As it was now very late, the party broke up, after drinking the health of the old sailor and his son and pronouncing the eulogies they deserved for the part they had played that night.
The young men had to stay some days at St. Thomas. The flood continued. The roads were deluged. The nearest bridge, even supposing it had escaped the general disaster, was some leagues southwest of the village, and the rain came down in torrents. They were obliged to wait till the river should be clear of ice, so as to cross in a boat below the falls. They divided their time between the seigneur's family, their other friends, and poor Dumais, whom the seigneur would not permit to be moved. The sick man entertained them with stories of his fights against the English and their savage allies, and with accounts of the manners and customs of the aborigines.
"Although I am a native of St. Thomas," said Dumais one day, "I was brought up in the parish of Sorel. When I was ten years old and my brother nine, while we were in the woods one day picking raspberries a party of Iroquois surprised and captured us. After a long march, we came to the place where their canoe was hidden among the brambles by the water's edge; and they took us to one of the islands of the St. Lawrence. My father and his three brothers, armed to the teeth, set out to rescue us. They were only four against ten; but I may say without boasting that my father and my uncles were not exactly the kind of men to be trifled with. They were tall, broad-chested fellows, with their shoulders well set back.
"It might have been about ten o'clock in the evening. My brother and I, surrounded by our captors, were seated in a little clearing in the midst of thick woods, when we heard my father's voice shouting to us: 'Lie flat down on your stomachs.' I immediately seized my little brother around the neck and flattened him down to the ground with me. The Iroquois were hardly on their feet when four well-aimed shots rang out and four of the band fell squirming like eels. The rest of the vermin, not wishing, I suppose, to fire at hazard against the invisible enemies to whom they were serving as targets, started for the shelter of the trees; but our rescuers gave them no time. Falling upon them with the butts of their muskets, they beat down three at the first charge, and the others saved themselves by flight. Our mother almost died of joy when we were given back to her arms."
In return, Lochiel told the poor fellow about the combats of the Scottish Highlanders, their manners and customs, and the semi-fabulous exploits of his hero, the great Wallace; while Jules amused him with the story of his practical jokes, or with such bits of history as he might appreciate.
When the young men were bidding Dumais farewell, the latter said to Archie with tears in his eyes:
"It is probable, sir, that I shall never see you again, but be sure that I will carry you ever in my heart, and will pray for you, I and my family, every day of our lives. It is painful for me to think that even should you return to New France, a poor man like me would have no means of displaying his gratitude."
"Who knows," said Lochiel, "perhaps you will do more for me than I have done for you."
Was the Highlander gifted with that second sight of which his fellow-countrymen are wont to boast? Let us judge from the sequel.
On the 30th day of April, at ten o'clock in the morning, with weather magnificent but roads altogether execrable, our travelers bade farewell to their friends at St. Thomas. They had yet six leagues to go before arriving at St. Jean-Port-Joli, and the whole distance they had to travel afoot, cursing at the rain which had removed the last traces of ice and snow. In traversing the road across the plain of Cape St. Ignace it was even worse. They sank to their knees, and their horse was mired to the belly and had to be dug out. Jules, the most impatient of the three, kept grumbling: