The captain listened to all this very patiently, and without any interruption. At length, as Claude ended, he replied,--
"But you yourself cannot suppose that you, as you say, are imprisoned merely for this. People do not arrest their benefactors merely because they are their benefactors; and if you have saved the life of his excellency, you cannot suppose that he has ordered your arrest for that sole reason. Monsieur has more good sense, and must understand well that there is some sort of charge against him."
"Monsieur," said Claude, "I swear to you I not only know no reason for my arrest, but I cannot even imagine one; and I entreat you, as a man of honor, to tell me what the charge against me is."
"Monsieur," said the captain, blandly, "we are both men of honor, of course. Of your honor I have no doubt. It is untouched. Every day men of honor, and of rank, too, are getting into difficulties; and whenever one meddles with political affairs it must be so."
"Political affairs!" cried Claude. "What have I to do with political affairs?"
The captain again smiled blandly.
"_Parbleu_, monsieur, but that is not for me to say."
"But is that the charge against me?"
"Most certainly. How could it be otherwise?"
"Politics, politics!" cried Claude. "I don"t understand you! I must be taken for some other person."
"O, no," said the captain; "there"s no mistake."
"Pardon me, monsieur, there must be."
"Then, monsieur, allow me to indulge the hope that you may be able to show where the mistake is, at your trial."
The captain made a movement now as though he was about to leave; but Claude detained him.
"One moment, monsieur," said he. "Will you not tell me something more? Will you not tell me what these political charges are? For, I swear to you, I cannot imagine. How can I, who have lived all my life in Boston, be connected with politics in any way? Let me know, then, something about these charges; for nothing is more distressing than to be in a situation like this, and have no idea whatever of the cause of it."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Of Your Honor I Have No Doubt."]
"_Eh bien_, monsieur," said the captain, "since you wish it, I have no objection whatever to state what they are; and if you can clear yourself and show your innocence, I shall be the first to congratulate you. His excellency will not object to my telling you, I am sure, for he is the soul of goodness, and is full of generous impulses. Very well, then. In the first place you call yourself Claude Motier. Now, this is said to be an a.s.sumed name. Your real name is said to be Claude de Montresor; and it is said that you are the son of a certain Eugene de Moutresor, who committed grave offences about twenty years ago, for which he would have been severely punished had he not fled from the country. His wife, also,--your mother, perhaps,--was proscribed, and would have been arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. They were then outlawed, and their estates were confiscated. The wife died, the husband disappeared. This is what happened to them."
"That is all true," said Claude. "But my father and mother were both most foully wronged--"
"Pardon, monsieur," said the captain. "That is very probable; but I am not here as judge; I am only giving you information about the charge against you. I have not time to listen to your answer; and I would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed to the a.s.sumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to hear any more?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Claude, eagerly; "tell me all that there is to know."
"Very well," said the captain. "Now you, under an a.s.sumed name, engage a schooner to take you, not to Louisbourg, but to some place in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being the son of two dangerous political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an a.s.sumed name, and upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under these circ.u.mstances the commandant could not overlook your case. It seemed to him one which was full of suspicion, and, in spite of the grat.i.tude which he felt for your kind offices, he nevertheless was compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest.
You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though appearances are against you, you may succeed in proving your innocence; in which case, monsieur, I am sure that no one will be more rejoiced than myself and his excellency.
"You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain.
That was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He may be innocent, but that remains to be seen. At present appearances are against him, and he must take his share of the guilt which attaches to you. His arrest was a political necessity."
After this the captain left; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to attempt to plead his cause to this man, he made no further attempt to detain him.
Left once more to his own reflections, Claude recalled all that the captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal from himself that, though they were based on nothing, they still were serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind would lead to serious consequences; and here in the colonies he felt less sure of justice. Indeed, as far as justice was concerned, he hardly hoped to experience anything of the kind, for his judge would be the very man who had got up these charges, and had treated him with such baseness and treachery. The fact was, that he would be called before a court where accuser, witness, and judge would all be one and the same person, and, what was more, the person who for some reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemy. Dark indeed and gloomy was the prospect that now lowered before him.
Before an impartial court the charges against him might be answered or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had created the charges, and would know how to make them still more formidable. And now he felt that behind these charges there must lurk something more dangerous still.
Already there had arisen in his mind certain suspicions as to Cazeneau"s designs upon Mimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in conversation with her, and his present circ.u.mstances deepened them into convictions. It began now to seem to him that Cazeneau had designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything favored him. He was supreme in authority out here; the old Laborde was under his influence; the daughter"s consent alone was wanting. Of that consent, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, he could make sure. But he had seen a close and strong friendship arising between Mimi and her preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable cause for his hate. If this were indeed so, and if this hate grew up out of jealousy, then his prospects were indeed dark, for jealousy is as cruel as the grave.
The more Claude thought of this, the greater was the importance which he attached to it. It seemed to be this which had made Cazeneau transform himself into an eavesdropper; this which had occasioned his dark looks, his morose words, and haughty reticence. In his eavesdropping he must have heard enough to excite his utmost jealousy; and Claude, in recalling his conversations with Mimi, could remember words which must have been gall and bitterness to such a jealous listener.
CHAPTER IX.
GRAND PRE.
