A Sister to Evangeline Read online

  Chapter XXXII

  Aboard the “Good Hope”

  Mother Pêche was not alarmed, but, like the shrewd strategist she was,made haste to turn the evil to good account. She summoned a soldier—byexcellent chance that same boyish-faced, tall fellow who had so patlyaided at the embarking; and he with the best will in the world and afluttering in his breast carried Yvonne straight to the captain’s cabin,where he laid her upon the berth. Then, at Mother Pêche’s request, hewent to beg the captain’s presence for an instant in his cabin.

  The ship was now well under way, directed by a pilot who knew the shoalsand bars of Minas. The business of stowing baggage was in the hands ofpetty officers. The captain could be spared for a little; and withoutdoubt the soldier’s manner proclaimed more clearly than words that herewas no affair of a weeping peasant. To such the captain would just nowhave turned a deaf ear, for he had all day been striving to harden hisheart against the sight of sorrows which he could not mitigate. He wasan iron-grey, close-bearded man, this New England captain, with a sternmouth and half-shut, twinkling eyes. Rough toward men, he was gentletoward women, children, and animals. His name was John Stayner; and inMachias, Maine, whence he hailed, he had a motherless daughter ofeighteen, the core of his heart, who was commonly said to rule him asthe moon rules ocean. When John Stayner went to the cabin and saw Yvonnein his berth, her white eyelids just stirring to the first return ofconsciousness, there was small need of Mother Pêche’s explanations. Thegirl’s astonishing loveliness, her gentle breeding, the plain signals ofher distress, all moved him beyond his wont. He straightway saw his owndark-haired Essie in like case—and forthwith, stirred by that finechivalry which only a strong man far past youth can know, he was onYvonne’s side, though all the world should be against her.

  As if their low voices were remote and speaking in a tongue but halfunderstood, Yvonne heard them talking of her—the old woman explainingswiftly, concisely, directly; the New Englander speaking but now andthen a word of comprehension. His warmth reached Yvonne’s heart. Sheopened her great eyes wide, and looked up into the man’s face with atrustful content.

  His own eyes filled in response. To him it was much the look of hisEssie. He touched her hand with his rough fingers, and said hastily,“This cabin is yours, Miss—Mademoiselle de Lamourie, I mean, so long asyou are on this ship. Good-night. I have much to do. Take care of her,”he added, with a sudden tone of authority, turning to Mother Pêche.“To-morrow, when we are clear of these shoals and eddies, we’ll see whatcan be done.”

  And before Yvonne could control her voice or wits to thank him, he wasaway.

  She turned shining eyes upon the old woman.

  “What makes him so kind?” she murmured, still half bewildered. “And whatwill he do?”

  “He is a good man,” said Mother Pêche, with decision. “I believe he willsend us in a boat to the other ship, at the very first chance.”

  Yvonne’s face grew radiant. She was silent with the thought for a fewminutes. Then she glanced about the cabin.

  “How did I come here?” she asked, raising herself on her elbow.

  “This is the captain’s own cabin, _chérie_,” said the old woman, withtriumph in her voice. “And a big, boy-faced red-coat carried you here,at my request, and looked as if he’d like to keep on carrying youforever.”

  “I cannot sleep now, mother!” exclaimed the girl, slipping out of theberth and drawing the woollen cloak about her. “Let us go on deckawhile. Morning will come the more quickly so.”

  “Yes, to be sure. And I would look a last look on Grand Pré, if only onthe flames of its dear roofs,” agreed the old woman, obedientlysmothering a deep yawn. In truth, now that things bade fair to work herwill, she wanted nothing so much as a good sleep. But whatever Yvonnewanted was the chief thing in her eyes. The two went on deck, andhuddled themselves under the lee of the cabin, for there was a bitterwind blowing, and the ship was too far from Grand Pré now to feel theheat of the conflagration. The roaring of it, too, was at this distancediminished to a huge but soft sub-bass, upon which the creaking ofcordage, the whistling of the wind, the slapping of the thin-crestedwaves, built up a sort of bitter, singing harmony which thrilledYvonne’s ears. The whole village was now burning, a wide and terrifyingarc of flame from the Gaspereau banks to the woodland lying towardHabitants. Above it towered the chapel, a fixed serenity amiddestruction. It held Yvonne’s eyes for a while; but soon they turnedaway, to follow the lit sails of the other ship, now fleeting toward thefoot of Blomidon. At last, with a shiver, she said to her sleepycompanion:

  “Come, mother, let us go back into the cabin and sleep, and dream whatmorning may bring to pass.”

