Mrs. William T. Savage - Adele Dubois
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Mrs. William T. Savage >> Adele Dubois
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13 ADELE DUBOIS:
A Story
OF THE
LOVELY MIRAMICHI VALLEY,
IN
NEW BRUNSWICK.
LORING, Publisher,
319 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
A.K. LORING,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
ROCKWELL & ROLLINS,
PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS, 122 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON.
CHAPTER I.
THE DUBOIS HOUSE.
"Well, verily, I didn't expect to find anything like this, in such a
wild region", said Mr. Norton, as he settled himself comfortably in a
curiously carved, old-fashioned arm-chair, before the fire that blazed
cheerily on the broad hearth of the Dubois House. "'Tis not a Yankee
family either", added he, mentally. "Everything agreeable and tidy,
but it looks unlike home. It is an Elim in the desert! Goodly
palmtrees and abundant water! O! why", he exclaimed aloud, in an
impatient tone, as if chiding himself, "should I ever distrust the
goodness of the Lord?"
The firelight, playing over his honest face, revealed eyes moistened
with the gratitude welling up in his heart. He sat a few minutes
gazing at the glowing logs, and then his eyelids closed in the blessed
calm of sleep. Weary traveller! He has well earned repose.
There will not be time, during his brief nap, to tell who and what he
was, and why he had come to sojourn far away from home and friends.
But let the curtain be drawn back for a moment, to reveal a glimpse of
that strange, questionable country over which he has been wandering
for the last few months, doing hard service.
Miramichi,[A] a name unfamiliar, perhaps, to those who may chance to
read these pages, is the designation of a fertile, though partially
cultivated portion of the important province of New Brunswick,
belonging to the British Crown. The name, by no means uneuphonious, is
yet suggestive of associations far from attractive. The Miramichi
River, which gives title to this region, has its rise near the centre
of the province, and flowing eastward empties into the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, with Chatham, a town of considerable importance, located at
its mouth.
[Footnote A: Pronounced _Mir'imishee_.]
The land had originally been settled by English, Scotch, and Irish,
whose business consisted mostly of fishing and lumbering. These
occupations, pursued in a wayward and lawless manner, had not exerted
on them an elevating or refining influence, and the character of the
people had degenerated from year to year. From the remoteness and
obscurity of the country, it had become a convenient hiding-place for
the outlaw and the criminal, and its surface was sprinkled over with
the refuse and offscouring of the New England States and the Province.
With a few rare exceptions, it was a realm of almost heathenish
darkness and vice. Such Mr. Norton found it, when, with heart full of
compassion and benevolence, thirty-five years ago, he came to bear
the message of heavenly love and forgiveness to these dwellers in
death shade.
The Dubois House, where Mr. Norton had found shelter for the night,
was situated on the northern bank of the river, about sixty miles west
from Chatham. It was a respectable looking, two story building, with
large barns adjacent. Standing on a graceful bend of the broad stream,
it commanded river views, several miles in extent, in two directions,
with a nearer prospect around, consisting of reaches of tall forest,
interspersed with occasional openings, made by the rude settlers.
Being the only dwelling in the neighborhood sufficiently commodious
for the purpose, its occupants, making a virtue of necessity, were in
the habit of entertaining occasional travellers who happened to visit
the region.
But, softly,--Mr. Norton has wakened. He was just beginning to dream
of home and its dear delights, when a door-latch was lifted, and a
young girl entering, began to make preparations for supper. She moved
quickly towards the fire, and with a pair of iron tongs, deftly raided
the ponderous cover of the Dutch oven, hanging over the blaze. The
wheaten rolls it contained were nearly baked, and emitted a fragrant
and appetizing odor.
She refitted the cover, and then opening a closet, took from it a
lacquered Chinese tea-caddy and a silver urn, and proceeded to arrange
the tea-table.
Mr. Norton, observing her attentively with his keen, gray eyes, asked,
"How long has your father lived in this place, my child?"
The maiden paused in her employment, and glancing at the broad,
stalwart form and shrewd yet honest face of the questioner, replied,
"Nearly twenty years, sir".
Mr. Norton's quick ear immediately detected, in her words a delicate,
foreign accent, quite unfamiliar to him. After a moment's silence he
spoke again.
"Dubois,--that is your name, is it not? A French name?"
"Yes, sir, my parents are natives of France".
"Ah! indeed!" responded Mr. Norton, and the family in which he found
himself was immediately invested with new interest in his eyes.
"Where is your father at the present time, my dear child?"
