CHAPTER XVII
When Charles arrived at St Malo he found that his messenger, EtienneBrule, had reached the town in safety, and that De Roberval's horse wasbeing well looked after in Cartier's stables. No pursuit was attempted,and it became evident that Etienne's master would make no effort tobring him back.
In fact, De Roberval, who knew that La Pommeraye was the soul of honour,and that no one would believe him capable of a falsehood, felt that hisown wisest course would be silence. He knew that at the least move onhis part La Pommeraye would be able to turn all tongues against him; andif the young man had, as he had hinted, any influence with the Duke ofGuise, he would undoubtedly call down upon him the heavy hand of thegreat minister, who had already no love for the ambitious littlenobleman.
Charles, too, was kept silent by what he had learned. His old sunnysmile had left him, and when he spoke, his once full, mellow voice had ahard, metallic ring. Cartier scarce recognised him, and his questionsreceived but scant answers, which kept him from enquiring further.
"De Pontbriand may still live," said Charles. "Mdlle. de Roberval maystill live, and I must restore them to France, or make sure that theyare dead. If I find them not, God help De Roberval!"
"God help him in any case!" said Cartier to himself. "Your spirit willnever rest till it has spilt the little tyrant's blood. But when," headded, "do you expect to start for the New World?"
"At once."
"Nay, that's impossible. You would have some difficulty in gettingsailors to venture out on the Atlantic at this season."
"If I cannot get men to accompany me," said Charles, "Etienne and I willgo alone;" and as he spoke, Etienne, who was standing by in Cartier'sorchard, where the conversation took place, nodded assent, and muttereda determined "Ay, that we will!" He, too, was thinking of his fair youngmistress, who had always seemed to him like one of the blessed saints;and when he pictured her pining for her home through the dreary autumnand torturing winter in Canada, he would gladly have risked the voyagesingle-handed.
It was no easy matter to get a vessel. Roberval had returned, andCharles had no longer his former excuse. It was rumoured at court thatthe lovers had been punished for flaunting immorality; and to tell whyhe wanted the ship would be to drag the names of Claude and Margueritethrough the mire. This he would not do. He would not even let himselfthink of what De Roberval had told him. It was not--it could not betrue! It was true that he had awakened from his dream; he knew that hecould never win Marguerite. What he had learned from Etienne and fromher uncle had banished that wild hope; and all the little circumstancesin their lives, which had before passed unnoticed, now rose before himto show him how blind and foolish he had been. But he loved her none theless--rather the more. And when he thought of what she and her lovermust have endured on that desolate island, in the great northern ocean,his brain beat and his heart throbbed till he thought he must surely gomad. To save himself, he felt he must start on his journey as soon aspossible.
But there were difficulties in the way. Cartier had disposed of hisships, and taken up his permanent residence at Limoilou. To purchase anew vessel would cost money; and Charles, ever prodigal, had but smallmeans that he could call his own. On Cartier he depended for help; butthat shrewd seaman knew how the enterprise must end, and instead ofputting his hand into his money-bag, he did his utmost to dissuade LaPommeraye from his purpose.
Finding, however, that his friend had determined on the journey, he atlength got several St Malo merchants to join with him in fitting out asmall craft of fifty tons, ostensibly for the fur trade. The vessel wasan old one, but had several times weathered the Atlantic, and a numberof her old crew expressed themselves willing to join La Pommeraye if hewould offer them a sufficient wage. He had hard work, however, ingetting together six trusty fellows, who, with Etienne and himself,would undertake the winter journey. But by the beginning of December allwas ready, and the little vessel, amid shaking of heads and propheciesof misfortune from the knowing ones, steered away for the Channel, andout towards the Atlantic, where even then a storm was raging.
But they were to meet with disappointment at the very beginning of theirvoyage. The masts creaked and groaned; the planks quivered; the oakumbecame loose in the seams; and on the second day out it was found thatthe vessel had sprung a leak. Pump as they would, they could not lessenthe water in the hold; and though La Pommeraye would fain have held onhis way, discretion compelled him to turn his vessel's head about, andrun for the port he had just left.
