The month of July was drawing to an end, and the hot sun was glaring
down on the parched earth with an almost tropical heat. Even in the
dark recesses of the woods, where only here and there a ray could
penetrate the thick foliage, there was a sultry closeness that seemed
to overpower the wayfarer, instead of his being refreshed by a grateful
shade. Look at those two men yonder, one stretched at full length at
the foot of a pine-tree, the other kneeling by his side, and bending
over him, both apparently exhausted with fatigue. From their thin
hands and cheeks, bronzed as they are, one may well believe that want
of food has helped to reduce them to their sorry plight, whilst, as a
climax to their sufferings, one of them has been lamed by a snake bite,
to which the other is applying some large leaves just gathered near at
hand.
"'Tis hard upon us that it should come to this, just as we had got
within a few miles of our journey's end," said the man who was hurt.
"Listen! There is the firing again--a regular volley--and cannon too.
They are attacking Ticonderoga, that's certain, just as they did a
twelvemonth ago."
Here the speaker gave a groan, but not from pain.
"To think, monsieur," he added, "that you should be here, tending poor
Boulanger, as if he were your equal, when you might have been striking
a blow yonder for your dear France."
"It is only a pity, my good fellow," replied Isidore, "that I am not a
red skin, so that I might find out the right sort of plant to cure this
abominable bite and put you on your legs again."
"Never mind me, I beseech you, monsieur," said the Canadian, faintly;
"I shall do well enough, I daresay. Only go and make your way to the
fort--it cannot be many miles off--and then perhaps you can come and
help me later when the enemy are beaten off."
"That I will not," was the reply; "I will die here with you rather than
leave you alone."
There was in truth no mere sentiment in the words. Bravely indeed had
Isidore borne up for many a long week; but fatigue and privation had
told upon him far more than on the more seasoned frame of his
companion, and with the misfortune that had befallen the latter, the
strong hopes that had sustained him gave way, and he felt that he had
no longer strength enough to proceed further.
"To-morrow," said he, with an attempt at an encouraging smile,
"to-morrow I shall perhaps be able to carry you."
"To-morrow. Alas!" murmured Boulanger, turning away his face to hide
his emotion. Then suddenly he raised himself, and pointed to a clump
of undergrowth a few yards off. "Look!" whispered he, "a red skin!"
Isidore started to his feet, and levelled his rifle, but instantly
threw it down, and stepping forward cried aloud, "What! my old friend
White Eagle of Louisburg! Never was any one more welcome. Make haste
and look to my poor comrade."
Without a word the Indian knelt down and examined the bite. Then he
strode away, but soon returned with a handful of simples, which he
carefully bound round the wounded limb.
"Not rattlesnake," said he quietly, "he will not die."
"I could have told you that, friend," said Boulanger, "but when a man's
life depends on his walking on a bit with a leg as big as a bison's, it
might just as well have been a rattlesnake for that matter, to say
nothing of having had no food but a raw partridge between two of us for
some days past."
The Indian opened his pouch and placed before them his little stock of
food, of which they eagerly partook. Whilst they were thus engaged he
sat a little way apart, to all appearance wholly unconcerned. As soon,
however, as the provisions were demolished he arose, and addressing
himself to Isidore, said, "Let the young brave follow me. The Canadian
must stay here till you can send him help."
"Not a step do I go without him," replied Isidore, firmly. "If he
stays here, I stay here too."
For a moment the expression on the chief's face seemed to bode no good,
but it passed away, and after a short pause he set to work without a
word, and in a few minutes had cut down a dozen branches from the
nearest trees, and wound them into a rude litter. Then silently taking
Boulanger up, and laying him upon it as if he had been a mere child, he
took hold of one end of the litter, and signed to Isidore to take the
other. He did so, and they at once set out with it, the savage
threading the way through the dense forest with the most marvellous
dexterity, and at a pace with which Isidore found it no easy matter to
keep up. Refreshed as he had been by the food he had taken, and buoyed
up as he now was by fresh hope on Boulanger's account as well as his
own, he nevertheless felt that a march of any great length would be
beyond his strength. Perhaps the Indian noticed this, for he presently
slackened his pace.
"I hope we have done right to trust this fellow," Isidore said.
"There is nothing to fear," replied Boulanger. "If he had meant
mischief our scalps would long ago have been hanging by the side of
those others he has at his belt."