"He is away at Fredericton. He has gone to obtain family supplies. I
hope he is not obliged to be out this stormy night, but I fear he is".
She made the sign of the cross on her breast and glanced upward.
Mr. Norton observed the movement, and at the same time saw, what had
before escaped his notice, a string of glittering, black beads upon
her neck, with a black cross, half hidden by the folds in the waist of
her dress. It was an instant revelation to hint of the faith in which
she had been trained. He fell into a fit of musing.
In the mean time, Adele Dubois completed her preparations for the
tea-table,--not one of her accustomed duties, but one which she
sometimes took a fancy to perform.
She was sixteen years old,--tall already, and rapidly growing taller,
with a figure neither large, nor slender. Her complexion was pure
white, scarcely tinged with rose; her eyes were large and brown, now
shooting out a bright, joyous light, then veiled in dreamy shadows. A
rich mass of dark hair was divided into braids, gracefully looped up
around her head. Her dress was composed of a plain red material of
wool. Her only ornaments were the rosary and cross on her neck.
A mulatto girl now appeared from the adjoining kitchen and placed upon
the table a dish of cold, sliced chicken, boiled eggs and pickles,
together with the steaming wheaten rolls from the Dutch oven.
Adele having put some tea in the urn, poured boiling water upon it and
left the room.
Returning in a few minutes, accompanied by her mother and Mrs. McNab,
they soon drew up around the tea-table.
When seated, Mrs. Dubois and Adele made the sign of the cross and
closed their eyes. Mrs. McNab, glancing at them deprecatingly for a
moment, at length fixed her gaze on Mr. Norton. He also closed his
eyes and asked a mute blessing upon the food.
Mrs. Dubois was endowed with delicate features, a soft, Madonna like
expression of countenance, elegance of movement and a quiet, yet
gracious manner. Attentive to those around the board, she said but
little. Occasionally, she listened in abstracted mood to the beating
storm without.
Mrs. McNab, a middle-aged Scotch woman, with a short, square, ample
form, filled up a large portion of the side of the table she
occupied. Her coarse-featured, heavy fare, surrounded by a broad,
muslin cap frill, that nearly covered her harsh yellow hair, was
lighted up by a pair of small gray eyes, expressing a mixture of
cunning and curiosity. Her rubicund visage, gaudy-colored chintz
dress, and yellow bandanna handkerchief, produced a sort of glaring
sun-flower effect, not mitigated by the contrast afforded by the other
members of the group.
"Madam", said Mr. Norton to Mrs. Dubois, on seeing her glance
anxiously at the windows, as the wild, equinoctial gale caused them to
clatter violently, "do you fear that your husband is exposed to any
particular danger at this time?"
"No special danger. But it is a lawless country. The night is dark and
the storm is loud. I wish he were safely at home", replied the lady.
"Your solicitude is not strange. But you may trust him with the Lord.
Under His protection, not a hair of his head can be touched".
Before Mrs. Dubois had time to reply, Mrs. McNab, looking rather
fiercely at Mr. Norton, said, "Yer dinna suppose, sir, if the Lord had
decreed from all eternity that Mr. Doobyce should be drowned, or
rabbed, or murdered to-night, that our prayin' an' trustin' wad cause
Him to revoorse His foreordained purpose? Adely", she continued, "I
dinna mind if I take anither egg an' a trifle more o' chicken an' some
pickle".
By no means taken aback by this pointed inquiry, Mr. Norton replied
very gently, "I believe, ma'am, in the power of prayer to move the
Almighty throne, when it comes from a sincere and humble heart, and
that He will bestow His blessing in return".
"Weel", said Mrs. McNab, "I was brought up in the church o' Scotland,
and dinna believe anything anent this new-light doctrine o' God's
bein' turned roun' an' givin' up his decrees an' a'that. I think it's
the ward o' Satan", and she passed her cup to be again refilled with
tea.
Adele, who had noticed that Mrs. McNab's observations had suggested
new solicitudes to her mother's mind, remarked, "What you said just
now, Aunt Patty, is not very consoling. Whoever thought that my father
would meet with anything worse than perhaps being drenched by the
storm, and half eaten up with vermin in the dirty inns where he will
have to lodge? I do not doubt he will be home in good time".
"Yes, Miss Adely, yes. I ken it", said Aunt Patty, as she saw a firm,
defiant expression gathering in the young girl's countenance. "I'd a
dream anent him last night that makes me think he's comin".
"Hark!" said Adele, starting and speaking in a clear, ringing tone,
"he has come. I hear his voice on the lawn".
