Roger Davis, Loyalist Part 10

Chapter XIII

The Governor's Peril

Several years had slipped away since the day of our arrival at our new home on the St. John, when, one day, I was standing watching the mail boat making her way slowly up the river.

Wonderful changes had taken place in the years since our coming. On both sides of the river, far as the eye could range from the door of our home, running from the water's edge away up into the dark, green timber, stretched the smooth, fertile fields. The log houses had given place to stately frame buildings. The request for a new province north of the bay, to be called New Brunswick, in spite of strong opposition from Halifax, had been granted by the Imperial Government and a governor sent out.

As the vessel drew toward the sh.o.r.e where I stood, I was surprised to make out the figure of Duncan Hale on her deck. I had not expected him. 'I came,' he was explaining a little later, 'to tell you that the new governor--Colonel Carleton--is to visit you. He has been overworked attending to the details of numerous grants, and wishes a holiday and fis.h.i.+ng trip--a general rest before the elections and the meeting of the House.'

'The elections,' I said. 'What elections?'

'Didn't you hear there was to be an a.s.sembly for the province, chosen by the people, in addition to the Council appointed by the King?'

'No,' I said. 'Are we to have representatives--a parliament?'

'That is part of the new const.i.tution granted by the King. It is the intention of the Imperial Government to make New Brunswick one of the freest countries in the world.'

We were walking up the green slope from the river to the house. Duncan broke off. 'What a herd of cattle,' he said, 'and such magnificent fields!--and the house! Roger, is it possible that this is your house?

I had heard of it, but had no idea it was so fine.'

Duncan was greeted with warm cordiality by my mother and my sisters, now both young women. But it was difficult for me to long refrain from telling the news I had heard. 'Mother, think of this--the new governor--Colonel Carleton--is coming up to see us, and to go hunting and fis.h.i.+ng.'

'The new governor!'

'Yes, the governor. He'll be here to-morrow or next day.'

Elizabeth clapped her hands gleefully.

'The governor!' she exclaimed; 'a soldier, a fine gentleman just from England, like those in books.'

From my own farm a little later I wandered with Duncan to where David Elton worked in his field.

'Better off?' David said in answer to Duncan's question; 'of course I'm better off than I ever could have been in New England. I'll confess I thought it hard to be driven away as I was; but the lan' was poor an'

rocky there. There was no prospect. There I had twenty acres; here I've two hundred. Then look at my stock, my lumber property, my marsh, my frame house here. He knows,' he said, pointing to me, 'the kin' of shanty I was living in, and would have died in, yonder. This is a better country. The war was the best thing that ever happened us. Let them have their rocky, poverty-stricken lan'; and to think of them now pa.s.sin' laws that we'll be hanged "without benefit of clergy;" them are the words, aren't they? if we dare to go back. Go back,--back there!'

He gave a loud, shrill laugh.

'I wouldn't go back if they made me president; an' I'd rather'--this dropping his voice to a reverent pitch--'I'd rather see any child in my family under the ground than under the new American flag. That,' he said, pointing to a Union Jack that flew from the top of a staff on his largest barn, 'that's the flag for me.'

I saw the colour come up into Duncan's old face. 'Well said,' he exclaimed; 'well and n.o.bly spoken.' Then turning to me as we walked away, 'Are there many like that on the river?'

'We're all like that,' I said. 'Why shouldn't we be? David is just one of thousands.'

'It will be a right loyal representative you'll be sending to the new parliament from here then, won't it? Who is likely to be chosen?'

But my mind was on preparations for the coming of the governor.

'Wouldn't it be well to have the people gathered here to give the governor a reception when he lands?'

''Twould be capital, capital,' Duncan a.s.sented eagerly. 'He's not coming officially, but he'd be immensely pleased. Isn't the time too short, though?' he added.

'David would go for Father Bourg and the Indians--they're only a few miles up--I could see the French at Sainte Ann's; the people about here will come in swarms--at a word. It can be done,' I said.

Three days later the sh.o.r.e of the river in front of our home was lined for a full half-mile with a strangely mixed crowd of expectant people.

The governor's vessel was in full view on the river--and coming slowly up. Father Bourg was there with a group of Indians; there were many French from Sainte Ann's; the Loyalists were present from the surrounding country in hundreds.

As the governor stepped ash.o.r.e, a mighty cheer went up that seemed to set the very bed of the river quivering. The people saw in this representative, the King they loved, and for whom they had sacrificed.

After a loyal address, a reply, and much good humour on all sides, the people dispersed.

With the governor had come Colonel Francklin and Doctor Canfield. They had tents and provisions sufficient for two weeks in the woods, and it was arranged that Duncan Hale, myself and two Indian guides should accompany them across the country by portage some twenty miles into the very heart of the forest, to a trout stream that ran at a sharp angle to the river, emptying into it some ten miles below. Our plan was to strike the stream about thirty miles from its mouth, and fish down to the main St. John. But not all plans are carried out.

