"Half stupefied by the calamity, we passed a sleepless and silent night, and on the morning of the 16th we betook ourselves again to the fatal shore. We passed the day in bestowing upon the dead such sad last rites as were possible to such poor wretches as we.
"On the morrow we left this desert and inhospitable coast, and directed our course into the interior. The winter had set in in all its severity. We marched through snow up to our knees. Sometimes we came to deep and rapid rivers, which forced us to make long détours. My companions were so enfeebled by fatigue and famine that sometimes I had to retrace my steps more than once to get their bundles, which they had been compelled to drop. Their courage was utterly broken; and sometimes I had to stop and make them rude moccasins to cover their bleeding feet.
"Thus we dragged ourselves on, or rather I dragged them in tow, for neither courage nor strength once failed me till at length, on the 4th of December, we met two Indians. Imagine if you can the delirious joy of my companions, who for the last few days had been looking forward to death itself as a welcome release from their sufferings! These Indians did not recognize me at first, so much was I changed by what I had gone through, and by the long beard which had covered my face. Once I did their tribe a great service; and you know that these natives never forget a benefit. They welcomed me with delight. We were saved. Then I learned that we were on the island of Cape Breton, about thirty leagues from Louisbourg.
"I made haste to leave my companions at the first Acadian settlement, where I knew they would be nursed back to health. I was eager to return to Quebec, that I might be the first to inform General Murray of our shipwreck. I need not detail to you the incidents of the journey. Suffice to say that with the greatest peril I crossed from Cape Breton to the main-land in a birch canoe, through the sweeping ice cakes; and that I have covered now about five hundred leagues on my snow-shoes. I have had to change my guides very frequently, for after eight days' marching with me, Indian and Acadian alike find themselves utterly used up."
After this story, the family passed the greater part of the night in bewailing the fate of their friends and kinsfolk, the victims of a barbarous decree.
M. de Saint-Luc allowed himself but a few hours rest, so eager was he to present himself before Murray at Quebec as a living protest against the vindictive cruelty which had sent to their death so many brave soldiers, so many unoffending women and little ones. It had been thought that Murray's unreasoning bitterness was due to the fact that he could not forget his defeat of the previous year.
"Do you know, D'Haberville," said M. de Saint-Luc at breakfast, "who was the friend so strong with Murray as to obtain you your two years' respite? Do you know to whom you owe to-day the life which you would probably have lost in our shipwreck?"
"No," said Captain D'Haberville. "I have no idea what friend we can have so powerful. But whoever he is, never shall I forget the debt of gratitude I owe him."
"Well, my friend, it is the young Scotchman Archibald de Lochiel to whom you owe this eternal gratitude."
"I have commanded," almost shouted Captain D'Haberville, "that the name of this viper, whom I warmed in my bosom, should never be pronounced in my presence." And the captain's great black eyes shot fire.