The Span o' Life: A Tale of Louisbourg & QuebecMcIlwraith, Jean N. (Jean Newton)
History
The Span o' Life: A Tale of Louisbourg & Quebec
McIlwraith, Jean N. (Jean Newton)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Fiction
She, poor thing, had not recovered her full mental condition with
her strength, and was possessed of an idea that Christopher was at
Quebec, and that she should be on her way there to meet him. This
idea I did my utmost to dissipate, but M. de Sarennes, possibly to
quiet or please her, had let fall something which she had taken as
an assurance that the English troops were there, and her son with
them, and however successfully I might persuade her at the moment
of the truth, she would as regularly come back to her delusion when
alone.
Distressing as this was as an indication of her condition, it was
the more disturbing to me as it was the last blow to my hopes for
Louisbourg. It would be sheer madness to trust myself to M. de
Sarennes without her protection; a protection which had vanished
now, in the complete ascendency he had gained over her by his ready
acquiescence in her imaginings, and I could not but feel he was
skilfully withdrawing her affections from me.
However, he was called away to his post so suddenly that I was
spared the difficulty of a decision, and I had almost determined
that I would go on to Quebec and place myself under the care of M.
de Montcalm, when, towards the end of May, he returned, unexpected
by any of us, even by his mother, who, it was patent, was much
disturbed; but her unwavering belief in his superior judgment kept
her silent. "He is my son, and knows his duty better than we," was
her only reply to Angelique's questionings at any time, and it did
not fail her now. It was touching to mark her effort to carry things
off, to cover his preoccupation, and, distraught though he was, he
remitted nothing of his attentions towards her, and so each comforted
and shielded the other. I felt like an intruder, and when Angelique
proposed a visit to the porpoise-fishery for the afternoon, I
eagerly accepted the chance of escape.
We wandered off towards the beach, and by it made our way round to
the great bay where the porpoise-fishing once took place.
"Look at the bones of the old days, and you can imagine what it
meant to us," said Angelique, pointing to the line of great ribs,
and skulls, and skeletons which made a grotesque barrier to the
highest tides, almost completely round the wide semicircle of the
bay. "We fought for this many a long year, both with men and at
law, and now, alas, we have neither men nor law to work it for us.
The porpoise can swim in and out of the broken park unharmed. There,
just as that fellow is doing now I Look at him!" As she spoke, a
huge white mass rose slowly above the water within the bounds of
the fishery, and then came forward with a rush in pursuit of the
smelts and capelans, shooting up showers of spray, which broke into
rainbows in the brilliant sunlight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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