Half an hour later, the Sergeant again had charge of the Captain. He was
weak and pallid, but his mind was clear, and he fixed his eyes on the
Sergeant's face.
"Now, I can tell you," he said at last, with some difficulty.
"You had better not," returned the man. "The doctor says you must sleep
before you try to talk again."
"It will only take a minute--I've got to say it now," said Morris.
"Very well," said the Sergeant, bending over him. "Speak low, Captain.
Don't say more than you can help."
"It is only about two letters--they are in my wallet, and I want you
without fail to send them on. One is directed to Penetang--I intended to
forward it from York--but it was in the bottom of my wallet--and in the
hurry of leaving I did not do it. The other is one of my own to Halifax.
It, too, should have been sent on before we crossed the lake--but the
order to march was so sudden that I had not time. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I might have given them to the Colonel--but I did not want to bother
him. Whether I get well or not, I want this off my mind."
"All right, sir. I will have them forwarded by the very first chance.
You may depend upon that."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
The Captain pressed his hand and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep.
The Sergeant, while he decided to carry out his instructions faithfully,
thought it singular that so trifling a matter should occupy the
attention of so sick a man.
"Well, I have something for you at last," said Miss Maxwell to her
sister, one bright morning, several weeks earlier than the tragic events
of the last chapter. She had just returned from the Citadel, and holding
two letters high above her head, shook them gaily at Maud.
"I am so glad," returned that young lady, holding out her hand. "Who are
they from? One from Mrs. Manning, I am sure."
"Who do you suppose the other is from? Which of your lovers has written
you a letter?"
Handing over one she still held the other aloft.
"How foolish you are, Genie! This is the one I want to read first
anyway."
Sitting down she broke the seal and commenced reading Mrs. Manning's
letter, apparently unconscious that the other was waiting for perusal.
The letter was a long one, and Maud's face glowed with pleasure as her
eyes ran rapidly over its pages. Parts of it she read aloud, and other
parts to herself. By-and-bye, when she had finished, she put it back
within its cover, and held out her hand for the other one.
This was from Dr. Beaumont, and a slight flush suffused her cheek as she
perused its contents. Gravely she read it through to the end without
speaking a word.
"Are you not going to read it to me?" Eugenia asked as she sat opposite,
quietly watching her sister's face.
"You may read all of Mrs. Manning's letter and welcome," said Maud, "but
this from Dr. Beaumont I must keep to myself, for the present at least";
and she slipped it into her pocket. "Was not Mrs. Manning brave?" she
continued.
"Indeed she was. She tells all about the journey and the new settlement,
and the trials she had to endure."
"Yes," said Maud, "but there's an undertone through it all--even in her
account of that terrible march along the Madawaska."
Maud turned to the window and looked dreamily out, while unconsciously
she took the Doctor's letter from her pocket again and tapped the sill
with it, as if to keep time to her thoughts.
"Dr. Beaumont comes in for his share of praise," said Eugenia as she
read on. "I don't see how they could have done without him."
"Would not Dr. Fairchilds have done as well?" Maud asked in a low voice.
"He did not get the chance," was Eugenia's quick response.
"I always had doubt as to the real reason of that," said Maud.
"Mrs. Manning says," continued Eugenia, "that she sent a letter a few
days before this one by a man in a sailboat, round by Lake Huron, but
that this would be sent through the woods by Little York. Did you get
the first one?"
"No. Possibly it may not come at all, and if it does it will be later,
as the way by Georgian Bay would be much longer than the overland
route."
"Have you been studying geography lately?" Eugenia asked, drawing down
the corners of her mouth.
"It is not long since I left school, Miss Inquisitive."
That afternoon they called upon Mrs. Mason, and as they expected, found
her loquacious upon the subject of Penetang. She said that Sir John
Sherbrooke and Colonel Mason had both received despatches from Sir
George.
"I understand that you are a favored one, also," she continued
good-humoredly, turning to Maud. "Two letters all for yourself from the
little new garrison, while not another lady in Halifax has received
one."
"All owing to my fortunate meeting with Mrs. Manning," returned Maud
with a slight flush. "Nearly all the troops were fresh from England, so
their letters would naturally be sent home instead of here. Mrs.
Manning's letter is very interesting. I brought it over for you to see."
"Thank you, and may I read it to Colonel Mason?"
"Certain parts, but not all. You will know what I mean."
"I'll take care, my dear. Trust me for that--but was there not another
letter?--ah, ah, my lady--but I will ask no more questions"; and Mrs.
Mason, with twinkling eyes, laughed softly to herself.
"Did not a ship come in to-day?" Eugenia asked.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Mason, "with another regiment. The Colonel says it
is imperative for it to leave at once for Montreal as the war is not
over yet, and it has important letters to carry."
"When will it sail, or did you hear?" Maud asked.
"To-morrow, I believe."
Maud's candle burned late that night again, and when the ship left for
Montreal the next evening the mail bag contained two letters for
Penetang, one to Mrs. Manning, the other to Dr. Beaumont.
