Chapter XXXII: Epilogue

The desolate point known as Tadoussac, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, in Canada, is the place of exile of a few officials who guard the interests of the fur trade.

Their quarters, a few storehouses, and the little church with its modest presbytere, form an outpost to the civilised world. During the summer season the wandering Indians flock down in their canoes, build their temporary huts, and a constant bustle of trade and barter sets in. Furs are examined, valued, and exchanged for guns, ammunition, clothing, and other luxuries of savage existence. The arrival of the few ships necessary to this primitive commerce makes the only other break in the monotonous existence of the little colony. At the approach of winter the Indiana scatter, and the officials and the solitary priest are prisoners until the spring once more opens for them the doors of the outside world.

Here it was, on the evening of the 11th of April, 1782, that the priest sate with his companions in the house of the principal official.

At nine o'clock he rose and said good-night to his hosts in his usual manner, but suddenly his whole appearance changed. Drawing back, he raised his hand, and said, in tones of deepest earnestness:

"My friends, it is not only 'good-night,' it is 'good-bye.' Good-bye for all time, for you will never see me again alive. To-night at twelve I shall be called hence."

The little company were shocked beyond expression. The priest stood before them tall, commanding, his figure full of life and vigour, his eye bright and unfaltering, but his face lighted with a mysterious solemnity that forbade questioning.

"At midnight the bell of the chapel will sound. You may come then, but do not touch my body. To-morrow you will seek M. Compain, the cure of the Isle aux Coudres, and he will prepare my body for burial."

He withdrew, leaving the company in affrighted silence; ten, eleven struck, and at midnight the bell of the chapel began to toll. They arose, awe-stricken, and took their way to the little church.

By the dim light before the sanctuary they caught sight of the robe of the priest. He was lying on the ground motionless, his face covered by his hands as if in prayer on the first steps of the altar.

That same night the bells of all the churches along the river, at la Mal Baie, at Les Eboulements, at the Isle aux Coudres, at la Baie St. Paul, and up through every parish to Quebec, rang without the touch of mortal hands, and soon the wondering faithful knew that the passing soul for which they rang was that of la pere Jean, the missionary to the Indians, once known as Jean Marie Gaston de Caldegues, Vicomte de Trincardel.

"Happy the people who still believe these sweet and holy legends."

THE END