When he reached harbour, the deck of the ship was almost to the water'sedge. There was nothing to do but to run her ashore. When the water waspumped out of her, it was found that she was in a badly strainedcondition, and that several planks in her hull were completelyworm-eaten. She had to be drawn up high and dry, and carpenters set towork to give her a thorough overhauling. By the time she was again readyfor sea, the January snows had begun to whiten the fields about St Malo.Nothing daunted, La Pommeraye determined to venture again, and Etiennestood by him; but when they came to look for their crew, they found thatthe fellows had all fled St Malo, and could not be found. No other menwere willing to take their places; and through the winter, La Pommeraye,like one distraught, went up and down the streets seeking seamen. Butnone would join his expedition. The inhabitants of the town came to lookupon him as mad, and wondered what evil influence there could be in theNew World dragging him to it. Even the merchants regretted the money putinto the venture; but Cartier would not let them withdraw.
It was not until spring that the _Marie_, for so the little craft wascalled, was ready for sea, fully manned once more. Just when the Marchshowers were beginning to rejuvenate the earth she drew away from thetown; and Cartier, who stood on the wall watching her go forth, wonderedwhat the end would be. It could only be tragic. No company could livethrough two dreary winters on a lonely island without losing some oftheir number, and he doubted not that all were dead. He half regretted,as he watched his friend's sail drop down beneath the horizon, that hehad not gone with him. But the three disappointments the New World hadalready given him made him dread its shores, and he shuddered as hethought of the gruesome tidings which must await La Pommeraye on thatlonely northern isle. He shuddered, too, as he thought of De Roberval.Fate is sometimes slow-footed, but he felt certain that it must at lastrush with unerring speed to the destruction of the man who had wreckedso many lives.
La Pommeraye kept on every stitch of canvas his little ship would carry,and after four weeks' sailing, before a favouring breeze, the southerncoast of Newfoundland was reached. So far, they had had no tryingweather, and their hearts beat high with hope that their journey wouldend without mishap. They ran into the harbour of St John, replenishedtheir almost empty water-casks, and then started on their final triptowards the Isle of Demons.
But April is a treacherous month. It had been up to this timesummer-like, with a hot sun and gentle southern breezes. Now the windshifted to the north; the clouds crept across the sky leaden and low; aheavy snowfall descended upon them; and it seemed that winter wasreturning. Charles was only the more anxious to reach the island, andcrowded on canvas. But the bending masts and crashing seas finally madehim reef his sails, and his little ship for several days beat herdifficult way northward. La Pommeraye himself spent most of his time inthe crosstrees, keeping an anxious lookout for his destination. Itseemed to him that he would never reach it; and the storm, which hadincreased instead of diminishing as the days went on, threatened toswamp his vessel. The sailing-master besought him to turn about and runfor the harbour of St John. He saw that he would be compelled to do so;but before giving the command, he once more went aloft and scanned thebroken, misty horizon. His keen eye soon discerned a dark spot, whichappeared and disappeared as the _Marie_ rose and fell on the waves.Nearer it drew, and to his unutterable joy he saw a pillar of smoke risefrom it, and, growing in volume, spread in a mighty cloud over thewaters.
"It is they! They live!" shouted La Pommeraye, and sliding down abackst
ay, seized his sailing-master's arm, and pointed to the hopefulsignal.
The sailors saw it, too. They knew the island, and crossed themselvesfearfully as they gazed upon what they believed to be the smoke of thepit. To all except Etienne and La Pommeraye it seemed as if they wererushing recklessly upon destruction. As if to buttress their fears, thestormy north-east wind blew with redoubled fury, and wave after waveswept over the ship, threatening to crush in their decks. The island wasnow within a mile of them, and the pillar of smoke still rose, beckoningthem onward. But La Pommeraye's hopes were to be dashed to the ground. Awave mightier than its fellows broke against the high bows, and catchingthe _Marie_ amidships, sent tons of water on her decks. Before she couldrecover and throw it off, a succession of similar waves rolled in uponher, and all seemed lost.
"Our only hope," cried the sailing-master, "is to 'bout ship, and runbefore the wind. No vessel could anchor in this storm, even if we didreach yon island; and unless the gale lessens, we must sooner or laterbe swamped."
There was nothing else for it, and La Pommeraye unwillingly consented.The little craft was with difficulty brought about. Every scrap ofcanvas was lowered, and she went scudding along under bare poles, withthe huge seas climbing high about her lofty poop, seeking to drown her.
