Cameron of Lochiel
once again--a proposition which was received with loud enthusiasm.
After this the joyous throng took its departure singing, with the
accompaniment of musket-shots, whose echoes, thrown back by the bluff,
appeared to linger reluctantly behind them.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FEAST OF ST. JEAN-BAPTISTE.
Every parish used to keep holiday on the feast of its patron saint.
The feast of St. John the Baptist, the patron of the parish of St.
Jean-Port-Joli, falling in the most delightful season of the year,
never failed to attract a host of pilgrims, even from the remotest
parishes. The _habitant_, kept very busy with his farm-work, was ready
by this time for a little rest, and the fine weather was an invitation
to the road. In every family grand preparations were made for this
important occasion. Within doors there was great cleaning up; the
whitewash brush went everywhere; the floors were scrubbed and strewed
with pine-needles; the fatted calf was killed, and the shopkeepers
drove a thriving trade in drinks. Thus by the twenty-third day of June,
the eve of the feast, every house was thronged with pilgrims from the
manor and the presbytery down.
The seigneur used to present the consecrated bread; while the
collection at the high mass was taken up by two young gentlemen and
two young ladies, friends of the seigneur, invited down from Quebec
long beforehand. For the consecrated bread and for the little cakes
(_cousins_) which accompanied it there was no small need in that
multitude which thronged not only the church, but the surrounding yard.
All the doors of the church stood wide open, that everybody might have
his share in the service.
It was an understood thing that the seigneur and his friends should
dine that day at the presbytery, and that the curé and his friends
should take supper at the manor house. Very many of the _habitants_,
too far away from home to go and come between mass and vespers, took
lunch in the little wood of cedars, pines, and firs which covered the
valley between the church and the St. Lawrence. Nothing can be imagined
more picturesque and bright than the groups scattered over the mossy
green, and gathered merrily around their snowy tablecloths. The curé
and his guests never failed to visit the picnickers and exchange a few
words with the men.
On all sides rose rude booths, after the fashion of wigwams, covered
with branches of maple and spruce, wherein refreshments were sold. In a
monotonous voice, with strong emphasis on the first and last words, the
proprietors kept crying incessantly, "Good beer for sale here!" And all
the papas and the amorous gallants, coaxed up for the occasion, would
fumble dubiously in the depths of their wallets for the wherewith to
treat youngster or sweetheart.
The _habitants_ had preserved an impressive ceremony handed down from
their Norman ancestors. This ceremony consisted of a huge bonfire at
sunset of the eve of St. Jean-Baptiste. An octagonal pyramid, about
ten feet high, was constructed before the main entrance of the church.
Covered with branches of fir interwoven amid the strips of cedar which
formed its surface, this structure was eminently ornamental. The curé,
accompanied by his assistants, marched out and recited certain prayers
belonging to the occasion; then, after having blessed the structure,
he set a torch to the little piles of straw arranged at the eight
corners of the pyramid. Straightway the whole pile burst crackling into
flame, amid the shouts and gun-firing of the crowd which remained in
attendance till the pyramid was burned to ashes.
At this joyous ceremony, Blanche D'Haberville did not fail to assist,
in company with Jules, Lochiel, and Uncle Raoul. A malicious critic,
observing Uncle Raoul as he stood leaning on his sword a little in
advance of the throng, might have been reminded of the late lamented
Vulcan of game-legged memory, so lurid and grotesque an effect was
cast upon his figure; which by no means prevented Uncle Raoul from
considering himself the most important personage present.
Uncle Raoul had a very good and sufficient reason for taking part
in the bonfire. It was the day of the salmon sale. Every _habitant_
who stretched a net came to sell his first salmon at the church door
for the benefit of the souls in purgatory; in other words, with the
money obtained for the fish he would pay for a mass to be said for the
souls about which he was most concerned. The auctioneer announcing the
object of the sale, all strove to outbid each other. Nothing could be
more touching than this closeness of communion between friends and
relations beyond the grave, this anxious concern extending even to the
invisible world. Our brethren of other creeds shed, indeed, as we do,
the bitterest of tears over the tomb which covers away their dearest,
but there they cease their solicitude and their devotion.
When I was a child my mother taught me to conclude all my prayers with
this appeal: "Receive, O Lord, soon into thy blessed paradise the souls
of my grandfather and grandmother." My prayers were then for kinsfolk
few in number and unknown to me. Now, alas, in my old age, how many
names would have to pass my lips were I to enumerate in my prayers all
the loved ones who have left me!
It was some time after dark when Uncle Raoul, Blanche, Jules, and
Archie quitted the presbytery where they had taken supper. Uncle Raoul,
who had a smattering of astronomy, explained to his niece, as they
drove along, the mysteries of the starry vault, marvels of which, for
all the efforts of their professor in astronomy, our young men knew but
little.
The young men were in high spirits, and, excited by the splendor of the
night in mid-forest, they laid aside their decorum and began a host of
antics, in spite of the frowns of Blanche, who dreaded lest they should
displease her uncle.
