason or other, probably because, usually without an advocate, he now knew that he had one in Vesper, was roused to unusual animation. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his pipe from his mouth and said, warmly, ”It's me 'art that's French, an' sometimes it's sore. I speak not much, but I think often we are fools. Do the Eenglish like us? No, only a few come with us; they grin 'cause we put off our French speakin' like an ole coat. A man say to me one day, 'You 'ave nothin'. You do not go to ma.s.s, you preten' to be Protestan', w'en you not brought up to it. You big fool, you don' know w'at it is. If you was dyin' to-morrer you'd sen'
for the priest.'”
Mirabelle Marie opened her eyes wide at her husband's eloquence.
He was not yet through. ”An' our children, they are silly with it. They donno' w'at they are. All day Sunday they play; sometimes they say cuss words. I say, 'Do it not,' 'an' they ast me w'y. I cannot tell. They are not French, they are not Eenglish. They 'ave no religion. I donno' w'ere they go w'en they die.”