All this while they were gradually edging away from the sound of the
firing, which could now only be heard at a remote distance on their
right.
The Indian slackened his pace still more, and seemed to be listening
eagerly as if for some expected sound. Suddenly he stopped, and the
litter having been deposited on the ground, he turned to Isidore,
saying, "White Eagle has finished his task." At the same moment he
raised his rifle and discharged it in the air, and before the
astonished wayfarers could utter a word in reply, he had darted into
the thick wood and disappeared.
"It beats me altogether," said Boulanger; "he has brought us ever so
far away from the fort, and yet I can't think why he should start off
like that. He belongs to one of the Algonquin tribes, and they used to
be allies of ours. Hush! There is some one not far off."
"Qui vive?" shouted a voice from the underwood near them.
"French! Long live King Louis!" cried Isidore, in reply.
The usual challenge followed, and shortly afterwards a French officer
cautiously emerged from the brushwood, followed by a couple of his men.
He seemed not a little astonished on discovering the number and
condition of the supposed enemy, and roughly demanded who they were,
and whence they came.
"Well, I suppose," replied Isidore, with a grim smile, "I must not feel
insulted if my friend de Montenac fails to recognise in such a
scarecrow his old comrade de Beaujardin."
"De Beaujardin!" exclaimed the officer, amazed and apparently
horrified. "For Heaven's sake, how came you in this pitiable state?
Stop, not a word," he added, "you are in no condition for talking now.
Quick, my men, bring the wounded man along." Then taking Isidore's arm
he led him away, followed by the soldiers, who at once took Boulanger
under their charge. In a short time they reached an open space in the
forest, where to his great joy Isidore found a considerable body of
French soldiers regularly encamped. De Montenac, however, would listen
to no questions until the wayfarers had been, not only well fed, but
furnished with some better covering than the rags that hung about them.
The short Canadian twilight was gone, and night had come on, as Isidore
related to his friend as much of his story as it seemed necessary to
tell him. He concluded thus:--
"They kept us at Fort Duquesne all the winter, possibly not knowing
exactly what to do with me, and a couple of months ago sent us off in
charge of two burly New England militiamen, though I never knew what
was our intended destination. These British are always boasting that
one Englishman is a match for three Frenchmen, so I suppose they
thought that two must be quite enough to guard a couple of miserable
half-starved creatures like Boulanger and myself. They had not even
taken the trouble to tie our hands, but simply made us go on in front.
During the second day's march I noticed that they had both taken too
much to drink, so just as we were going down a steep hill, at a signal
we had preconcerted we dropped down right in front of them, and over
our backs they went like a shot. Long before they could scramble up we
had got hold of their muskets, and they were rather obliged than
otherwise by our letting them decamp without giving them each a bullet
by way of souvenir. Thanks to Boulanger's knowledge of his craft we
have arrived here at last, though it has been no easy matter, I can
assure you."
"I quite believe that, judging from your appearance," replied de
Montenac laughing; "but I must now go my rounds, and after that you
shall hear what news there is with us."
He was absent much longer than was required merely to visit the
pickets. Isidore's practised ears indeed told him that there had been
an alarm of some kind, and a shot had been fired in the wood. At last
de Montenac made his appearance.
"The strangest thing has just now happened," said he. "My men caught a
spy. He had managed to pass the sentinels, when one of them saw the
fellow creeping away among the bushes, and as he did not answer or
stop, the man shot him dead. I found on him a note of our strength, to
say nothing of some English guineas, so the rascal fully deserved a
rope instead of a bullet, but in one of his pockets I came upon this."
Here de Montenac handed to Isidore a sheet of paper, the writing on
which ran as follows:--
"To all whom it may concern.
"This is to certify that the person designated in a royal warrant as
Isidore Marquis de Beaujardin, otherwise known as Godefroid, confined
here during the royal pleasure, is released from further detention, and
the authorities, whether civil or military, are required to permit him
to pass freely.
"(Signed) DE VALRICOUR,
"Colonel Commandant of the Fort of Sorel."
Isidore sprang to his feet. "Where is the man?" he gasped out.
"You can see him; he lies dead not a hundred yards off." In a couple
of minutes they had reached the spot, and Isidore no sooner beheld the
upturned face of the dead man then he exclaimed, "Just Heaven! it is
Jasmin."
