Cameron of Lochiel
till the river should be clear of ice, so as to cross in a boat below
the falls. They divided their time between the seigneur's family, their
other friends, and poor Dumais, whom the seigneur would not permit to
be moved. The sick man entertained them with stories of his fights
against the English and their savage allies, and with accounts of the
manners and customs of the aborigines.
"Although I am a native of St. Thomas," said Dumais one day, "I was
brought up in the parish of Sorel. When I was ten years old and my
brother nine, while we were in the woods one day picking raspberries
a party of Iroquois surprised and captured us. After a long march, we
came to the place where their canoe was hidden among the brambles by
the water's edge; and they took us to one of the islands of the St.
Lawrence. My father and his three brothers, armed to the teeth, set out
to rescue us. They were only four against ten; but I may say without
boasting that my father and my uncles were not exactly the kind of men
to be trifled with. They were tall, broad-chested fellows, with their
shoulders well set back.
"It might have been about ten o'clock in the evening. My brother and
I, surrounded by our captors, were seated in a little clearing in the
midst of thick woods, when we heard my father's voice shouting to
us: 'Lie flat down on your stomachs.' I immediately seized my little
brother around the neck and flattened him down to the ground with me.
The Iroquois were hardly on their feet when four well-aimed shots rang
out and four of the band fell squirming like eels. The rest of the
vermin, not wishing, I suppose, to fire at hazard against the invisible
enemies to whom they were serving as targets, started for the shelter
of the trees; but our rescuers gave them no time. Falling upon them
with the butts of their muskets, they beat down three at the first
charge, and the others saved themselves by flight. Our mother almost
died of joy when we were given back to her arms."
In return, Lochiel told the poor fellow about the combats of the
Scottish Highlanders, their manners and customs, and the semi-fabulous
exploits of his hero, the great Wallace; while Jules amused him with
the story of his practical jokes, or with such bits of history as he
might appreciate.
When the young men were bidding Dumais farewell, the latter said to
Archie with tears in his eyes:
"It is probable, sir, that I shall never see you again, but be sure
that I will carry you ever in my heart, and will pray for you, I and
my family, every day of our lives. It is painful for me to think that
even should you return to New France, a poor man like me would have no
means of displaying his gratitude."
"Who knows," said Lochiel, "perhaps you will do more for me than I have
done for you."
Was the Highlander gifted with that second sight of which his
fellow-countrymen are wont to boast? Let us judge from the sequel.
On the 30th day of April, at ten o'clock in the morning, with weather
magnificent but roads altogether execrable, our travelers bade farewell
to their friends at St. Thomas. They had yet six leagues to go before
arriving at St. Jean-Port-Joli, and the whole distance they had to
travel afoot, cursing at the rain which had removed the last traces
of ice and snow. In traversing the road across the plain of Cape St.
Ignace it was even worse. They sank to their knees, and their horse was
mired to the belly and had to be dug out. Jules, the most impatient of
the three, kept grumbling:
"If I had had anything to do with the weather we would never have had
this devil of a rain which has turned all the roads into bogholes."
Perceiving that José shook his head whenever he heard this remark, he
asked him what he meant.
"Oh, Master Jules," said José, "I am only a poor ignorant fellow, but I
can't help thinking that if you had charge of the weather we shouldn't
be much better off. Take the case of what happened to Davy Larouche."
"When we get across this cursed boghole," said Jules, "you shall tell
us the story of Davy Larouche. Oh, that I had the legs of a heron, like
this haughty Scotchman who strides before us whistling a pibroch just
fit for these roads."
"What would you give," said Archie, "to exchange your diminutive
French legs for those of the haughty Highlander?"
"Keep your legs," retorted Jules, "for when you have to run away from
the enemy."
Once well across the meadow, the young men asked José for his story.
"I must tell you," said the latter, "that a fellow named Davy Larouche
once lived in the parish of St. Roch. He was a good enough provider,
neither very rich nor very poor. I used to think that the dear fellow
was not quite sharp enough, which prevented him making great headway in
the world.
"It happened that one morning Davy got up earlier than usual, put
through his chores in the stable, returned to the house, fixed his
whiskers as if it were Sunday, and got himself up in his best clothes.
"'Where are you going, my good man?' asked his wife. 'What a swell you
are! Are you going to see the girls?'
"You must understand that this was a joke of hers; she knew that her
husband was bashful with women, and not at all inclined to run after
them. As for La Thèque herself, she was the most facetious little body
on the whole south side, inheriting it from her old Uncle Bernuchon
Castonguay. She often used to say, pointing to her husband, 'You see
that great fool yonder?' Certainly not a very polite way to speak of
her husband. 'Well, he would never have had the pluck to ask me in
marriage, though I was the prettiest girl in the parish, if I had not
met him more than half-way. Yet, how his eyes used to shine whenever
he saw me! I took pity on him, because he wasn't making much progress.
To be sure, I was even more anxious about it than he; he had four good
acres of land to his name, while I had nothing but this fair body of
mine.'
