CHAPTER XXI

OLD CHEBUCTO

So slightly had the travellers really suffered from the fire that they soon recovered from the effects of that exciting night, yet they were glad enough to reach Halifax and open their trunks.

"It seems better than luck that we sent these trunks ahead to Halifax. If they had been burned--"

"We should have had great fun shopping, my dear Miss Amy Redmond," responded Martine; "as it is, we shall just have to pretend that we need things when we see any startling bargains in the shop-windows."

"If you should try to replace what you have lost you could keep yourself busy for a day or two," rejoined Amy.

"No, thank you. The things that I lost I can wait for until Christmas. I have bought some inexpensive brushes, plain enough for Priscilla to approve; but at Christmas--well, perhaps I can persuade papa to get tortoise-shell, or something more elaborate than the simple silver set that melted away at Windsor."

In this way Martine always turned aside the sympathy that the others tried to offer her for her losses.

Fritz and Lucian had taken the travellers to the small Halifax hotel, where they themselves had been staying for two or three days before their sudden flight to Windsor. It was a cheerful, homelike place, and in its little garden the girls spent more or less time resting after the exertions of their later days in Acadia.

The fire and the events immediately following it had seemed to bring Martine and Priscilla more closely together,--at least, for the time their lack of sympathy was less plainly evident.

One day the two were sitting in the garden.

"I almost wish we had been a week longer in Acadia," Priscilla said.

"Why, we are in Acadia still!" rejoined Martine. "Don't speak of Acadia as so far away."

"Oh," responded Priscilla, "perhaps all Nova Scotia is Acadia; but really, when we use the word we mean where the French settled. Halifax is thoroughly English. On that account I do prefer it, though Acadia was certainly interesting."

"Thanks!" said Martine, "but I am going to prove that Halifax also was settled by the French. Amy laughed at me yesterday when I tried to prove my case. But listen; it was Amy herself who told me that no one had thought seriously of making a settlement here until D'Anville's fleet took refuge here after their defeat near Louisbourg. The ships were safe enough, but the men died by hundreds, and were buried on the beach. Well, after they had gone away, some sort of a petition was sent from Boston to England, asking that a settlement and fortifications be established to prevent the French from coming into Chebucto again and interfering with New England ships. The English thought this a good plan, because the Acadians at Annapolis and other places would be kept down if there was a strong town on the coast. So, you see, if it hadn't been for the French, Halifax might never have been settled. Have I proved my case?"

Priscilla shook her head. She could not quite tell whether Martine was in fun or in earnest.

"It seems to me that if Massachusetts men suggested the plan to England, you could just as easily say that Boston men settled Halifax."

"That's just what 'Taps'--I beg his pardon--Lucian said when I explained my theory to him. But then, he can't be expected to share my feelings about the Acadians,--at least, not yet,--although on the whole he is pretty sensible, isn't he?"

Priscilla found it difficult to answer this question directly, so, to conceal her embarrassment, she propounded another question.

"Why do they call your brother 'Taps'?" she asked abruptly.

"For no reason whatever, that I could ever see. But you know how boys insist on nicknaming one another. Mamma just hates it; and, if you notice, I always say 'Lucian.'"

"'Lucian' is such a good name," said Priscilla.

"Yes, and don't you think that Lucian himself is a dear?"

"I like him very much," responded Priscilla, simply. She would hardly have applied Martine's term to him, but she had found Lucian helpful and entertaining during their three or four days in Halifax.

"I believe," continued Martine, "that I might have told you something about Lucian before, except that I thought you might be prejudiced."

"Prejudiced!"

"Yes, a month ago you were much narrower-minded than you are now, and of course you and Amy had heard that Fritz Tomkins had charge of a Freshman who had been in rather bad company last year; and so if you had heard that it was Lucian before you had seen him, why, you might have had the queerest notions about him."

"You have the funniest way of putting things;" and Priscilla smiled again.

"Well, really," continued Martine, "there was nothing wrong with Lucian, only he is rather too good natured, and papa might as well give him a smaller allowance. But I heard Fritz Tomkins telling Mrs. Redmond that Lucian had kept a very good standing last year, but he wanted to break off with one or two men who were not going just the right way, and they wanted him to go to Paris and Vienna, and the only way was to plan some other kind of a trip. But there's really no harm in Lucian."

"Oh, no," said Priscilla, "I am sure of that; he has such a good face. It is curious that, with his blond hair and blue eyes, he still reminds me of you, and you are almost a brunette."

As Priscilla paused for a moment, the latch of the iron gate clicked sharply, and as a step sounded on the flagged walk, Martine rose quickly to her feet.

"Why, Mr. Knight!" she exclaimed, and in a moment Priscilla, too, was welcoming the new-comer.

"But we thought you in New Brunswick!"

"So I was a day or two ago. Certain business has brought me now to Halifax, and it is rather singular that we should be staying at the same hotel. I saw your names on the book this morning, and wondered if I should see you before my departure."

Mr. Knight's manner was so unaffected that Martine at once reproached herself inwardly for having imagined that he had run away from Wolfville to escape Mrs. Redmond's party.

"I am to be here only a day or two," he continued, "but if there's anything I can do--"

"In the way of rescuing," interrupted Martine.

"Oh, please," he protested, "don't mention that; it was so slight."

"You know," continued Priscilla, "we've been rescued once more,--at least I have been, for really it was Martine who was the rescuer." And then, when the young man seemed mystified by their words, the two had to tell him the story of the Windsor fire, of which, it seemed, he had not heard.

After Mr. Knight had congratulated them on their escape and condoled with them on their losses, he said:

"In case I have no other chance, I must tell you that my chief regret in leaving Wolfville so unexpectedly was the fact that I had no chance to show you through Acadia College, or tell you much about it. I know that that was one of the things Balfour had in mind when he wrote to me that I should present Acadia College in the best possible light."

"Oh, indeed," responded Martine, with a slight touch of impatience, "we have heard quantities about it,--that it offers the same advantages to women as to men; that a great many distinguished college men in the 'States,' as you say down here, were graduates of Acadia; that it has a lovely situation, and plenty of time to grow," she concluded suddenly, for, after all, though truce had been declared, Martine could not resist the opportunity of teasing Mr. Knight.

"I saw Balfour Airton," continued Mr. Knight, apparently undisturbed, "when at Annapolis the other day, and he is to be one of the distinguished graduates of Acadia."

"Did he say so?" Martine did not try to conceal her genuine surprise.

"Oh, no; Balfour thinks of nothing now but hard work, and he's likely to have his share of it the next few years."

A little later Mr. Knight excused himself for leaving the two, on the plea of letters to write, and during the two remaining days of his stay they saw little of him.

"He's afraid that he may have to rescue us again," Martine confided to Amy, though secretly she was a little piqued by his indifference. Fritz and Lucian, however, pronounced Mr. Knight a brick, and spent one afternoon with him in a long tramp to a place called Herring Cove, the description of which filled the girls with envy.

During their whole stay in Halifax, however, the boys went off on few excursions by themselves.

"You have been left too long to your own devices," Fritz would say, solemnly shaking his head, "and the punishment for your rash deeds is that you are now to be forever in our care and protection. Until you are safely back in Boston I hardly dare let you out of my sight, for fear of fire and flood."

"Do you consider this sail-boat especially safe just because you are in it?" asked Priscilla. "If my mother could behold us now she would think us in the greatest danger. In spite of spending all her summers at the edge of the sea, she is always afraid of a sail-boat."

"But I would rather run some risk than miss this sail around the Northwest Arm. In fact I wouldn't have missed it for the world;" and Amy glanced gratefully in Fritz's direction, for it was he who had planned this particular excursion, and had gained Mrs. Redmond's rather reluctant consent. "This narrow arm of the sea is so picturesque," she continued, "with its wooded shores, and the harbor is so interesting with its islands and its shipping."

"Just like any harbor," cried Martine.

"Oh, I don't know. One has a sense of its greatness here. No wonder even the Micmacs called it Chebucto, which I believe is a word of theirs for 'Great harbor.'"

"Please, Amy, this is a pleasure trip with no instruction. You mustn't tell us the size of the dry dock, nor the number of guns mounted on George's Island or on York Redoubt, or on any other of the harbor fortifications."

"Nor the time of day," retorted Amy, looking at her watch, "though all the same, Captain Fritz, it is time to turn about, for I absolutely promised that we'd be at home by five o'clock."

"Your word is law," responded Fritz.

"Tell me a little history," urged Lucian; but Amy refused to do anything but enjoy the sail, and Martine, looking at her closely, wondered if she had taken her words as criticism.

