THE END GROWING NEAR.
The sea was frozen now for miles upon miles along the coast, there
were no electric cables as yet, and inland all postal communication
was cut off by concurrent events. No news came to Roland from
Messrs. Hook and Crook, and for all that he knew to the contrary, the
newly-found heirs might have eaten their Christmas pudding and drunk
the new year in, at Ardgowrie!
But Roland gave not a thought to such matters now! He had become
changed in appearance, too; he was thinner, and two or three lines
appeared about his eyes, where none had been visible before; and
times there were when he thought himself going mad with the bitter
strain upon his thoughts.
He had but a wild, clamorous craving and gnawing at the heart--a
fierce longing to quit Chambly and set out for St. Eustache. But
Roland Ruthven was a soldier of the Queen, and was chained to his
post. His place was with the colours of the Royal Scots.
The cold at this time was intense; in the village market-place were
masses of beef, sheep, and deer frozen hard as they had been for
months, having been killed when the severe weather first set in.
There, too, were plucked fowls, fish of all kinds frozen hard, and
eels as stiff as walking-sticks. Even the milk was sold by the
pound, and the loaves of bread, frozen hard the moment they left the
oven, had to be literally sawn into slices, and half-and-half grog
froze.
The snow was deeper than it had ever been seen by that proverbial
party who is to be found everywhere, "the oldest inhabitant," and
military operations were out of the question. Guards, when relieving
others, frequently took over the arms of the old guard being unable
to carry their own; and once Roland found a sentinel frozen dead,
hard and stiff and pale as the snow around him, in his sentry-box,
with his glazed eyes glaring horribly out of their sockets. He was
Robert Bruce, already mentioned, who, poor fellow, would sing upon
his post no more.
But amid all this, the mess often thought and talked of punkahs, of
Bengal curries, green chillies, devilled biscuits, and other
"up-country" memories, as if the very mention of such things would
keep them warm! And at that merry mess-table Roland always felt
himself to be now--how different from past times!--the skeleton at
the banquet.
But there comes an end to all things, and relief came ere long to the
agonised mind of Roland. He was seated in his billet--a miserable
wood-cutter's hut at Chambly,--when, one morning, Hector Logan burst
in upon him like a gale of wind, bringing a tempest of snow with him.
"News for you, Ruthven!" he cried, shaking himself like a
Newfoundland dog; "splendid news! We are to march at once."
"For where?"
"St. Eustache, my boy."
"St. Eustache!" exclaimed Roland, starting to his feet.
"St. Eustache it is. I have just seen the Colonel with the General's
order in his hand."
"Thank God!" exclaimed he, with great fervour; "we shall soon gain
tidings now--you know of _whom_?"
"True, old fellow!"
"Yes--and vengeance too, perhaps!" added Roland, but his heart sank
at the thought of how unavailing might be all human vengeance _now_!
Never did soldier prepare to take the field with greater alacrity
than Roland Ruthven. The chances of Fate or of war might have
compelled him to remain where he was, like Tantalus, in his pool, or
to move in some other direction than St. Eustache!
It all came to pass thus.
The severity of the weather had abated a little, and even while it
lasted rapine and outrage had reigned supreme in the disaffected
districts. Sir John Colborne, on the 13th December, with all his
disposable forces, set out on his march from Montreal, and
Wetherall's little column was to join him on the way to St. Eustache
to seize that place and scour the country about the Lake of the Two
Mountains, where the insurgents under Papineau, Smash, and others had
barbarously driven out all the loyal inhabitants, leaving many of
them to perish miserably among the snow; and a vast extent of country
was ravaged and pillaged.
Sharing Roland's anxiety, Hector Logan was in the highest spirits,
when the troops moved off and turned their backs on Chambly, as they
devoutly hoped, for ever.
Evening was approaching when the march began, without music, and the
drummers had their drums slung behind them. The soldiers had their
buff belts above their great coats. The musket-locks had been
inspected and fresh ammunition served to all, which, as the men said
to each other smilingly, "looked like business."
"No 'beauty and the bowl' for us to night, Roland, by Jove," said
Logan, as he set his face to the fierce northern blast, which came
sweeping from the Pole itself over half a world of snow, rasping the
cheek like the roughest file.
Roland commanded the advanced guard, which consisted of two sections,
with detached files, and as they were penetrating into disturbed
districts, Colonel Wetherall repeated to him the usual orders and
cautions to be observed when entering defiles or hollow-ways,
ascending hills, with flank objects, and so on, and never did the
young officer feel more sternly zealous in his life.
After proceeding some miles, just as the moon rose and the guard
entered a hollow-way, where the cutting in the drifted snow was deep,
Roland heard his first advanced file challenge some one and cock his
musket. Then a man on horseback appeared, who replied in broken
English.
Roland drew his sword, and on hurrying to the front found that his
next advanced files had stopped the stranger, who appeared to be a
peasant--a French settler. He wore an old-fashioned _capote_ and
mocassins of cow-hide; and had a rifle slung across his back.
"You are a Frenchman, I perceive?" said Roland.
