Cameron of Lochiel
the roaring of the flood and of the cataract, the old priest pronounced
these words: "My son, in the name of God the Father, in the name of
Jesus Christ, his Son, by whose authority I speak, in the name of
the Holy Ghost, your sins are forgiven you. Amen." And all the people
sobbed, "Amen."
Then Nature reasserted herself, and the old man's voice was choked with
tears. Again he regained his self-control, and cried: "Kneel, brethren,
while I say the prayers for the dying."
Once more the old priest's voice soared above the tumult, as he cried:
"Blessed soul, we dismiss you from the body in the name of God
the Father Almighty who created you, in the name of Jesus Christ
who suffered for you, in the name of the Holy Ghost in whom you
were regenerate and born again, in the name of the angels and the
archangels, in the name of the thrones and the dominions, in the
name of the cherubim and seraphim, in the name of the patriarchs and
prophets, in the name of the blessed monks and nuns and all the saints
of God. The peace of God be with you this day, and your dwelling
forever in Sion; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." And all the
people wailed "Amen."
A death-like silence fell upon the scene, when suddenly shrieks were
heard in the rear of the crowd, and a woman in disordered garments,
her hair streaming out behind her, carrying a child in her arms and
dragging another at her side, pushed her way wildly to the river's
edge. It was the wife of Dumais.
Dwelling about a mile and a half from the village, she had heard the
alarm bell; but being alone with her children, whom she could not
leave, she had resigned herself as best she could till her husband
should return and tell her the cause of the excitement.
The woman, when she saw her husband thus hanging on the lip of the
fall, uttered but one cry, a cry so terrible that it pierced every
heart, and sank in a merciful unconsciousness. She was carried to the
manor house, where every care was lavished upon her by Madame de
Beaumont and her family.
As for Dumais, at the sight of his wife and children, a hoarse scream,
inarticulate and like the voice of a wounded beast, forced its way from
his lips and made all that heard it shudder. Then he appeared to fall
into a kind of stupor.
At the very moment when the old priest was administering the absolution
our travelers arrived upon the scene. Jules thrust through the crowd
and took his place between the priest and his uncle de Beaumont.
Archie, on the other hand, pushed forward to the water's edge, folded
his arms, took a rapid survey of the situation, and calculated the
chances of rescue.
After a moment's thought, he bounded rather than ran toward the group
surrounding Marcheterre. He began to strip off his clothes and to give
directions at the same time. His words were few and to the point:
"Captain, I am like a fish in the water; there is no danger for me,
but for the poor fellow yonder, in case I should strike that block of
ice too hard and dash it from its place. Stop me about a dozen feet
above the island, that I may calculate the distance better and break
the shock. Your own judgment will tell you what else to do. Now, for a
strong rope, but as light as possible, and a good sailor's knot."
While the old captain was fastening the rope under his arms, he
attached another rope to his body, taking the coil in his right hand.
Thus equipped, he sprang into the river, where he disappeared for an
instant, but when he came to the surface the current bore him rapidly
toward the shore. He made the mightiest efforts to gain the island, but
without succeeding, seeing which Marcheterre made all haste to draw
him back to land before his strength was exhausted. The moment he was
on shore, he made his way to the jutting rock. The spectators scarcely
breathed when they saw Archie plunge into the flood. Every one knew
of his giant strength, his exploits as a swimmer during his vacation
visits to the manor house of Beaumont. The anxiety of the crowd,
therefore, had been intense during the young man's superhuman efforts,
and, on seeing his failure, a cry of disappointment went up from every
breast.
Jules D'Haberville was all unaware of his friend's heroic undertaking.
Of an emotional and sympathetic nature, he could not endure the
heart-rending sight that met his view. After one glance of measureless
pity, he had fixed his eyes on the ground and refused to raise them.
This human being suspended on the verge of the bellowing gulf, this
venerable priest administering from afar under the open heaven the
sacrament of penance, the anguished prayers, the sublime invocation,
all seemed to him a dreadful dream.
Absorbed in these conflicting emotions, Jules D'Haberville had no idea
of Archie's efforts to save Dumais. He had heard the lamentations which
greeted the first fruitless effort, and had attributed them to some
little variation in the spectacle from which he withheld his gaze.
The bond between these two friends was no ordinary tie; it was the love
between a David and a Jonathan, "passing the love of woman."
Jules, indeed, spared Archie none of his ridicule, but the privilege
of tormenting was one which he would permit no other to share. Unlucky
would he be who should affront Lochiel in the presence of the impetuous
young Frenchman!
Whence arose this passionate affection? The young men had apparently
little in common. Lochiel was somewhat cold in demeanor, while Jules
was exuberantly demonstrative. They resembled one another, however, in
one point of profoundest importance; they were both high-hearted and
generous to the last degree.
José, who had been watching Lochiel's every movement, and who well knew
the extravagance of Jules's devotion, had slipped behind his young
master, and stood ready to restrain, by force, if necessary, this fiery
and indomitable spirit.