As soon as he had recovered from the excitement into which this
discovery had thrown him, Isidore acquainted his friend with the more
private details of his story. "I must start at once for Sorel," said
he; "I scarcely dare to hope it, but it may be that my unhappy wife was
or is still detained there, and if so, with Heaven's blessing I may see
her again. I shall indeed be thankful if my Uncle de Valricour has
been her gaoler."
"Then you can march with us, at least a part of the way," said do
Montenac. "Listen! there it goes." As he spoke, an explosion like a
peal of thunder was heard in the distance. "De Bourlemaque has
evacuated Fort Ticonderoga and blown it up," added he. "We have been
stationed here to guard against a flank movement and to keep open the
road to Crown Point, on which we are to fall back."
"What! retreat without a fight!" exclaimed Isidore.
"We have scarce three or four thousand men to Amherst's twelve or
fourteen thousand, and he is not an Abercromby to run his head against
a wall for nothing. I believe we are not even going to hold Crown
Point, strong as it is. No, no; forty or fifty leagues of well-nigh
impassable country lie between this and the St. Lawrence, as you ought
to know, Master Isidore, and that will fight for us without our losing
a man. Amherst can only advance by water, and as we have armed vessels
on the lake and he has not, why there is as much chance of his doing
anything before the winter sets in again, as there is of my being made
a Field Marshal."
Thanks to the Indian's simple medicines, and the subsequent care of the
regimental surgeon, Boulanger was doing well, and was able, on the
following day, to accomplish the short march made by the detachment.
Nor was Isidore at first sufficiently strong to do more. They
accordingly accompanied the troops as far as Crown Point, and then
pushed forward alone. The journey which the travellers had undertaken
was long and difficult. On reaching the northern end of Lake
Champlain, however, they obtained a small canoe, in which they
descended the Richelieu River, and thus reached Sorel.
Here Isidore, to his great disappointment, found that Baron de
Valricour was no longer commandant of the place, and had quitted it for
Quebec early in June. During the three months that had elapsed the
little garrison had been changed, and the few guarded inquiries which
he ventured to make respecting any persons formerly detained in the
fort proved fruitless.
There was nothing for it but to go on to Quebec, where Boulanger indeed
was anxious to rejoin his family, and they accordingly continued their
journey, traversing Lake St. Peter, and passing down the St. Lawrence
in their canoe. To their surprise and mortification they now found
that for a considerable distance above Quebec small vessels belonging
to the English fleet had the command of the river. Still they made
their way onward, once or twice narrowly escaping capture by an English
cutter, until they reached a spot called Le Foullon, about three miles
above the great fortress, where a rugged and winding footpath led to
the top of the lofty and precipitous cliff not far from the Canadian's
cottage.
Arrived at the summit, they were instantly challenged, and then taken
to the officer in command of the detachment posted there. De Montenac
had taken the precaution to obtain for Isidore a despatch from General
de Bourlemaque to Montcalm, and he was at once allowed to pass, as was
Boulanger also when it was found that he was actually the proprietor of
the house which had been appropriated as the captain's quarters. As to
Bibi and the little ones, the Canadian ascertained that they had taken
refuge in a less exposed locality near the city.
On entering the fortress, Isidore at once made his way through the
town, and was then directed to the citadel. There, on the extreme and
loftiest point, where the white flag of France still waved, stood
Montcalm, "that little body with a mighty soul," surveying the vast
landscape spread out below. In front lay the great lake-like sheet of
water, six miles in length, and nearly half as broad, formed by the
confluence of the St. Lawrence on the right, and the smaller river, St.
Charles, on the left. Far away the united streams are again divided
into a northern and southern channel by the picturesque Isle of
Orleans. To the right hand is seen Point Levi, and the almost
perpendicular banks of the St. Lawrence; on the left the more gradually
sloping shore presents a long line of intrenchments and redoubts,
reaching to a distance of seven or eight miles, ending at the great
chasm into which the Montmorency River hurls down its waters in a fall
of two hundred and fifty feet. Ranges of lofty mountains on every side
form the fitting background of this unrivalled scene.
Montcalm's eyes were riveted on the English fleet, whose countless
masts bristled all across the further end of the bay, and down the
diverging channels beyond it; so deeply indeed was he buried in thought
that he did not seem aware of Isidore's approach until the latter was
close to him. He then turned abruptly and looked at the new-comer, but
it was only for a moment.
