The Forge in the Forest

"We are on the right track, comrade," said I, lightly, steering my course along the shore toward Cobequid.

Her only answer was to fall a-paddling with such an eagerness that I had to check her.

"Now, now," I said, "more haste, less speed."

"But I feel so strong now, and so rested," she cried passionately. "Might we not overtake them to-night?"

"Hardly so soon as that, I fear, Madame," I answered. "This is a stern chase, and it is like to be a long one; you must make up your mind to that, if you would not have a fresh disappointment every hour."

"Oh," she broke out, "if it were your child you were trying to find and save, you would not be so cool about it."

"Believe me, Madame," said I, in a low voice, "I am not perhaps as cool as I appear."

"Oh, what a weak and silly creature I must seem to you!" she cried. "But I will not be weak and silly when it comes to trial, Monsieur, I promise you. I will prove worthy of your confidence. But make allowance for me now, and do not judge me harshly. Every moment I seem to hear him crying for me, Monsieur." And her head drooped forward in unspeakable grief.

I could think of nothing, absolutely nothing, to say. I could only mutter hoarsely, "I do not think you either weak or silly, Madame."

This answer, feeble as it appeared to myself, seemed in a sense to relieve her. She put down her paddle, leaned forward upon the front bar, with her face in her hands, and sobbed gently for a few minutes. Then, while I gazed upon her in rapt commiseration, she all at once resumed the paddle briskly.

For my own part, being just lately returned from a long expedition, my muscles were like steel; I felt that I should never weary. Steadily onward we pressed, past the mouths of several small streams whose names I did not know, past headland after headland of red clay or pallid plaster rock. As the tide fell, we were driven far out into the bay, till sometimes there was a mile of oozy red flats parting us from the edge of the green. But as the tide rose again, we accompanied its seething vanguard, till at last we were again close in shore. A breeze soon after mid-day springing up behind us, we made excellent progress. But soon after sunset a mist arose, which made our journey too perilous to be continued. I turned into a narrow cove between high banks, where the brawling of a shallow brook promised us fresh water. And there, in a thicket of young fir trees growing at the foot of a steep bank, I set up the canoe on edge, laid some poles and branches against it, and had a secluded shelter for my lady. She looked at it with a gratified admiration and could never be done with thanking me.

Being now near the Shubenacadie mouth, I durst not light a fire, but we uncomplainingly ate our black bread; and then I said:

"We will start at first gray, comrade. You will need all the sleep you can win. Good night, and kindly dreams."

"Good night, Monsieur," she said softly, and disappeared. Then going down to the water's side, I threw off my clothes, and took a swift plunge which steadied and refreshed me mightily. Swimming in the misty and murmurous darkness, my venture and my strange fellowship seemed more like a dream to me than ever, and I could scarce believe myself awake. But I was awake enough to feel it when, in stumbling ashore, I scraped my foot painfully on a jagged shell. However, that hurt was soon eased and staunched by holding it for a little under the chill gushing of the brook; after which I dressed myself, gathered a handful of ferns for a pillow, and laid myself down across the opening which led into the thicket.

Chapter XIV

My Comrade Shoots Excellently Well

From a medley of dreams, in which I saw Mizpah binding the Black Abbé with cords of her own hair – tight, tighter, till they ate into his flesh, and I trembled at the look of shaking horror in his face; in which then I saw the child chasing butterflies before the door of the Forge in the Forest, and heard Babin's hammer beating musically on his anvil, till the sound became the chiming of the Angelus over the roofs and walls of Quebec, where Mizpah and I walked hand fast together on the topmost bastion, – from such a fleeting and blending confusion as this, I woke to feel a hand laid softly on my face in the dark. I needed no seeing to tell me whose was the hand, so slim, so cool, so softly firm; and I had much ado to keep my lips from reverently kissing it.

"Monsieur, Monsieur," came the whisper, "what is that noise, that voice?"

"Pardon me, comrade, for sleeping so soundly," I murmured, sitting up, and taking her hand in mine with a rough freedom of goodwill, as merely to reassure her. "What is it you hear?"

But before she could reply, I heard it myself, a strange, chanting cry, slow and plangent, from far out upon the water. Presently I caught the words, and knew the voice.

"Woe, woe to Acadie the fair," it came solemnly, "for the day of her desolation draws nigh!"

"It is Grûl," said I, "passing in his canoe, on some strange errand of his."

"Grûl? Who is Grûl?" she questioned, clinging a little to my hand, and then dropping it suddenly.

"A quaint madman of these parts," said I; "and yet I think his madness is in some degree a feigning. He has twice done me inestimable service – once warning us of an immediate peril, and again yesterday, in leading us to the spot where you were held captive. For some reason unknown to me, he has a marvellous kindness for me and mine. But the Black Abbé he hates in deadly fashion – for some ancient and ineffaceable wrong, if the tale tell true."

"And he brought you to us?" she murmured, with a sort of stillness in her voice, which caught me strangely.

"Yes, Grûl did!" said I.

And then there was silence between us, and we heard the mysterious and solemn voice passing, and dying away in the distance. My ears at last being released from the tension of listening, my eyes began to serve me, and through the branches I marked a grayness spreading in the sky.