When Marguerite saw the vessel which had been bearing down upon herbegin to recede, her heart failed her altogether. They had seen hersignal, and yet they were deserting her. For months she had watched invain; at last her hope seemed about to be realised; and when she saw itvanish she was left more desolate than ever. Gladly at that moment wouldshe have welcomed death; and indeed it could not long delay now. Herammunition was exhausted; she was living principally on the eggs of theshore birds and the fish which she was once more able to procureoccasionally. But such precarious means could not last long; it was onlya question of time.
She sat on the cliff, unheeding the storm which beat about her head andscattered the embers of her fire. The anguish of her position forceditself upon her. To be left on the island meant a slow and torturingdeath; and yet, had she been rescued, she must have left behind her allthat she had loved. She prayed that she might die at once.
But Heaven had ordered otherwise. Life and hope were to return to her;her imprisonment was nearly over.
La Pommeraye's vessel drove before the gale until the high cliffs of StJohn's harbour loomed up before her. They were a welcome sight, for thelittle craft had been so strained by the struggle against the storm,that she had sprung a leak, and it was with difficulty that the sailorskept the water in the hold from gaining on them. But within the harbourthe waters were comparatively calm; and when the anchor was cast, acareful examination showed that the leak was immediately above thewater-line, and could be easily remedied. All through the night the windhowled through the rigging; and all through the night La Pommeraye,unable to rest, paced the deck like a caged tiger. On the followingmorning the storm still raged, and it was not till the next day thatthey were able to make for the open sea. The wind had now shifted to thesouth, and a gentle breeze was rippling the surface of the giant rollersover which they plunged on their northward way.
Four days had elapsed since Marguerite had seen the vessel disappear;and four terrible days she had spent, roaming like one demented over herisland prison. All day she heard the voices of the demons calling fromevery cliff and cave, and at night they beat upon the walls of hercabin, and seemed to keep up a fierce, demoniacal laughter over thegraves on the hillside. Had it not been for Francois, she would haverushed into the great green waves which rolled up on the shore, bent onher own destruction; but the presence of the faithful creature, whofollowed her about from cliff to cliff, as she looked east and west,north and south, over the waste of waters; who sat by with patheticwonder as she lay stretched at length upon her loved ones' graves; whoguarded her through the darkness while the demons were howling above herabode--saved her from herself. She longed for death; she would haveshrunk from the thought of leaving the island where Claude lay, but theprinciple of life which would not die demanded that she should saveherself if it were possible. And while she prayed for death to come, shestrained her eyes in the hope of seeing some approaching sail.
At last the storm abated. The waves still climbed the island reaches,but the warm breeze told her that the time of danger was past. A hopewhich would not be crushed out whispered to her that the vessel she hadseen had been on its way to the island, and as the storm went down, thesame wild hope suggested to her that it would come back. Till darknessfell she gazed, and when day broke she stood on the "lookout," scanningthe far horizon. At last she was rewarded. A dim, white speck stood outagainst the clear sky. Swiftly it approached. Gradually the white sailsshowed distinct, then the black hull appeared, and there, before her,lay a vessel of her own land--a vessel from La Belle France. She movednot, nor spoke, and by her side sat Francois on his haunches, asmotionless as herself. A cannon boomed from the ship, and its echoesawoke a myriad birds, which flew screaming across the waves, or plungedinto the ocean. It was a strange sound to Marguerite--a voice from herold home, calling her back to life.
With joy La Pommeraye had sighted once more the rocky point of land uponthe horizon. But a keen pang of disappointment seized him when he lookedin vain for the signal which had told him there was yet life on theisland. Could they have perished in the storm? Could his approach, whenthey were on the verge of the grave, have served only to tantalise them,and make the end the harder? Such thoughts beat in his brain, as hevainly watched for any sign of life.
At last Etienne touched his arm.
"Look, Monsieur, they live! There stand two figures on yonder cliff."
As he spoke, all eyes turned towards the projecting spur, and as thekeen-visioned sailors caught sight of Marguerite and her uncouthcompanion, they fell on their knees and crossed themselves in holy awe.La Pommeraye quickly had the sails run down and the anchor dropped; andbefore Marguerite could leave her station, the gun boomed forth itswelcome.
Down to the beach she went to meet the approaching boat, and even LaPommeraye was awed when he saw her figure coming towards him.