"There's one bit of harbor history that I shall speak of," said Lucian, as they turned homeward. "No, Martine, you needn't try to stop me. Everybody remembers Captain Lawrence and his 'don't give up the ship.' Well, do you know that he died here in Halifax? The 'Shannon' brought the 'Chesapeake' as a prize into this very harbor where we are now sailing. It was the first Sunday in June, 1813, and the town was in the greatest excitement. The news of their coming went quickly through the town, and every one who could get hold of a small boat pushed out to see the ships. The men were swabbing the decks, and the scuppers ran red with blood."

"Don't, Lucian," cried Martine.

"Oh, but this is history, and the kind you should remember. The 'Shannon' had set out from Halifax but a short time before, and when the two ships met in Boston Harbor they fought a fierce duel. The 'Shannon' had less than a hundred in killed and wounded, and the 'Chesapeake' nearly two hundred, all in about twenty minutes; so no wonder it's called one of the bloodiest fights on record. The ships must have been a sight to the quiet Haligonians. Then," continued Lucian, "Captain Lawrence and Lieutenant Ludlow were buried with high honors in the old English burying-ground here, and there was a great procession from the King's Wharf, with the coffins covered with our flags, and six British post captains bearing the pall."

"You'll have to visit the grave, Amy," said Martine, mischievously.

"Can't be done. An American brig with a flag of truce came for the bodies in August, and they were carried back to their native country."

"How in the world did you remember so much?" asked Martine. "I never realized before that you took an interest in history."

"This is the result," retorted Lucian, "of travelling with an intelligent companion," and he pointed to Fritz.

"No, I didn't do it; don't blame me," rejoined Fritz. "He ran across a history yesterday, or book of annals, or something of that kind, and naturally the mention of the 'Chesapeake' and the 'Shannon' interested him."

"Enough said--in excuse," replied Martine, while Priscilla added, "I wonder if we shall visit Melville Island before we go. You know that is where they kept the American prisoners during that war. I had a great-grand uncle who was taken prisoner, and I've always remembered that he was at Melville Island, Halifax. My mother has his diary."

"Why, that is interesting," said Amy. "Perhaps it may sound like wishing ill to my forebears, but I'd even be willing to have had a relative or two imprisoned here, just for the sake of having a closer association with Halifax."

"That's a very silly remark, Miss Amy Redmond," cried Fritz, disapprovingly.

"Yes," added Martine; "I might as well wish that some of my French ancestors had been among the exiled Acadians, so that I could take a deeper interest in Clare. Not that I need a deeper interest--but that reminds me," and she turned to her brother. "It's strange, Lucian, that I hadn't thought to tell you before, but I believe I've found some new relations in Nova Scotia; at least, I hope so. Do you know whether we had any Tories in our family?"

"Tories! I should hope not," and Lucian's voice rang with patriotism.

"Oh, they are all dead now, so don't excite yourself. But two things equal to the same thing are sometimes equal to each other. We are certainly cousins of Mrs. Blair's. You'll admit that?"

"Yes, worse luck to it," grumbled Lucian. "She is such a--such a--"

"You mean so conventional," interposed Martine, sedately; "but that's very proper for a Bostonian. Well, Mrs. Blair's name is Audrey Balfour Blair."

"Why not?" asked Lucian.

"Well, we met a girl this summer whose grandmother's name was Audrey Balfour, and what I want to know is--are we related to her?"

"To the grandmother?" exclaimed Lucian. "How in the world should I know? and if we are, what's the difference? Probably the old lady's dead by this time. Most grandmothers are."

"Oh, Lucian, do be serious."

"You'd better be serious yourself--say, look out for the boom, or you'll lose your head as well as your temper."

"I haven't lost my temper. There, I'm glad we're putting in for shore now, if Lucian is going to be so disagreeable."

Thus the conversation drifted from Audrey Balfour, and for the present Martine's question was unanswered.

This afternoon was only one of several that they spent on the water, and when the conditions were favorable, sometimes Amy, sometimes Martine, had a chance to show her skill as skipper, while the boys approved or made suggestions, and Mrs. Redmond and Priscilla sat back, trying not to show the timidity that they felt.

On shore as well as at sea they found much to occupy them, and as conditions for picture-taking happened for the time to be particularly favorable, each one added largely to her own collection of photographs. Each of the girls had a camera with her; but at first Priscilla had been the only one really zealous for photography.

