Cameron of Lochiel
It was nearly nine in the evening when the young men arrived on the
slope overlooking the manor. At the first glimpse of the scene which
recalled the happiest days of his existence, Jules paused and exclaimed:
"Never have I approached this home of my ancestors without being
deeply impressed. Let them boast as they will the scenes of beauty or
sublimity which abound in our fair Canada, among them all there is but
one for me, this spot where I was born, where I passed my childhood
under such tender cherishing! I used to think the days too short for my
childish sports. I rose at dawn, I dressed in haste, my thirst for my
enjoyments was feverish and unfailing.
"I love everything about us. I love the moon which you see climbing
over the wooded crest of the bluff; nowhere else does she appear to me
so beautiful. I love yonder brook which used to turn my little water
mills. I love the fountain which refreshed me in the August heats.
"Yonder my mother used to sit," continued Jules, pointing out a mossy
rock in the shadow of two great beeches. "Thither I used to bring her
in my little silver cup the ice-cool water from the spring. Ah! how
often this tender mother, watching by my pillow, or awakened suddenly
by my cries, brought me that same cup filled with sweet milk! And to
think that I must leave all this--perhaps forever! O mother, mother!"
Jules burst into tears.
Lochiel, much moved, grasped his friend's hand and answered:
"You will come back again, my brother. You will come back, bringing
glory and good fortune to your family."
"Thank you, dear old boy," said Jules, "but let us hurry on. The
greetings of my parents will soon scatter this little cloud."
Archie, who had never before visited the country in spring-time, wished
to know the meaning of those white objects which he saw at the dusky
foot of every maple.
"Those are the three-cornered spouts," said Jules, "which catch the sap
for making sugar. The sugar-maker cuts a notch in the tree and right
beneath it he drives in one of these affairs."
"One might almost say," replied Archie, "that these trees were vast
water-pipes, with their funnels ready to supply a crowded city."
He was interrupted by the barking of a great dog, which came running to
meet them.
"Niger! Niger!" shouted Jules. At the sound of the well-loved voice the
dog paused, then ran up and snuffed at his master to assure himself of
his identity. He returned Jules's caresses with a howling half joyous,
half plaintive, which expressed his love as well as words could have
done.
"Ah, poor Niger," said Jules, "I understand your language perfectly. It
is half a reproach to me for having stayed away from you so long, and
it is half delight at seeing me again, with forgiveness of my neglect.
Poor Niger, when I come again after my long, long journey, you will
not even have the happiness that was granted to the faithful hound of
Ulysses, of dying at your master's feet."
The reader is doubtless ready by this time to make the acquaintance of
the D'Haberville family. Let me introduce them according to their rank
in the domestic hierarchy:
The Seigneur D'Haberville was scarcely forty-five years old, but the
toils of war had so told on his constitution that he looked a good ten
years older. His duties as captain in the Colonial Marine kept him
constantly under arms. The ceaseless forest warfare, with no shelter,
according to the stern Canadian custom, except the vault of heaven,
the expeditions of reconnoissance or surprise against the Iroquois
or against the English settlements, carried on during the severest
weather, produced their speedy effect on the strongest frames.
Captain D'Haberville might fairly have been called handsome. A little
below the medium height, his regular features, his vivid complexion,
his great black eyes which softened at will but whose intensity when
aroused few men could face, the simple elegance of his manners, all
combined to give him an air of extreme distinction. A severe critic
might perhaps have found fault with the great length and thickness of
his black eyebrows.
As to character, the Seigneur D'Haberville was possessed of all those
qualities which distinguished the early Canadians of noble birth. It
is true, on the other hand, that he might fairly have been charged
with vindictiveness. An injury, real or supposed, he found it hard to
forgive.
Madame D'Haberville, a devout and gentle woman of thirty-six, was
endowed with that mature beauty which men often prefer to the freshness
of youth. Blonde and of medium height, her countenance was of an
angelic sweetness. Her sole object seemed to be the happiness of those
about her. The _habitants_, in their simple way, used to call her "the
perfect lady."
Mademoiselle Blanche D'Haberville, younger than her brother Jules, was
the image of her mother, but of a somewhat graver temperament. Wise
beyond her years, she had a great influence over her brother, whose
outbursts she often checked with one imploring glance. While apparently
absorbed in her own thoughts, the girl was capable, on occasion, of
acting with energy and effect.
Madame Louise de Beaumont, younger sister of Madame D'Haberville, had
lived with her ever since her marriage. Though rich and independent,
she was altogether devoted to her sister's family. Sharing their
happiness, she was equally ready to share, should need arise, the
utmost that adversity could bring upon them.
Lieutenant Raoul D'Haberville, or rather the Chevalier D'Haberville,
whom everybody called Uncle Raoul, was a younger brother of the captain
by two years. He looked fully ten years his senior. A little man was
Uncle Raoul, almost as broad as he was long, and walking with the
assistance of a stick; he would have been remarkably ugly even if the
small-pox could have been induced to spare his countenance. It is hard
to say how he came by his nickname. One may say of a man, he has a
paternal air, he is _un petit père_; but one accuses nobody of having
an avuncular appearance. For all that, Lieutenant D'Haberville was
everybody's uncle. Even his soldiers, unknown to him, used to call
him Uncle Raoul. In like manner, to compare great things with small,
Napoleon was to the grumblers merely "the little corporal."