The road followed the banks of the St. Lawrence. It was bordered by
thick woods, with here and there a clearing through which was commanded
a perfect view of the giant stream. Coming to one of these clearings,
where they could sweep the whole river from Cape Tourmente to Malbaie,
Archie was unable to repress a cry of surprise, and, turning to Uncle
Raoul, he said:
"You, sir who explain so well the marvels of the heaven, might I beg
you to lower your gaze to earth a moment and tell me the meaning of all
those lights which are flashing along the north shore as far as eye can
see? Verily, I begin to believe José's story. Canada appears to be that
land of goblins, imps, and witches of which my nurse used to tell me
amid my Scottish hills."
"Ah," said Uncle Raoul, "let us stop here a moment. That is the people
of the north shore sending messages to their friends and relations on
this side, according to their custom on the eve of St. Jean-Baptiste.
They need neither pen nor ink for their communications. Let us begin
at Eboulements: Eleven adults have died in that parish since autumn,
three of them in one house, that of my friend Dufour. The family must
have been visited by small-pox or some malignant fever, for those
Dufours are vigorous and all in the prime of life. The Tremblays are
well, which I am glad to perceive; they are worthy people. At Bonneau's
somebody is sick, probably the grandmother, who is getting well on in
years. There is a child dead at Bélair's house. I fear it is their only
child, as theirs is a young household."
Thus Uncle Raoul ran on for some time gathering news of his friends at
Eboulements, at Isle aux Coudres, and at Petite-Rivière.
"I understand without having the key," said Lochiel. "Those are certain
prearranged signals which are exchanged between the dwellers on the
opposite shores in order to communicate matters of personal interest."
"Yes," answered Uncle Raoul; "and if we were on the north shore we
should observe similar signals on this side. If a fire burns long and
steadily, that is good news; if it sinks gradually, that is a sign of
sickness; if it is extinguished suddenly, that means death; if it is
so extinguished more than once, that signifies so many deaths. For a
grown person, a strong blaze; for a child, a feeble one. The means
of intercourse being scanty enough even in summer, and entirely cut
off during winter, the _habitants_, made ingenious by necessity, have
invented this simple expedient.
"The same signals," continued Uncle Raoul, "are understood by all the
sailors, who use them in time of wreck to convey information of their
distress. Only last year five of our best huntsmen would have starved
to death but for this on the shoals of the Loups-Marins. Toward the
middle of March there was a sudden change in the weather. The ice went
out all at once and the ducks, geese, and brant made their appearance
in astonishing numbers. Five of our hunters, well supplied with
provisions--for the weather is treacherous in Canada--set out at once
for the Loups-Marins; but the birds were so numerous that they left
their provisions in the canoe (which they tied carelessly in front of
their hut), and ran to take their places in the ditch which they had
to get scooped out before the return of the tide. This ditch, you must
know, is a trough dug in the mud to a depth of three or four feet,
wherein the hunter lies in wait for his game, which are very wary, the
geese and brant particularly. It is a wretchedly uncomfortable kind of
hunting, for you have to crouch in these holes, with your dog, often
for seven or eight hours at a stretch. You have no lack of occupation
to kill time, however, for you have to keep bailing out the muddy water
which threatens to drown you.
"All was in proper shape, and our hunters were expecting with the
rising tide an ample reward for their pains, when suddenly there came
up a frightful storm. The sleet was driven by the wind in such dense
clouds that the birds could not be seen six feet away. Our hunters,
having waited patiently until flood tide, which drove them from their
posts, returned to their hut, where a dreadful surprise awaited them;
their canoe had been carried away by the storm, and there remained, to
feed five men, only one loaf of bread and one bottle of brandy, which
they had taken into the hut on their arrival, that they might indulge
in a snack before getting to work. They went to bed without supper, for
the snow-storm might last three days, and, being about three leagues
from either shore, it would be impossible, in such weather, for their
signals of distress to be seen. But their calculations fell far short
of the fact. A second winter had set in. The cold became very severe,
the snow continued falling for eight days, and the river was once more
filled with ice as in January.
Then they began to make their signals, which could be seen from both
shores; but it was impossible to go to their aid. The signals of
distress were followed by those of death. The fire was lighted every
evening and immediately extinguished. When three of the party were
reported dead, some _habitants_, at the imminent risk of their lives,
did all that could be expected of the bravest men; but in vain, for
the river was so thick with ice cakes that the canoes were carried up
and down with the ebb and flow of the tide, and could not get near
the scene of the disaster. It was not until the seventeenth day that
they were rescued by a canoe from Isle aux Coudres. When the rescuing
party arrived they heard no sound in the hut, and feared they were too
late. The sufferers were still alive, however, and after a few weeks of
care were quite themselves again; but they had learned a lesson they
were not likely to forget, and the next time they go hunting on the
Loups-Marins they will haul their canoe up out of reach of high tide."
At last Uncle Raoul came to an end, just as anybody else would.