"She was lying a little to be sure, the puss," added José. "She had a
cow, a yearling bull, six sheep, her spinning-wheel, a box so full of
clothes that you had to kneel on it to shut it, and in the box fifty
silver francs.
"'I took pity on him one evening,' said she, 'when he called at our
house and sat in the corner without even daring to speak to me. "I know
you are in love with me, you great simpleton," said I. "Go and speak
to my father, who is waiting for you in the next room, and you can get
the banns published next Sunday." Moreover, since he sat there without
budging and as red as a turkey-cock, I took him by the shoulders and
pushed him into the other room. My father opened a closet and brought
out a flask of brandy to encourage him. Well, in spite of all these
hints, he had to get three drinks into his body before he found his
tongue.'
"Well, as I was saying," continued José, "La Thèque said to her
husband: 'Are you going to see the girls, my man? Look out for
yourself! If you get off any pranks I will let you into the soup.'
"'You know very well I'm not,' said Larouche laughingly, and flicking
her on the back with his whip. 'Here we are at the end of March, my
grain is all thrashed out, and I'm going to carry my tithes to the
priest.'
"'That's right, my man,' said his wife, who was a good Christian; 'we
must render back to God a share of what he has just given us.'
"Larouche then threw his sacks upon the sled, lit his pipe with a hot
coal, sprang aboard, and set off in high spirits.
"As he was passing a bit of woods he met a traveler, who approached by
a side path.
"This stranger was a tall, handsome man of about thirty. Long fair hair
fell about his shoulders, his blue eyes were as sweet as an angel's,
and his countenance wore a sort of tender sadness. His dress was a
long blue robe tied at the waist. Larouche said he had never seen any
one so beautiful as this stranger, and that the loveliest woman was
ugly in comparison.
"'Peace be with you, my brother,' said the traveler.
"'I thank you for your good wishes,' answered Davy; 'a good word burns
nobody's mouth. But that is something I don't particularly need. I am
at peace, thank God, with everybody. I have an excellent wife, good
children, we get on well together, all my neighbors love me. I have
nothing to desire in the way of peace.'
"'I congratulate you,' said the traveler. 'Your sled is well loaded;
where are you going this morning?'
"'It is my tithes which I am taking to the priest.'
"'It would seem, then,' said the stranger, 'that you have had a good
harvest, reckoning one measure of tithes to every twenty-six measures
of clean grain.'
"'Good enough, I confess; but if I had had the weather just to my fancy
it would have been something very much better.'
"'You think so,' said the traveler.
"'No manner of doubt of it,' answered Davy.
"'Very well,' said the stranger; 'now you shall have just what weather
you wish, and much good may it do you.'
"Having spoken thus, he disappeared around the foot of a little hill.
"'That's queer now,' thought Davy. 'I know very well that there are
wicked people who go about the world putting spells on men, women,
children, or animals. Take the case of the woman, Lestin Coulombe,
who, on the very day of her wedding, made fun of a certain beggar who
squinted in his left eye. She had good cause to regret it, poor thing;
for he said to her angrily: "Take care, young woman, that your own
children don't turn out cross-eyed." She trembled, poor creature, for
every child she brought into the world, and not without good cause; for
the fourteenth, when looked at closely, showed a blemish on its right
eye.'"
"It seems to me," said Jules, "that Madame Lestin must have had a
mighty dread of cross-eyed children if she could not be content to
present her dear husband with one even after twenty years of married
life. Evidently she was a thoughtful and easy-going woman, who took her
time about whatever she was going to do."
José shook his head with a dubious air and continued:
"'Well,' thought Larouche to himself, 'though bad folk go about
the country putting spells on people, I have never heard of saints
wandering around Canada to work miracles. After all, it is no business
of mine. I won't say a word about it, and we'll see next spring.'
"About that time the next year Davy, very much ashamed of himself, got
up secretly, long before daylight, to take his tithes to the priest.
He had no need of horse or sleigh. He carried the whole thing in his
handkerchief.
"As the sun was rising he once more met the stranger, who said to him:
"'Peace be with you, my brother!'
"'Never was wish more appropriate,' answered Larouche, 'for I believe
the devil himself has got into my house, and is kicking up his pranks
there day and night. My wife scolds me to death from morn till eve, my
children sulk when they are not doing worse, and all my neighbors are
set against me.'
"'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the traveler, 'but what are you
carrying in that little parcel?'
"'My tithes,' answered Larouche, with an air of chagrin.
"'It seems to me, however,' said the stranger, 'that you have been
having just the weather you asked for.'
"'I acknowledge it,' said Davy. 'When I asked for sunshine, I had it;
when I wanted rain, wind, calm weather, I got them; yet nothing has
succeeded with me. The sun burned up the grain, the rain caused it
to rot, the wind beat it down, the calm brought the night frosts. My
neighbors are all bitter against me; they regard me as a sorcerer, who
has brought a curse on their harvests. My wife began by distrusting me,
and has ended by heaping me with reproaches. In a word, it is enough to
drive one crazy.'
"'Which proves to you, my brother,' said the traveler, 'that your wish