Murmuring a word or two of excuse, she rose instantly from the table,
requested Bess, the servant, to hand her a lantern, and arrayed
herself quickly in hood and cloak.
As she opened the door, her father was standing on the step, in the
driving rain, supporting in his arms the form of a gentleman, who
seemed to be almost in a state of insensibility.
"Make way! make way, Adele. Here's a sick man. Throw some blankets on
the floor, and come, all hands, and rub him. My dear, order something
warm for him to drink".
Mrs. Dubois caught a pile of bedding from a neighboring closet and
arranged it upon the floor, near the fire. Mr. Dubois laid the
stranger down upon it. Mr. Norton immediately rose from the tea-table,
drew off the boots of the fainting man, and began to chafe his feet
with his warm, broad hand.
"Put a dash of cold water on his face, child", said he to Adele, "and
he'll come to, in a minute". Adele obeyed.
The stranger opened his eyes suddenly and looked around in
astonishment upon the group.
"Ah! yes. I see", he said, "I have been faint, or something of the
kind. I believe I am not quite well".
He attempted to rise, but sank back, powerless. He turned his head
slowly towards Mr. Dubois, and said, "Friend Dubois, I think I am
going to be ill, and must trust myself to your compassion", when
immediately his eyes closed and his countenance assumed the paleness
of death.
"Don't be down-hearted, Mr. Brown", said Mr. Dubois. "You are not used
to this Miramichi staging. You'll be better by and by. My dear, give
me the cordial,--he needs stimulating".
He took a cup of French brandy, mixed with sugar and boiling water,
from the hand of Mrs. Dubois, and administered it slowly to the
exhausted man. It seemed to have a quieting effect, and after awhile
Mr. Brown sank into a disturbed slumber.
Observing this, and finding that his limbs, which had been cold and
benumbed, were now thoroughly warmed, Mr. Dubois rose from his
kneeling position and turning to his daughter, said, "Now then, Adele,
take the lantern and go with me to the stables. I must see for myself
that the horses are properly cared for. They are both tired and
famished".
Adele caught up the lantern, but Mr. Norton interposed. "Allow me,
sir, to assist you", he said, rising quickly. "It will expose the
young lady to go out in the storm. Let me go, sir".
He approached Adele to take the lantern from her hand, but she drew
back and held it fast.
"I don't mind weather, sir", she said, with a little sniff of contempt
at the thought. "And my father usually prefers my attendance. I thank
you. Will you please stay with the sick gentleman?"
Mr. Norton bowed, smiled, and reseated himself near the invalid.
In the mean time, Mr. Dubois and his daughter went through the rain to
the stables; his wife replenished the tea-urn and began to rearrange
the table.
Mrs. McNab, during the scene that had thus unexpectedly occurred, had
been waddling from one part of the room to the other, exclaiming,
"The Lord be gude to us!" Her presence, however, seemed for the time
to be ignored.
When she heard the gentle movements made by Mrs. Dubois among the
dishes, her dream seemed suddenly to fade out of view. Seating herself
again at the table, she diligently pursued the task of finishing her
supper, yet ever and anon examining the prostrate form upon the floor.
"Peradventure he's a mon fra' the States. His claithes look pretty
nice. As a gen'al thing them people fra' the States hae plenty o'
plack in their pockets. What do you think, sir?"
"He is undoubtedly a gentleman from New England", said Mr. Norton.
CHAPTER II.
MRS. M'NAB.
Mrs. McNab was a native of Dumfries, Scotland, and had made her advent
in the Miramichi country about five years previous to the occurrences
just mentioned.
Having buried her husband, mother, and two children,--hoping that
change of scene might lighten the weight upon her spirits, she had
concluded to emigrate with some intimate acquaintances to the Province
of New Brunswick.
On first reaching the settlement, she had spent several weeks at the
Dubois House, where she set immediately at work to prove her
accomplishments, by assisting in making up dresses for Mrs. Dubois and
Adele.
She entertained them with accounts of her former life in
Scotland,--talking largely about her acquaintance with the family of
Lord Lindsay, in which she had served in the capacity of nurse. She
described the castle in which they resided, the furniture, the
servants, and the grand company; and, more than all, she knew or
pretended to know the traditions, legends, and ghost stories
connected, for many generations past, with the Lindsay race.
She talked untiringly of these matters to the neighbors, exciting
their interest and wonder by the new phases of life presented, and
furnishing food for the superstitious tendencies always rife in new
and ignorant settlements. In short, by these means, she won her way
gradually in the community, until she came to be the general factotum.