The anxiety of the spectators became almost unendurable over Archie's
second attempt to save Dumais, whom they regarded as utterly beyond
hope. The convulsive trembling of the unhappy man showed that his
strength was rapidly ebbing. Nothing but the old priest's prayers broke
the deathly silence.
As for Lochiel, his failure had but strengthened him in his heroic
purpose. He saw clearly that the effort was likely to cost him his
life. The rope, his only safety, might well break when charged with a
double burden and doubly exposed to the torrent's force. Too skillful
a swimmer was he not to realize the peril of endeavoring to rescue one
who could in no way help himself.
Preserving his coolness, however, he merely said to Marcheterre:
"We must change our tactics. It is this coil of rope in my right hand
which has hampered me from first to last."
Thereupon he enlarged the loop, which he passed over his right shoulder
and under his left armpit, in order to leave both arms free. This
done, he made a bound like that of a tiger, and, disappearing beneath
the waves, which bore him downward at lightning speed, he did not
come to the surface until within about a dozen feet of the island,
where, according to agreement, Marcheterre checked his course. This
movement appeared likely to prove fatal, for, losing his balance, he
was so turned over that his head remained under the waves while the
rest of his body was held horizontally on the surface of the current.
Happily his coolness did not desert him in this crisis, so great was
his confidence in the old sailor. The latter promptly let out two
more coils of rope with a jerky movement, and Lochiel, employing one
of those devices which are known to skillful swimmers, drew his heels
suddenly up to his hips, thrust them out perpendicularly with all his
strength, beat the water violently on one side with his hands, and so
regained his balance. Then, thrusting forward his right shoulder to
protect his breast from a shock which might be as fatal to himself as
to Dumais, he was swept upon the island in a flash.
Dumais, in spite of his apparent stupor, had lost nothing of what was
passing. A ray of hope had struggled through his despair at sight of
Lochiel's tremendous leap from the summit of the rock. Scarcely had
the latter, indeed, reached the edge of the ice, where he clung with
one hand while loosening with the other the coil of rope, than Dumais,
dropping his hold on the cedar, took such a leap upon his one uninjured
leg that he fell into Archie's very arms.
The torrent at once rose upon the ice, which, borne down by the
double weight, reared like an angry horse. The towering mass, pushed
irresistibly by the torrent, fell upon the cedar, and the old tree,
after a vain resistance, sank into the abyss, dragging with it in its
fall a large portion of the domain over which it had held sway for
centuries.
Mighty was the shout that went up from both banks of South River--a
shout of triumph from the more distant spectators, a heart-rending cry
of anguish from those nearer the stage whereon this drama of life and
death was playing itself out. Indeed, all had disappeared, as if the
wand of a mighty enchanter had been waved over scene and actors. From
bank to bank, in all its breadth, the cataract displayed nothing but a
line of gigantic waves falling with a sound of thunder, and a curtain
of pale foam waving to the summit of its crest.
Jules D'Haberville had not recognized his friend till the moment when,
for the second time, he plunged into the waves. Having often witnessed
his exploits as a swimmer, and knowing his tremendous strength, Jules
had manifested at first merely a bewildered astonishment; but when he
saw his friend disappear beneath the torrent, he uttered such a mad cry
as comes from the heart of a mother at sight of the mangled body of an
only son. Wild with grief, he was on the point of springing into the
river, when he felt himself imprisoned by the iron arms of José.
Prayers, threats, cries of rage and despair, blows and bites--all were
utterly wasted on the faithful José.
"There, there, my dear Master Jules," said José, "strike me, bite me,
if that's any comfort to you, but, for God's sake, be calm. You'll see
your friend again all right enough; you know he dives like a porpoise,
and one never knows when he is going to come up again when once he goes
under water. Be calm, my dear little Master Jules, you wouldn't want
to be the death of poor José, who loves you so, and who has so often
carried you in his arms. Your father sent me to bring you from Quebec.
I am answerable for you, body and soul, and it won't be my fault if I
don't hand you over to him safe and sound. Otherwise, you see, Master
Jules, why just a little bullet through old José's head! But, hold on,
there's the captain hauling in on the rope with all his might, and you
may be sure Master Archie is on the other end of it and lively as ever."
It was as José said; Marcheterre and his companions, in furious haste,
were running down the shore and by mighty armfuls dragging in the rope,
at the end of which they felt a double burden.
In another moment the weight was dragged ashore. It was all that they
could do to set Lochiel free from the convulsive clasp of Dumais, who
gave no other sign of life. Archie, on the other hand, when delivered
from the embrace which was strangling him, vomited a few mouthfuls of
water, breathed hoarsely, and exclaimed:
"He is not dead; it is nothing more than a swoon; he was lively enough
a minute ago."
Dumais was carried in all haste to the manor house, where everything
that the most loving care could suggest was done for him. At the end of
a half-hour some drops of wholesome moisture gathered upon his brow,
and a little later he reopened haggard eyes. After staring wildly
around the room for a time, he at length fixed his regard upon the old