"Monsieur l'officier," replied the man, saluting him, "je suis
Canadien."
"Why are you armed?"
"For my own protection, monsieur."
"That may or may not be. Where do you live?"
"My farm is on the Rivière de Chine."
"Has it been burned?"
"No, monsieur."
"That in itself looks suspicious," said Roland, while the stranger
glanced uneasily at the dark mass of the grey-coated and cross-belted
column, now descending the slope in the moonlight.
"From whence came you last?" asked Roland.
"The village of St. Eustache, monsieur."
Roland's heart leaped; it was with difficulty he could ask the next
question.
Did he know aught of a young lady who was in the hands of Mie
insurgents?
"Mademoiselle Darnel--yes, monsieur. She is still in the house of
the Seigneur with Colonel Smash, or perhaps in the church which is
fortified. She is married to him, people say--or, rather, _he_ has
married _her_," added the fellow, with a grin, which nearly tempted
Roland in his then mood of mind to run him through the body.
He felt sick, sick at heart; but in a little time he would know
all--the worst!
"Corporal Burns," said he, with a voice strangely broken, as the
listening soldiers told, "take this fellow, with a file of men, to
the rear. The Colonel may wish to question him. Forward, lads!" he
added, as the peasant was taken, in great tribulation of mind,
towards the column, and once more the march of the advanced guard was
resumed, and Roland Ruthven tramped on, so full of agitating thoughts
that he never knew his cigar had been cold and out for half an hour
or more.
The junction was duly effected with the column of Sir John Colborne;
the Royal Scots Regiment, the Montreal Rifles, and Globinsky's
Volunteers, were formed in one brigade under Colonel Wetherall. The
latter force was dispatched through the forests that border the upper
road leading to the point to be attacked, with orders to drive back
and disperse all pickets and parties of the insurgents, while the
remainder of the brigade crossed the Ottawa, or Grande Rivière, on
the ice on the 14th of December.
There along the Ottawa, the then snow-covered country is undulating,
thickly covered with fine wood, except on the western bank of the
river, where for some twelve miles have been laid out townships,
chiefly occupied by Irish, and American settlers. Below that of
Chatham the old French Seigneuries begin.
The advance on the enemy's stronghold now began from several points.
In Roland's heart much of the ardour and fierce excitement incident
to the march had died away, or rather taken the form of unspeakable
anxiety and grief, especially when on the 14th of December he saw
before him St. Eustache, with its wooden houses and orchards of bare
apple-trees, the cold winter sunlight tipping the spire of the
church, and the vanes of the large white house, wherein Roland knew
that she might be, though the man taken over night informed Colonel
Wetherall that it was not improbable she might be in the church,
which the rebels considered the key of their position.
"Patience--patience!" he muttered, "patience yet awhile!"
No magistrate being with the troops, Sir John Colborne, while still
at a little distance from the place, resolved to send forward an
officer with the printed proclamation. For this service Roland at
once volunteered. Tying a white handkerchief to the blade of his
sword, in token of truce, he borrowed his friend the adjutant's
horse, and galloped forward to the first line of stockades or outer
defences, behind which the dark forms of armed rebels were seen
clustering thick as bees, and at the windows of the seigneur's house.
The whole troops watched with anxiety the brief parley that seemed to
ensue; then it was suddenly cut short by a lamentable crime. A
stream of smoke came from the window of a house, the report of a
musket rang out on the clear frosty air, Roland's horse was seen to
rear, with its rider lying back on the crupper, but his knees still
in the stirrups, to all appearance a corpse, as Nolan's was borne
back from Balaclava!
A shout of rage burst from the Royals; the artillery opened, and all
pressed forward to the attack, intent on dire vengeance, at a
well-ordered rush.
By barricades, palisades, trenches, and loopholing the houses, the
church, and its presbytery, Papineau, Smash, and their bands of
rebels, had left nothing undone to render St. Eustache a somewhat
formidable post; and they were encouraged by the knowledge that other
bodies of their compatriots had fortified themselves at St. Benoit
and elsewhere.
These preparations had, luckily for poor Aurelia, occupied much of
her ungainly suitor's time, but he found himself at full leisure on
the eventful 14th of December, and he began his system of annoyance
again.
"The Colonel" had never sacrificed much to the graces, and his late
occupations in St. Eustache had effectually prevented him from doing
so at all; thus his appearance was every way the reverse of
prepossessing.
In her own house, surrounded by familiar objects, though havoc and
wanton destruction were visible on every hand, Aurelia had after a
time gathered a fictitious courage, for was she not at home! But
what struck her as curious was, that in this fellow's strange
love-making he had never spoken of _love_, for, sooth to say, he knew
not what, in its purer sense, the sweet emotion meant; and by partial
successes, particularly the failure of Colonel Gore's column before
St. Denis, he was now so swelled and inflated with pride that he
threatened to explode like a Woolwich torpedo, and ever and anon he
would say to Aurelia,--
"Snakes! I could scarcely expect you to marry me right off the reel,
slick at once; but I may grow weary of giving you time, so listen to
me!" (here he registered one of his awful oaths) "rather than that
blazing Britisher should succeed, I'd job my bowie into you!"
If St. Eustache were attacked, and the Queen's troops defeated, then
indeed did Aurelia know that one way or other her fate would be
sealed. Indeed, it might be sealed either way!
Cold though the season--it could not well be colder--so hot was the
constitution of the Colonel (or his "coppers," as he phrased it),
that he was always compounding curious effervescing drinks in long
tumblers from the contents of Madame Darnel's cellars; but on the
morning in question he said--
"Aurelia, my dear, I have a bumper of that old mydeary, which
belonged to your dad, old Darnel! Snakes! but it _is_ the stuff.
Not the mixtour of hickory and Jamaikey rum we get in New York," he
added, draining a tumbler of the late Mr. Darnel's most cherished
Madeira, much to the alarm of his shrinking listener, as intoxication
always added, if possible, to the Colonel's vulgarity.
"Ah--ah!" said little M. Papineau, regarding him with a smile,
snuff-box in hand, "the ancient Persians--if we are to believe
history--never undertook any great matter, and never discoursed of
aught that referred to policy or public interest, till they were at
least, as the sailors say, three sheets in the wind, and you seem to
be of their opinion. And now I must go round our posts."
And, bowing with mock courtesy to Aurelia, he took his sword and
pistols, and withdrew, stuffing them into the belt that girt his
buffalo coat.
Afraid almost to close her eyes at night, the poor girl had now an
unslept, wild, and hunted look in them, with black circles round
them; her face was deadly pale, and her once beautiful dark silky
hair, never dressed now, was twisted in one great uncombed mass at
the back of her head. Smash saw all this plainly enough, but he was
pitiless as a Canadian bear, and only muttered,--
"Darn, me, but I'll tame her yet, and break her spirit or her heart!"
A little cry escaped her--a cry of joy, but more she dared not utter,
for lo! from the windows of the room she could see, advancing over
the waste of far extending snow through which the great Montreal road
lay, the dark masses of the approaching troops, dark because all were
in their grey overcoats; but the fixed bayonets glittered like a grey
steely forest; the bright colours, crimson, blue, and gold, were
waving in the sun, here and there the rays of the latter were
reflected from a brass drum.
The heads of the infantry columns halted, and a distant flash or
gleam seemed to pass along the ranks as the arms were "ordered" and
the men stood "at ease;" the artillery were all well to the front,
unlimbered and wheeled round, the horses untraced and taken to the
rear, and while one solitary officer was seen galloping towards St.
Eustache, a ferocious interjection escaped Ithuriel Smash, and a roar
of voices burst over all the place, when some thousand men grasped
their arms--weapons of every description.
How wildly with hope beat the heart of Aurelia at this moment! But
she closed her ears to the cries she heard around her, from the
colonists and their American sympathisers.
"Sacré Anglais! Blood for blood!"
"Down with the Red slaves of Queen Victoria!"
"Death to the island savages!"
"We'll whip the 'tarnal Britishers into the sea!"
And so forth, the phrases only alike in their spirit of ferocity.
Meanwhile the solitary and adventurous officer was coming galloping
on. At last he drew near that portion of the rudely-constructed
works or fortifications (that connected all the houses and gardens of
St. Eustache) which was immediately overlooked by the windows of the
room in which she was compelled to remain with Ithuriel Smash, who,
on the officer reining in his horse and waving his flag of truce,
threw up a sash to hear what he had to say.
"Listen, my good people," he cried, displaying a paper, "to the
proclamation of Lieutenant-General Sir John Colborne, G.C.B. and
G.C.H., Commander-in-Chief of all Her Britannic Majesty's forces in
Canada:--
"Our Sovereign Lady the Queen chargeth and commandeth all the persons
here assembled in Eustache, immediately to disperse themselves, and
peaceably depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business,
upon the pains contained in the Acts made in the 27th year of King
George the Third, to prevent tumultuous risings and assemblies."
A yell of scorn and defiance responded to the reading of this brief
document. Meanwhile a moan escaped Aurelia, and a fierce chuckle
Colonel Smash; and so occupied was the former in looking at her
lover, that she took no heed of the Colonel, who softly and silently
locked a musket, took aim, and fired.
Then a piercing shriek escaped Aurelia, as Roland, to all appearance
dead or dying, prostrate backward on the crupper of his horse, was
borne by it to the rear.
"Jerusalem and earthquakes!" said the assassin, laughing. "No need
to waste a second bullet now!"
"Oh Father in Heaven, but this is too much--too much!" cried Aurelia,
as she fell on her knees and covered her face with her hands.
"Is it?" said the ruffian, with another fiendish laugh, while
proceeding to reload. "Now I think the game is in my own hands in
more ways than one, Aurelia Darnel. We've dug up the war-hatchet,
and ain't going to smoke the painted calumet of peace now!"
She fell prone on her face in a swoon, and thus Ithuriel Smash had to
leave her, to come round as best she might, as other work was cut out
for him now, as the troops were closing up fast on every hand, and
already the guns of Glasgow's artillery had begun to knock everything
in the village to pieces.