"Welcome, welcome indeed!" said he, extending his hand, "not as Claude
Breton however, but as my valued friend and comrade-in-arms, Isidore de
Beaujardin."
"I can well believe that I have to thank Monseigneur for that," replied
Isidore, bowing.
Montcalm waved his hand: "It was no more than was due to you," said he.
"Fortunately a certain M. de Crillon, who seems to have been your evil
genius, has been disgraced at last, and the task became an easy one.
But whence do you now come, and what news do you bring?"
"As for myself, I must report to you, _pro formâ_, that I duly reached
Fort Duquesne, where I was made prisoner, but subsequently escaped, and
made my way to Ticonderoga. I left the army on this side of Crown
Point, which has been evacuated, and I have to hand to you a despatch
from de Bourlemaque. There is not a chance of Amherst reaching the St.
Lawrence in time to co-operate with Wolfe."
"Thanks for that, at all events. My news is less cheering: Niagara is
lost."
"I had hoped," said Isidore, "that Pouchot would have been able to hold
out."
"Not so. The English General Prideaux was killed by the bursting of a
shell in his own intrenchments, but Sir William Johnson took the
command, and nothing could withstand that brave and skilful fellow.
Aubrey came to Pouchot's relief with at least a thousand men collected
from the other forts, but was beaten in a pitched battle before the
place, which had to surrender at discretion, and the governor and
garrison were made prisoners, but were allowed to march out with the
honours of war. This and the loss of Frontenac make the English
masters of all the upper country."
"But here," exclaimed Isidore, eagerly, "here we may yet retrieve it
all."
"If it so please God," replied Montcalm; "but though all hope is not
yet gone, our chance is but slender. We have kept the enemy at bay for
nearly two months and a half, and on the last day of July we foiled a
desperate attack which Wolfe made on the Montmorency redoubts yonder.
If we could hold out till winter comes to our aid all would be well,
but I have little hope."
"They are masters of all the right bank, are they not?" interposed
Isidore.
"Yes, for many miles up the river. If I had had my way I would have
thrown a couple of thousand men across and stopped that game, but de
Vaudreuil overruled me at the outset. He is a traitor, and has ruined
us. What can I do with barely three thousand regulars? The Canadian
militia are indeed some five or six thousand strong, but I cannot rely
on them with any certainty, and with such a fleet at his command it is
impossible to say where Wolfe may next assail us. Look at it! A score
of ships of the line, with frigates and transports out of number."
"But they have been here since the end of June and have done nothing.
This bank of the river is absolutely impregnable, and it seems they
cannot force the Montmorency lines."
"It is our last and only chance," replied Montcalm, "and if the worst
should come, a battle before Quebec might save us. I have had,
however, to send away a couple of thousand Canadians to try and save
some of the harvest, which is sorely needed, for our commissariat is
reduced almost to the last extremity. Yes, de Beaujardin," he added,
"there is nothing left for me but to hold out and fight to the last,
and die a soldier's death. I would not wish to live to see the fall of
New France, but that must surely come. But de Valricour has of course
told you----"
"I have not seen him yet. I came direct to you to report myself," said
Isidore.
"Not seen him!" cried Montcalm in amazement; "but I might have expected
that from you. Go--go at once--good news is in store for you at all
events, and you are worthy of it." Then turning to an officer who had
just come up, he added, "Send an orderly with this gentleman to Colonel
de Valricour's quarters. Stay; Colonel de Beaujardin is reappointed to
his old position on the staff. See to this at once."
Isidore would have thanked him, but Montcalm was already reading the
despatch just brought to him, and with a full heart the young soldier
bent his steps towards his uncle's quarters.
Passing out of the citadel, he had proceeded but a short distance when
the orderly stopped.
"Here!" exclaimed Isidore, with some agitation, for the house pointed
out to him was the very one in which Madame de Rocheval had resided,
and where he had seen Marguerite for the first time.
Another orderly at the door bade him enter. He did so, and ascended
the stairs as if in a dream. He did not even hear the man announce
him, and as he stood at the open door of the saloon his eyes grew dim,
and he could see nothing; but he heard a voice cry out, "Isidore! my
husband!" and Marguerite was clasped in his arms.
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Chapter VI]
[Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter VII]