Nearly thirty years before this, the French government had been compelled to give up the possession of Acadie to the English, and to retire to the Island of Cape Breton. Here they had built a stronghold at Louisbourg, which they were enlarging and strengthening every year, to the great disgust and alarm of the New England colonies. But though Acadie had been given up to the English, it could hardly be said to be held by them. Only two posts were occupied, the one at Canso, in the strait that separated Cape Breton from Acadie, and the other at Annapolis Royal. At Canso there was a wooden block-house, with a handful of soldiers: while at Annapolis Royal, where the English governor resided, the fortifications were more extensive, yet in a miserable condition. At this last place there were a few companies of soldiers, and here the governor tried to perform the difficult task of transforming the French Acadians to loyal British subjects.
But the French at Louisbourg never forgot their fellow-countrymen, and never relinquished their designs on Acadie. The French inhabitants of that province amounted to several thousands, who occupied the best portions of the country, while the English consisted of only a few individuals in one or two posts. Among the French Acadians emissaries were constantly moving about, who sought to keep up among them their old loyalty to the French crown, and by their pertinacity sorely disturbed the peace of the English governor at Annapolis Royal. The French governor at Louisbourg was not slow to second these efforts by keeping the Acadians supplied with arms and ammunition; and it was for this purpose that the Aigle had been sent to the settlements up the Bay of Fundy.
Up the bays he now sailed, in accordance with the wish of Cazeneau.
His reason for this course was, that he might see the people for himself, and judge how far they might be relied on in the event of war, which he knew must soon be declared. It was his intention to land at Grand Pre, the chief Acadian settlement, and thence proceed by land to Louisbourg. He had understood from Captain Ducrot that an Indian trail went all the way through the woods, which could be traversed on horseback. Such a course would impose more hardship upon the aged Laborde and Mimi than would be encountered on shipboard; but Cazeneau had his own purposes, which were favored, to a great extent, by the land route. Besides, he had the schooner with him, so that if, after all, it should be advisable to go by water, they could make the journey in her.
The Aigle sailed, and the schooner followed. The wind had changed, and now blew more steadily, and from a favorable quarter. The currents delayed them somewhat; but on the third morning after the two vessels had met, they reached the entrance of the Basin of Minas.
The scenery here was wild and grand. A few miles from the sh.o.r.e there rose a lofty rocky island, precipitous on all sides save one, its summit crested with trees, its base worn by the restless waves.
Opposite this was a rocky sh.o.r.e, with cliffs crowned with the primeval forest. From this pond the strait began, and went on for miles, till it reached the Basin, forming a majestic avenue, with a sublime gateway. On one side of this gateway were rocky sh.o.r.es receding into wooded hills, while on the other was a towering cliff standing apart from the sh.o.r.e, rising abruptly from the water, torn by the tempest and worn by the tide. From this the precipitous cliff ran on for miles, forming one side of the strait, till it terminated in a majestic promontory.
This promontory rose on one side, and on the other a lofty, wooded island, inside of which was a winding sh.o.r.e, curving into a harbor.
Here the strait terminated, and beyond this the waters of the Basin of Minas spread away for many a mile, surrounded on every side by green, wooded sh.o.r.es. In one place was a cl.u.s.ter of small islands; in another, rivers rolled their turbid floods, bearing with them the sediment of long and fertile valleys. The blue waters sparkled in the sun under the blue sky; the sea-gulls whirled and screamed through the air; nowhere could the eye discern any of the works of man. It seemed like some secluded corner of the universe, and as if those on board the ship
"were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea."
But, though not visible from this point, the settlements of man were here, and the works of human industry lying far away on the slopes of distant hills and the edges of low, marshy sh.o.r.es.
It was not without much caution that they had pa.s.sed through the strait. They had waited for the tide to come in, and then, with a favorable wind, they had made the venture. Borne onward by wind and tide together, they sailed on far into the bay, and then, directing their course to the southward, they sailed onward for a few miles farther. The captain had been here before, and was anxious to find his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ventured inside without one, trusting to his memory. He knew well the perils that attend upon navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For here were the highest tides in the world to be encountered, and swift currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and treacherous quicksands, among which the unwary navigator could come to destruction only too easily.
But no accident happened on this occasion; the navigation was made with the utmost circ.u.mspection, the schooner being sent ahead to sound all the way, and the ship following. At length both came to anchor at a distance from the sh.o.r.e of about five miles. Nearer than that the captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and shoals.
Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together with the aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abbe Michel also prepared to accompany them.
Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and privation of that event had utterly broken down his const.i.tution.
Since he had been taken to the ship, however, he had grown much worse, and was no longer able to walk. He had not risen from his berth since he had come on board the Aigle. Mimi"s anxiety about him had been excessive, and she had no thought for anything else. The situation of Claude was unknown to her, and her distress about her father"s increasing weakness prevented her from thinking much about him. Her only hope now was, that on reaching the sh.o.r.e her father would experience a change for the better, and be benefited by the land air.
On removing Laborde from his berth, it was found that he not only had not strength to stand, but that he was even so weak that this motion served of itself to exhaust him fearfully. He had to be placed on a mattress, and carried in that way by four sailors to the ship"s side, where he was carefully let clown into the boat. There the mattress was placed in the boat"s stern, and Laborde lay upon this, with his head supported against Mimi, who held him encircled in her arms. In this way he was taken ash.o.r.e.
It was a long row, but the water was comparatively smooth, and the landing had been postponed until the flood tide, which made the boat"s progress easier and swifter.