"We must be stirring, Madame," said I, rising abruptly to my feet. "Let us take our bread down to the brook and eat it there."

But she was already gone, snatching up the sack of bread; and in a few minutes, having righted the canoe and carried it down to a convenient landing-place, I joined her. She was stretched flat beside a little basin of the brook, her cap off, her hair in a tight coil high upon her head, her sleeves pulled up, while she splashed her face and arms in the running coolness. Without pulling down her sleeves or resuming her cap, she seated herself on a stone and held out to me a piece of bread. In the coldly growing dawn her hair and lips were colourless, the whiteness of her arms shadowy and spectral. Then as we slowly made our meal, I bringing water for her in my drinking-horn, the rose and fire and violet of sunrise began to sift down into our valley and show me again the hues of life in Mizpah's face. I sprang up, handed her the woollen cap, and tried hard to keep my eyes from dwelling upon the sweet and gracious curves of her arms.

"Aboard! Aboard!" I cried, and moved off in a bustling fashion to get the paddles. In a few minutes we were under way, thrusting out from the shore, and pushing through myriad little curling wisps of vapour, which rose in pale hues of violet and pink all over the oil-smooth surface of the tide.

For some time we paddled in silence. Then, when the sun's first rays fell fairly upon us, I exclaimed lightly: —

"You must pull down your sleeves, comrade."

"Why?" she asked quickly, turning her head and pausing in her stroke.

"For two excellent reasons besides the captain's orders," said I. "In the first place, your arms will get so sore with sunburn, that you won't be able to do your fair share of the work. In the second place, if we should meet any strangers, it would be difficult to persuade them that those arms were manly enough for a wood-ranger."

"Oh," she said quickly, and pulled down the sleeves in some confusion.

All that morning we made excellent progress, with the help of a light following wind. When the sun was perhaps two hours high, the mouth of the Shubenacadie opened before us; and because this river was the great highway of the Black Abbé's red people, I ran the canoe in shore and concealed it till I had climbed a bluff near by and scanned the lower reaches of the stream. Finding all clear, we put out again, and with the utmost haste paddled past the mouth. Not till we were behind the further point, and running along under the shelter of a high bank, did I breathe freely. Then I praised Mizpah, for in that burst of speed her skill and force had amazed me.

But she turned upon me with the question which I had looked for.

"If that is the Black Abbé's river," said she, with great eyes fixing mine, "and the Indians have gone that way, why do we pass by?"

"I owe you an explanation, comrade," said I. "I think in all likelihood, that way leads straight to your child; but if we went that way, we would be the Abbé's prisoners within the next hour, – and how would we help the child then? Oh, no; I am bound for the Black Abbé's back door. A few leagues beyond this lies the River des Saumons, and on its banks is a settlement of our Acadian folk. Many of them are of the Abbé's following, and all fear him; but I have there two faithful men who are in the counsels of the Forge. One of these dwells some two miles back from the river, half a league this side of the village. I will go to him secretly, and send him on to the Shubenacadie for information. Then we will act not blindly."

To this of course she acquiesced at once, as being the only wise way; but for all that, with each canoe-length that we left the Shubenacadie behind, the more did her paddle lag. The impulse seemed all gone out of her. Soon therefore I bade her lay down the blade and rest. In a little, when she had lain a while with her face upon her arms, – whether waking or not I could not tell, for she kept her face turned away from me, – she became herself again.

No long while after noon, we ran into the mouth of the des Saumons. I was highly elated with the success that had so far attended us, – the speed we had made, our immunity from hindrance and question. We landed to eat our hasty meal, but paused not long to rest, being urged now by the keen spur of imagined nearness to our goal. Some two hours more of brisk paddling brought us to a narrow and winding creek, up which I turned. For some furlongs it ran through a wide marsh, but at length one bank grew high and copsy. Here I put the canoe to land, and stepped ashore, bidding Mizpah keep her place.

Finding the spot to my liking, I pulled the canoe further up on the soft mud, and astonished Mizpah by telling her that I must carry her up the bank.

"But why?" she cried. "I can walk, Monsieur, as well as I could this morning – though I am a little stiff," she added naïvely.

"The good soldier asks not why," said I, with affected severity. "But I will tell you. In case any one should come in my absence, there must be but one track visible, and that track mine, leading up and away toward the settlement. You must lie hidden in that thicket, and keep guard. Do you understand, Madame?"

"Yes," said she, – "but how can you? – I am awfully heavy."

I laughed softly, picked her up as I would a child, and carried her to the edge of the woods, where I let her down on one end of a fallen tree.

"Now, comrade," said I, "if you will go circumspectly along this log you will leave no trace. Hide yourself in the thicket there close to the canoe, keep your pistols primed, and watch till I come back, – and the blessed Virgin guard you!" I added, with a sudden fervour.

Then, having lifted the canoe altogether clear of the water, I set forth at a swinging trot for Martin's farm.

I found my trusty habitant at home, and ready to do any errand of mine ere I could speak it. But when I told him what I wanted of him he started in some excitement.

"Why, Monsieur," he cried, "I have the very tidings you seek. I myself saw a canoe with two Indians pass up the river this morning; and they had a little child with them, – a child with long yellow hair."