It was noticed, indeed, that in the annual round of her visits from
house to house, Mrs. McNab had a peculiar faculty of securing to
herself the various material comforts available, having an excellent
appetite and a genius for appropriating the warmest seat at the
fireplace and any other little luxury a-going. These things were,
however, overlooked, especially by the women of the region, on account
of her social qualities, she being an invaluable companion during the
long days and evenings when their husbands and sons were away, engaged
in lumbering or fishing. When the family with which she happened to be
sojourning were engaged in domestic occupations, Mrs. McNab,
established in some cosey corner, told her old wife stories and whiled
away the long and dismal wintry hours.
Of all the people among whom she moved, Adele Dubois least exercised
the grace of patience toward her.
On the return of Mr. Dubois and his daughter to the house, after
having seen the horses safely stowed away, he refreshed himself at the
tea-table and left the room to attend to necessary business. Mrs.
Dubois and Mrs. McNab went to fit up an apartment for the stranger.
In the mean time Mr. Norton and Adele were left with the invalid.
Mr. Brown's face had lost its pallid hue and was now overspread with
the fiery glow of fever. He grew more and more restless in his sleep,
until at length he opened his eyes wide and began to talk deliriously.
At the first sound of his voice, Adele started from her seat,
expecting to hear some request from his lips.
Gazing at her wildly for a moment, he exclaimed, "What, _you_ here,
Agnes! you, travelling in this horrible wilderness! Where's your
husband? Where's John, the brave boy? Don't bring them here to taunt
me. Go away! Don't look at me!"
With an expression of terror on his countenance, he sank back upon the
pillow and closed his eyes. Mr. Norton knelt down by the couch and
made slow, soothing motions with his hand upon the hot and fevered
head, until the sick man sank again into slumber. Seeing this, Adele,
who had been standing in mute bewilderment, came softly near and
whispered, "He has been doing something wrong, has he not, sir?"
"I hope not", said the good man, "He is not himself now, and is not
aware what he is saying. His fever causes his mind to wander".
"Yes, sir. But I think he is unhappy beside being sick. That sigh was
_so_ sorrowful!"
"It was sad enough", said Mr. Norton. After a pause, he continued, "I
will stay by his bed and take care of him to-night".
"Ah! will you, sir?" said Adele. "That is kind, but Aunt Patty, I
know, will insist on taking charge of him. She thinks it her right to
take care of all the sick people. But I don't wish her to stay with
this gentleman to-night. If he talks again as he did just now, she
will tell it all over the neighborhood".
At that moment, the door opened, and Mrs. McNab came waddling in,
followed by Mr. and Mrs. Dubois.
"Now, Mr. Doobyce", said she, "if you and this pusson will just carry
the patient up stairs, and place him on the bed, that's a' ye need do.
I'll tak' care o' him".
"Permit me the privilege of watching by the gentleman's bed to-night",
said Mr. Norton, turning to Mr. Dubois.
"By no means, sir", said his host; "you have had a long ride through
the forest to-day and must be tired. Aunt Patty here prefers to take
charge of him".
"Sir", said Mr. Norton, "I observed awhile ago, that his mind was
quite wandering. He is greatly excited by fever, but I succeeded in
quieting him once and perhaps may be able to do so again".
Here Mrs. McNab interposed in tones somewhat loud and irate.
"That's the way pussons fra' your country always talk. They think they
can do everything better'n anybody else. What can a mon do at nussin',
I wad ken?"
"Mr. Norton will nurse him well, I know. Let him take care of the
gentleman, father", said Adele.
"Hush, my dear", said Mr. Dubois, decidedly, "it is proper that Mrs.
McNab take charge of Mr. Brown to-night".
Adele made no reply, and only showed her vexation by casting a defiant
look on the redoubtable aunt Patty, whose face was overspread with a
grin of satisfaction at having carried her point.
Mr. Norton, of course, did not press his proposal farther, but
consoled himself with the thought, that some future opportunity might
occur, enabling him to fulfil his benevolent intentions.
A quieting powder was administered and Mrs. McNab established herself
beside the fire that had been kindled in Mr. Brown's apartment.
After having indicated to Mr. Norton the bedroom he was to occupy for
the night, the family retired, leaving him the only inmate of the
room.