Her clothes had been patched and mended till it was impossible to mendthem any longer, and they now hung in tatters about her. Her hair, onceso black and glossy, was streaked with white, and her face wore the lookof one who has known all that life has to give of joy and of sorrow, andwho has walked in the presence of death as with a friend. By her sideshambled the young bear, a shaggy, ferocious-looking monster, enough ofitself to strike terror to the hearts of the amazed sailors. The men inthe boat lost their courage, and their nerveless hands refused to graspthe oars. But the stern, commanding voice of La Pommeraye restoredtheir presence of mind. The boat's keel grated on the rocks, and LaPommeraye leaped ashore and fell on his knees before the pale ghost ofthe woman he had loved so faithfully, and followed through half theworld.
"Mademoiselle!" he said, but he could get no further. His heart hadrisen in his throat, and was choking him. She, too, stood like onestunned, her knees trembling, her brain swimming. She would have fallen,but that she took his extended hand to support herself.
The bear had been growling uneasily at her side, and when he saw LaPommeraye's hand touch his mistress, he gave a savage growl, and wasabout to spring upon the intruder. Marguerite bade him down, and theobedient creature crouched at her feet.
"Mademoiselle has a strange guardian," said La Pommeraye, who had risenat the animal's approach.
"He has kept me alive, Monsieur. But for him I should have gone mad, orcast myself into the sea."
"Where are your companions?"
La Pommeraye shuddered as he asked the question, but he could keep itback no longer.
"It is well with them," she answered calmly; "they sleep behind yonderhill."
"Dead?" exclaimed La Pommeraye, beneath his breath.
"All dead," was her quiet reply.
"And yet you live! How long have you endured the loneliness of thisdreary spot?"
"Claude died before the snows fell, and since then Francois and I havelived I know not how. I have tried to die, but Heaven has been tookind."
La Pommeraye turned away his head, and the sobs he could no longerrestrain shook him from head to foot. He struggled for self-control. Atlast he turned to her, and took her hand to lead her to the boat.
"Your old servant, Etienne Brule, is with me," he said. "He waits in theboat for you. He will look after you while I collect whatever may be inyour hut."
But she drew back a little from him.
"Monsieur, I cannot----" and for the first time her voice faltered. "Icannot leave my dead!"
Even at that moment Charles was conscious of a fierce throb at hisheart, as he realised that the woman he loved had irrevocably, for lifeand for death, given her life to his friend.
As she spoke she turned, and led him past the hut, and up the hill tothe little group of graves. The hour of utter separation had come, andshe could say nothing. La Pommeraye felt that a word from him would besacrilege. Silent she stood there, torn between the fearful pang ofparting, and the realisation that she must go. At last her willconquered, and she turned to La Pommeraye, saying simply: "I am ready,Monsieur."
Of the fourth who slept in that lonely hillside cemetery she said not aword. The young life had come into being, and had passed away again,there, in this desert spot, amidst the trackless wastes of ocean,unknown to any save the two whose souls it had for ever linkedindissolubly. Why should the world be told? The island would keep hersecret; and no one in France should ever learn that her child andClaude's lay at rest in his father's grave.
She kneeled and kissed the stones which marked the spot; and then,without one backward look, she followed La Pommeraye to the hut.
There was little to take with her--the bearskin rug which had been hersalvation through the bitter winter, and one or two precious personaltrifles which were all that were left of her dead. La Pommeraye's heartwas bursting within him as he saw how she had lived, and guessed whatshe must have endured. In silence they went down to the shore.
"Poor Francois!" Marguerite said, throwing her arms about the neck ofthe faithful beast. "Poor Francois!" and there was a world of meaning inher tone.
Soon they were ready to leave the island; and the wondering sailors, whoknew nothing of her story--for Etienne had kept a sacredsilence--shuddered as she stepped into the boat.
When the bear saw his mistress deserting him he leaped into the water,and tried to swim after her. Becoming wearied with the effort, however,he was obliged to give it up and swim back to the shore, where he pacedup and down the beach with his rolling, awkward gait, his eyes fixed onthe retreating boat.
As the ship sailed away, the sailors could see his white form standingin melancholy solitude on the highest point of the cliff. When thevessel was but a speck in the distance, he turned his eyes shoreward,and saw a seal basking in the sun. Stealthily he crept down the cliffand along the shore, his huge claws sank into the neck of theunsuspecting beast, and with savage delight he tore it in pieces.
Marguerite De Roberval: A Romance of the Days of Jacques Cartier Page 17