Uncle Raoul was the _littérateur_ of the D'Haberville family, and,
therefore, something of a pedant, like almost all men who live in daily
contact with people less learned than themselves. Uncle Raoul was the
best fellow in the world when he had his own way; but he had one little
defect. He held the profound conviction that he was always right, which
made him very bad tempered with any who might dare to differ with him.
Uncle Raoul prided himself on his knowledge of Latin, fragments of
which language he was wont to launch freely at the heads of cultured
and ignorant alike. Endless were his discussions with the curé over
some line of Horace, Ovid, or Virgil, who were his favorite authors.
The curé, who was of a mild and peaceable humor, almost always grew
weary of the contest and gave way before his fiery opponent. But Uncle
Raoul also prided himself on being a profound theologian, which was the
cause of much embarrassment to the poor curé. The latter was deeply
concerned for the soul of his friend, who had been in his youth a
rather risky subject, and whom he had had great difficulty in leading
into better courses. He found it necessary, however, sometimes to give
way on points not absolutely essential to the safety of Uncle Raoul's
soul. When points were attacked which he durst not yield he was wont to
call in the aid of Blanche, whom her uncle idolized.
"Dear uncle," she would say to him with a caress, "are you not already
learned enough without encroaching on the field of our good pastor?
You are victorious on all the other points under discussion," she
would add, with a sly glance at the curé; "be generous, then, and
suffer yourself to be convinced on those points which are the especial
province of God's ministers."
Thereupon, as Uncle Raoul argued simply for the pleasure of argument, a
peace would be concluded between the disputants.
Uncle Raoul was by no means the least important personage at
D'Haberville manor. Since his retirement from the army, the captain,
whom military service kept much away from home, left the management
of affairs entirely in his hands. His occupations were very numerous.
He kept account of the receipts and expenditures of the family; he
collected the rents of the seigniory; he managed the farm; he betook
himself every Sunday, rain or shine, to mass to receive the Easter
water in the seigneur's absence; and, among other minor duties which
devolved upon him, he presented for baptism all the first-born children
of the tenants of the estate--an honor which belonged to his elder
brother, but of which the latter had freed himself in favor of Raoul.
A little incident may be cited to show Uncle Raoul's importance. Let us
imagine ourselves in the month of November, when the seigneurial rents
fall due. Uncle Raoul, with a long quill pen behind his ear, sits in
a great armchair as on a throne. Beside him is a table covered with
green cloth, and on this table rests his sword. As the tenant appears,
he assumes an expression of severity, which does not greatly alarm the
debtor, for the Seigneur D'Haberville is an indulgent landlord, and his
tenants pay when they please.
But Uncle Raoul is more deeply concerned for the form than for the
substance; the appearance of power pleases him even as power itself. He
will have everything done with due ceremony.
"How do you do, my--my--lieutenant?" says the _censitaire_, accustomed
to call him uncle behind his back.
"Very well. And thyself? What wilt thou?" replies Uncle Raoul, with an
air of great importance.
"I have come to pay the rent, my--my lieutenant; but the times are
so hard that I have no money," says Jean Baptiste, ducking his head
penitently.
"_Nescio vos!_" exclaims Uncle Raoul in a sonorous voice; "_reddite quæ
sunt Cæsaris Cæsari_."
"That's fine what you say, my--my captain, so fine that I can't
understand it at all," murmurs the _censitaire_.
"It's Latin, blockhead!" exclaims Uncle Raoul, "and this Latin means,
pay your lawful rents to the Seigneur D'Haberville, on pain of being
taken before the King's courts and of being condemned in first and
second instance to pay all expense, damages, claims, and costs."
"It would go hard with me," murmurs the _censitaire_.
"Heavens, you may well say so!" exclaims Uncle Raoul, raising his eyes
to the ceiling.
"I know very well my--my seigneur, that your Latin threatens me with
all these punishments; but I had the misfortune to lose my filly of
last spring."
"What, you rascal! On account of having lost a wretched brute of six
months old you wish to evade the seigneurial claims, which have been
established by your sovereign on a foundation as enduring as yonder
mountains. _Quos ego ...!_"
"I believe," murmurs the _habitant_ to himself, "that he is speaking
Indian to frighten me."
Then he adds aloud: "You see, my filly, according to what all the best
judges declared, would have been in four years' time the best trotter
on all the south shore, and worth a hundred francs if a penny."
"Oh, to the devil with you!" replied Uncle Raoul. "Go and tell Lisette
to give you a good drink of brandy, to console you for the loss of your
filly. These scoundrels," adds Uncle Raoul, "drink more of our brandy
than their rents will ever pay for."
The _habitant_, going into the kitchen, remarks to Lisette with a
chuckle: "I've had a bad job with Uncle Raoul; he even threatened to
haul me up before the courts."
As Uncle Raoul was very devout after his fashion, he failed not to