  * * * * *

  That of all which morning should bring to pass nothing might be missed,Yvonne was up and out on deck at the earliest biting daylight. She foundthe ship already well past Blomidon, the vale of desolation quite shutfrom view. To west and north the sky was clear, of a hard, steelypallor. The wind was light, but enough to control the dense smoke whichstill choked the greater half of the heavens. It lay banked, as it were,sluggishly and blackly revolving itself along the wooded ridge that runssouthward from Blomidon. Straight ahead, across a wintry reach of sea,sped the other ship, with all sail set. It seemed to Yvonne’s eyes thatshe was much farther ahead than the night before, and sailing with adreadful swiftness.

  “Oh, we can never catch up!” she cried, pressing one hand to her sideand throwing back her head with a half-despairing gesture.

  Mother Pêche, who had just come on deck, looked troubled. “We docertainly seem to be no nearer,” she agreed reluctantly.

  At this moment the captain came up, smiling kindly. He took Yvonne’shand.

  “I hope you have slept, mademoiselle, and are feeling better,” he said.

  “Yes, monsieur, thanks to your great kindness,” answered Yvonne, tryingto smile, “but is not the other ship getting very far ahead? She seemsto sail much faster than we do.”

  “On the contrary, my dear young lady,” said John Stayner, “the ‘GoodHope’ is much the faster ship of the two. We shall overhaul them, withthis breeze, one hour before noon.”

  “Will we?” cried Yvonne, with other questions crowding into her eyes andvoice.

  The stern mouth smiled with understanding kindness.

  “If we do not, I promise you I will signal them to wait,” said he. “Ifind three families on this ship whose men-folk are on the other. It wasgreat carelessness on some one’s part. I will send them in the boat withyou, mademoiselle,—and gather in as many blessings as I can out of thiswhole accursed business.”

  “As long as I live, monsieur, there will be one woman at least everblessing you and praying for your happiness.” And suddenly seizing hishand in both of hers Yvonne pressed it to her lips.

  A look of boyish embarrassment came over his weather-beaten face.

  “Don’t do that, child!” he stammered. Then, looking with a quizzicalinterest at the spot she had kissed, he went on: “This old hand issomething rough and tarry for a woman’s lips. But do you know, now, Ikind of think more of it, rough as it is, than I ever did before. Ifever, child, you should want a friend in that country of ours you’regoing to, remember that Captain John Stayner, of Machias, Maine, is atyour call.”

  To escape thanks he strode off abruptly, with a loud order on his lips.

  Easy in her mind, Mother Pêche went back to capture a little more sleep,Yvonne’s restlessness having roused her too early. As for Yvonne, shenever knew quite how that morning, up to the magical period of “one hourbefore noon,” managed to drag its unending minutes through. It isprobable that she ate some pretence of a breakfast; but her memory, atleast, retained no record of it. All she remembered was that she sathuddled in her cloak, or paced up and down the deck and talked of sheknew not what to the kind Captain John Stayner, and watched the space ofsea between the ships slowly—slow
ly—slowly diminish.

  For diminish it did. That marvel, as it seemed to her, actually tookplace—as even the watched pot will boil at last, if the fire be keptburning. While it yet wanted more than an hour of noon, the two shipscame near abreast; and at an imperative hail from the “Good Hope” herconsort hove to. A boat was quickly lowered away. Four sailors took theoars. Two women surrounded by children of all sizes were swung down intoit; then the gratefully ejaculating old mother of Petit Joliet, thetear-stains of a sleepless night still salty in the wrinkles of hersmiles; then Mother Pêche, serene in the sense of an astonishing goodfortune for those she loved; last of all, Yvonne—she went last, forself-discipline.

  As Captain John Stayner moved to hand her over the side, she turned andlooked him in the eyes. The words she wanted to say simply would notcome—or she dared not trust her voice; but the radiance of her look hecarried in his heart through after-years. A minute more, and the boatdropped astern; and Yvonne’s eyes were all for the other ship. ButMother Pêche looked back; and she saw, leaning hungrily over thetaffrail of the “Good Hope,” the long form of the boy-faced soldier whohad twice carried Yvonne in his fortunate arms.