As he sat and watched the dying embers, he fell into a reverie
concerning the events of the evening. His musings were of a somewhat
perplexed nature. He was at a loss to account for the appearance of a
gentleman, bearing unmistakable marks of refinement and wealth, as did
Mr. Brown, under such circumstances, and in such a region as
Miramichi. The words he had uttered in his delirium, added to the
mystery. He was also puzzled about the family of Dubois. How came
people of such culture and superiority in this dark portion of the
earth? How strange, that they had lived here so many years, without
assimilating to the common herd around them.
Thus his mind, excited by what had recently occurred, wandered on,
until at length his thoughts fell into their accustomed
channel,--dwelling on his own mission to this benighted land, and
framing various schemes by which he might accomplish the object so
dear to his heart.
In the mean time, having turned his face partially aside from the
fire, he was watching unconsciously the fitful gleaming of a light
cast on the opposite wall by the occasional flaring up of a tongue of
flame from the dying embers.
Suddenly he heard a deep, whirring sound as if the springs of some
complicated machinery had just then been set in motion.
Looking around to find whence the noise proceeded, he was rather
startled on observing in the wall, in one corner, just under the
ceiling, a tiny door fly open, and emerging thence a grotesque,
miniature man, holding, uplifted in his hand, a hammer of size
proportionate to his own figure. Mr. Norton sat motionless, while this
small specimen proceeded, with a jerky gait and many bobbing grimaces,
across a wire stretched to the opposite corner of the room, where
stood a tall, ebony clock. When within a short distance of the clock
another tiny door in its side flew open; the little man entered and
struck deliberately with the hammer the hour of midnight. Near the top
of the dial-plate was seen from without the regular uplifting of the
little arm, applying its stroke to the bell within. Having performed
his duty, this personage jerked out of the clock, the tiny door
closing behind him, bobbed and jerked along the wire as before, and
disappeared at the door in the wall, which also immediately closed
after his exit.
Having witnessed the whole manoeuvre with comic wonder and curiosity,
Mr. Norton burst into a loud and hearty peal of laughter, that was
still resounding in the room when he became suddenly aware of the
presence of Mrs. McNab. There she stood in the centre of the
apartment, her firm, square figure apparently rooted to the floor, her
head enveloped in innumerable folds of white cotton, a tower of
strength and defiance.
Her unexpected appearance changed in a moment the mood of the good
man, and he inquired anxiously, "Is the gentleman more ill? Can I
assist you?"
"He's just this minnut closed his eyes to sleep, and naw I expect he's
wide awake again, with the dreadfu' racket you were just a makin' O!
my! wadna you hae made a good nuss?"
Mr. Norton truly grieved at his inadvertency in disturbing the
household at this late hour of the night, begged pardon, and told Mrs.
McNab he would not be guilty of a like offence.
"How has the gentleman been during the evening?" he asked.
"O! he's been ravin' crazy a'maist, and obstacled everything I've done
for him. He's a very sick pusson naw. I cam' down to get a bottle of
muddeson", and Mrs. McNab went to a closet and took from it the
identical bottle of brandy from which Mrs. Dubois had poured when
preparing the stimulating dose for the invalid. Mr. Norton observed
this performance with a twinkle of the eye, but making no comment, the
worthy woman retired from the room.
That night Mr. Norton slept indifferently, being disturbed by exciting
and bewildering dreams. In his slumbers he saw an immense cathedral,
lighted only by what seemed some great conflagration without, which,
glaring in, with horrid, crimson hue upon the pictured walls, gave the
place the strange, lurid aspect of Pandemonium. The effect was
heightened by the appearance of thousands of small, grotesque beings,
all bearing more or less resemblance to the little man of the clock,
who were flying and bobbing, jerking and grinning through the air,
beneath the great vault, as if madly revelling in the scene. Yet the
good man all the while had a vague sense of some awful, impending
calamity, which increased as he wandered around in great perplexity,
exploring the countenances of the various groups scattered over the
place.
Once he stumbled over a dead body and found it the corpse of the
invalid in the room above. He seemed to himself to be lifting it
carefully, when a lady, fair and stately, in rich, sweeping garments,
took the burden from his arms, and, sinking with it on the floor,
kissed it tenderly and then bent over it with a look of intense
sorrow.
Farther on he saw Mr. and Mrs. Dubois, with Adele, kneeling
imploringly, with terror-stricken faces, before a representation of
the Virgin Mary and her divine boy. Then the glare of light in the
building increased. Rushing to the entrance to look for the cause of
it, he there met Mrs. McNab coming towards him with a wild, disordered
countenance,--her white cotton headgear floating out like a banner to
the breeze,--shaking a brandy bottle in the faces of all she met. He
gained the door and found himself enwrapped in a sheet of flame.
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