When they visited the Citadel Lucian and Fritz had managed to intimidate them by telling them of the fearful fate that might be theirs should their cameras be seen in its neighborhood; so the cameras were hidden until the girls were far from what Martine called "the sacred precincts," until, indeed, the sight of a redcoat on Barrington Street, standing where the sun illuminated his whole figure, caused her to shout in delight:

"There, my camera, quick, Lucian. Here's my chance to catch one of those crazy little caps. How do they manage to make them stay on one ear? Quick, before he moves, or sees us," and then the click of a spring showed that she had accomplished her aim.

* * * * *

One dull afternoon Amy and Priscilla, wandering about, found their way into the Parliament building, and after admiring the stately old portraits in the rooms of the historical society, spent an hour or two over some of the old books and papers in the archives. This was especially gratifying to Priscilla, because she was thus able to satisfy her curiosity about the exiled Loyalists. Their sufferings seemed all the more real when written out in detail in these old manuscript volumes, and as she read, she sighed. The sigh was not wholly for the miseries of the past. That very morning she had received a letter from Eunice that had set her thinking.

"I am so glad [wrote Eunice] that you like Halifax. But it there--in the capital of our Province? Sometimes it seems as if I should never go anywhere, though Balfour says that he will send me to college, that I can depend on that. But that will be only to Acadia, and I shall have to wait so long, until he has a law practice--and when will that be? Besides, he thinks now that he may have to stay out of college a year, if not give it up altogether. It's the mortgage on the house. There's some kind of trouble about it, and Balfour is determined not to let it go. It would just break mother's heart. But I oughtn't to make this a complaining letter, when one of the pleasantest things this summer--or any summer--has been my acquaintance with you,--and the others, too, of course, though I didn't know them so well. Please give them my love, but the most for yourself.

"Your affectionate "EUNICE."

Now Eunice was really so fond of Priscilla that nothing was farther from her thoughts than to make her friend unhappy. Yet such was Priscilla's sympathy for her Annapolis friend that the remembrance of the letter made her feel sad, even as she sat with Amy in the old library.

"If papa had only lived," she thought, "I could have asked him to do something, but now,--why, Eunice herself would be surprised to know how little pocket money I have. Not that Eunice wants anything, but it would be so delightful to pay off that mortgage, and then make sure that Balfour could get through college, and then see him put Eunice through college, and then perhaps she could come up and take post-graduate work with me at Radcliffe." Then, amused at the rapidity with which her thoughts were running away with her, for Priscilla had not yet passed her own finals for college, she laughed aloud. Unexpectedly the clouds had been chased away.

"Priscilla," said Amy, "I am delighted to hear you laugh. You have been altogether too quiet to-day. Surely you are not homesick again."

"Oh, no, not homesick, only thinking."

"Tell me then, so that I may laugh too,--unless it's a secret."

"Oh, no, it's hardly worth mentioning; besides, it has ended in a foolish wish--if only I had money like Martine!"

"Martine cares little for money," responded Amy, with some sharpness. This was not the first time that she had thought Priscilla too ready to criticise Martine.

"I know that. She is surely very generous, only it would be so easy to do things for others if one had as much money as she has."

"I know what you think, Priscilla; but still Martine's way of spending money is not altogether extravagance. She has had more in her hands than most girls we know, and rich Chicagoans are fonder of spending than hoarding. It's in the air. Martine does not care for money in itself, but for what money buys."

"But she surely throws it around without getting full value."

"That's a matter of temperament."

"Yes," but Priscilla's voice sounded as if she were not sure of this. To herself, indeed, she was saying, "It is strange that Martine has not talked of making plans for Yvonne. Ah, if I had as much in my power I certainly wouldn't let Eunice worry about mortgages and going to college and all that kind of thing."

"Priscilla, Priscilla, wake up," cried Amy, a moment later. "Look at the citadel. It's hard to realize that this is the greatest fortress in America, and that only a few generations ago it was nothing but a stockade, a defence against the Indians."

"A few generations ago!" repeated Priscilla. "Why, it must be--"

"A bare hundred and fifty years, my dear child, since the English ships with their two or three thousand settlers came sailing into the harbor."

"A bare hundred and fifty years," echoed Priscilla, "and yet that is rather a long time, and Halifax isn't a large city yet."

Before Amy could reply she felt her arm seized from behind. Turning about, she found herself face to face with Martine, who held a letter in her disengaged hand. Priscilla, not hearing the steps, had walked on a little before she discovered that Amy was not with her. But a moment later she too faced about, and, as her eye fell on Martine, she could not help seeing that the latter was holding her finger on her lips with a warning glance at Amy, as if between the two there was some secret understanding.