More than a month passed away. The fortunes of war had been ebbing and
flowing first on one side, then on the other--the belligerents on
neither being as yet satisfied. Still the conflict was nearing the end.
News travelled slowly then; but word of battle, even when three weeks
old, was just as interesting as it is now when the happening was only
yesterday.
The news of Lundy's Lane had arrived. The Citadel and all Halifax were
excited over it, for although the British claimed the victory, yet two
of the companies that had served in the fort for years, had been in the
heat of the fight, and had lost more than half their men.
In small garrison towns, stationary troops soon become identified with
the people, and the results of battle fill them with intense interest.
Having once heard the rumour of the conflict, the people were anxious to
hear more, and soldiers off duty were asked repeatedly for the latest
details. At every street corner the battle was discussed; while in the
homes it was the one absorbing theme.
With the news also came that letter to Maud forwarded by the Sergeant,
but as already noted, written before the conflict.
"Captain Morris' name is in everybody's mouth," said Judge Maxwell to
his daughters that evening. "The people are wild over him. They say he
is one of the bravest officers in the service. What a pity he was so
nearly killed!"
"Nearly killed! Is it so bad as that, father?" Maud asked with trembling
voice.
"The news is three weeks old, and we cannot tell what may have happened
in that time, but he was shot in the scalp and bayonetted in the body
and the leg. What is more, he was leading what remained of his men for
the third time, and struck down his opponent with his sword the very
moment that he fell. If that is not bravery you will have to search the
pages of history to find it."
Maud's eyes flashed, and she shot into her father's face a look of
mingled exultation and anguish.
"But his wounds, father, are they dangerous?"
"Colonel Mason says, from the despatches, that he would not anticipate
serious trouble from one of them by itself--but from the whole combined,
particularly with midsummer heat, there might be. Still, without doubt,
all will be done for him that is possible."
"Where are they keeping him, father?"
"In a cottage near the battlefield, on the Niagara River. If they can
hold the place they will retain the settlers' houses for the use of the
wounded until they are well enough to be removed."
"Who nurses the men, I wonder?" was Maud's next question.
"There won't be much nursing," replied the judge. "The men will do what
they can to carry out the doctors' orders, but the poor fellows will
have a tough time of it no doubt. It is always the case in a military
campaign, no matter where you go or who is injured."
"And can we do nothing?"
"Nothing whatever, my dear. It is beyond the pale of civilization, one
might say. Throughout that region there are few settlements and no good
roads. Supplies are taken in with great difficulty, and often have to be
carried in on the backs of the soldiers. As for people here going over
to help, by the time they got there, the whole place might be deserted."
"You are a Job's comforter, father."
"Father's quite right," said Eugenia. "But it is terrible to think of
poor, brave Captain Morris suffering so frightfully. I wish those
dastardly Yankees were in----."
"Not in Halifax," interrupted the judge with a smile. "We don't want
them here even if we could whip them, which I am not so sure about. But
you are on the wrong tack Genie. The Yankee soldiers are not dastardly.
They are just as brave as ours are, and in that very battle lost as many
men as we did."
"But when the battle was over, and the Americans retreated," said
Eugenia, "who looked after their wounded?"
"The British, of course."
"And dressed the wounds of their enemies just the same as those of their
own men?"
"Certainly. That's the only bit of civilization in it."
"And what would the Americans do if they were the victors?"
"Just as the English do."
"There's Christianity in war after all," said Maud.
"Another paradox," said the judge. "It is always the Christian nations
that do the most fighting."
"Were not Napoleon's wars an exception?"
"Not by any means. It was the Christian nations that opposed him; and
half of his own men professed the faith."
"But how soon do they expect to hear again of the wounded?" Maud asked
somewhat impatiently.
"The way is open now and word will come every week," replied her father.
"And thank God the war will soon be over!"
Captain Morris' letter affected Maud differently to Dr. Beaumont's. It
stirred the martial enthusiasm in her nature to know that he had been a
hero in the fight. But the feeling changed as she thought on. He had
fallen bravely, probably without a murmur, but it was weeks ago. How was
he now? and in any case how intensely he must have suffered! And then to
know that he had written that letter, the only one she had ever received
from him, only a day or two before the fight that may have cost him his
life. Over and over again she read it; every word seemed to have a new
meaning. Was it not sad in tone--premonitory of coming evil? Was there
not a shadow behind the hand rendering dark the future, filling his
life with the elusiveness of love, and producing in his heart passionate
disdain?
She shivered when she thought of what might have happened to him there,
and while proud that such a man should give her his confidence, she was
carried away with a passion of feeling that at the time she could
neither analyze nor understand.
Would a letter reach him? If it only could? At any rate she must do her
part and send him a message. This time she wrote rapidly. She seemed to
be under physical obligation to do her most and her best, without a
thought of anyone but the wounded captain. After a while she finished
the letter and went to bed.
Notwithstanding the restless tossing and wakefulness that followed, she
rose early to post it. Then her mind wandered off beyond Niagara to
Penetang; and, taking out another letter which she had often read
before, she thoughtfully perused it again.