We reached the stream in safety, and I sent the team back to the settlement. It was late June, and the whole forest seemed to throb with life. The governor was delighted. He was a lover of the woods, and insisted upon taking long rambles back from the stream, following the winding, logging roads. It was owing to one of these rambles that our original plan was not carried out.

It was our fourth day in the woods. We were camped some five miles below the point where we had reached the stream. A little after noon, the governor, having fished for some time, left us, and wandered into the forest. The middle of the afternoon, then evening, then dusk came--and pa.s.sed,--and he did not return.

'I cautioned him,' I heard Colonel Francklin say to Doctor Canfield; 'telling him the woods were deceptive, also that there were many beasts of prey.'

He had scarcely spoken, when down over the forest, low but clear, came a long, wailing sound as of a spirit in distress. Instantly I saw Emile and Louis, our Indian guides, who bore the French baptismal names given them by Father Bourg, start, and hastily make the sign of the cross before their foreheads. A great fear overspread their faces; they trembled and went pale. And then there flashed into my mind the tales I had heard from the old inhabitants on the river, of the dread Loup-garou, or Indian devil as many called it. The low, clear, sound; its paralysing effect on the Indians; the time of day--just as evening was shading into night--the rise and fall of the long, fear-filling, distant wail; all these were exactly as described to me more than once by Father Bourg and others who knew the remoter woods of the province.

In the silence that followed the long-drawn cry, a feeling of chill fear crept over me. The Loup-garou, was the one wild beast of all the woods that unnerved the Indian. For him it was more evil spirit than beast. It went, according to the belief, through the tree tops like lightning: it seemed to come and go on the wind; from it there was no escape; the giant moose, the bear, the deer, in one case a farmer and his team of oxen far in the woods--I had heard the story told and retold on the river--all had been fallen upon and eaten in a single hour.

The memory of these tales was far from comforting. The governor was lost in the woods. Colonel Francklin, Doctor Canfield and Duncan Hale were as ignorant of the forest as children. The Indians, my only hope, stood terrified. What was I to do?

At that moment, distant at first, then swelling louder and nearer, down through the trees now swaying in the gentle evening breeze, clear, weird, paralysing, there came again, the long-drawn, dreadful sound.

There was no mistaking it; it was the Loup-garou.

Both Indians dropped on their knees, and turned their faces up to the stars. The sound came at intervals seven times; then it grew faint in the east, and we heard it no more.

Far into the night we fired off guns, shouted and kept torches burning on tree tops. But the governor did not come. Had the fierce Loup-garou, that dread, strange blend of panther, wolf, and devil, fallen upon him?

A keen feeling of responsibility pressed heavily upon me. In a sense the governor was my guest. He had come to this particular part of the forest at my suggestion. I knew what it would mean in Britain, I understood the derision that would be provoked in the United States, I felt how our new province would suffer, when it went abroad that our first governor had been eaten by a strange, half-devil fiend of the forest. And yet what was to be done?

The next day Emile and Louis were silent, morose and fearful; they could not be induced to go more than a few rods from the tent. They spent most of the time praying. All our efforts to trace out and bring back our distinguished fellow-sportsman proved unavailing.

When afternoon came, I made a proposal. 'You remain here,' I said, addressing Colonel Francklin, Doctor Canfield and Duncan Hale, 'and I will go up the stream and call out the portage for a.s.sistance. Father Bourg and David Elton both know the woods. I shall get them to organise searching parties, so that we may scour the country. The governor must be found.'

'Very well,' Colonel Francklin said; then, after some further consulting, I was off.

On my arrival on the river, I first told Father Bourg of the governor being lost; then I referred to the strange sound, and to the action of Emile and Louis, and ended by saying I supposed we could look for no help from the Indians in the search. But the man who had won the Indians from Was.h.i.+ngton seven years before, who had kept them faithful to the King ever since, had power still.

'Wait,' he said.

He called the chiefs about him. He explained the situation of the governor, and commanded the Indians to go and find him. 'As for the Loup-garou,'--raising his voice and speaking with great energy, 'in the name of the Great Spirit I p.r.o.nounce a curse upon him until the governor be found, and do now declare that during all the search he shall be powerless to hurt you.'

A great shout rose from the Indians. Then I hurried away.

Two days later there were fully three thousand men in the woods. The news of what had happened had run far up and far down the great river.

The King's representative was lost in the woods, the wail of the Loup-garou had been heard. The whole province was stirred to unity in a common hope, and in a common fear. The hearts of French, of Indians, of Loyalists, of old and new inhabitants beat as one from the beginning of the great search.

On the fifth day after leaving the stream I was back again at our tent.

I first met Duncan Hale. He was pale and anxious-looking. 'There is no word yet,' he said.