"White Eagle, with thirty braves, will reach the Seneca Falls at sunset.
Will the palefaces continue to follow the Algonquin trail?"
"Yes," the scouts replied.
And then, without another word, Swift Arrow turned away and disappeared
into the forest, almost in the direction in which he had come.
Though Jamie was now fairly acquainted with Indian manners and customs,
he was rather taken aback with this abrupt departure, and would have
called him back again, but the trapper said--
"Leave him alone, lad. He is only following the traditions of his race.
He has followed our trail, and delivered the chief's message, and is now
probably going to rejoin White Eagle. He has discharged his duty with a
fidelity that many a white man might envy."
"He must be tired!"
"Yes, during the last fifty hours he must have traversed near a hundred
and fifty miles of forest and streams, and I doubt very much whether he
has tasted food during the whole journey."
"Hunter, I have lived amongst the red men a little while now, and I have
often discovered amongst them a sense of honour and an unselfish spirit
that I have never seen surpassed by the members of more civilised
races."
"I'm glad to hear you say it, lad. During the last fifteen years my
truest friend has been a red man."
"You mean the White Eagle?"
"I do!"
"He is a great chief. I owe him my life. But for him my scalp would now
be hanging at the girdle of one of his braves. I knew he would come to
your rescue, too, if he only knew of your danger."
"Come to my rescue? He would have crossed the lakes and the plains to
the mountains beyond, even to the utmost bounds of the Oregon River, if
he had but known that my life was in danger, and he would not have
expected the slightest reward; but come, let us break our fast that we
may follow the trail."
"Look, trapper. There is our dinner, and a right royal one, too," said
Jamie, pointing to several wild turkeys that were feeding in the
half-dried bed of a little stream near by.
The hunter raised his rifle to his shoulder quickly, and fired, and one
of the birds fell over, struggled for a few seconds, and then lay still
with its claws in the air. Jamie rushed off to secure it, and quickly
dressed it while the trapper lighted a fire, and in a few minutes this
fine fat bird was roasting on a spit, scenting the forest with the smell
of roast turkey, and promising to allay every pang of hunger.
They made a hearty repast, and then washed it down with a drink at the
little stream, before they continued their march. They had a trail now
that a child could have followed, for at very frequent intervals there
were splashes of blood, which marked the ground and showed the track of
the wounded Algonquin, so that they were able to move rapidly and
without any loss of time for several miles.
"We must keep a sharp look-out for scouts now, trapper, for the varlets
know that we are on their track."
"That will only make them hurry forward, and I don't think that they
will place many scouts in their rear. The only thing that I fear is
that they will not camp to-night, but press on in order to get to the
Canadas as quickly as possible. In that case, should the chief be
detained, they may pass the Falls before he gets there, and reach
Ontario. So we must follow close. We cannot be far from Lake Seneca
now."
"Cannot we follow them there?"
"No. They will be safe behind the guns of the Frenchers."
"Is it true then, hunter, that all the Canada Indians look up to Louis
as their king, and call him their 'Great French Father' across the
water, and that they are in league with him to drive all the English
from the Americas, and to make it a great French Empire?"
"'Tis even so, my lad! And 'tis my firm belief that the Canada
war-parties, like the one whose trail we are now following, are sent to
stir up strife, to tomahawk and scalp the English settlers, to destroy
their harvests and burn their houses, by the Frenchers at Quebec and the
frontier forts; but they defeat their own objects, for they have lately
stirred up all the tribes of the Iroquois as well as the Delawares to
become the active allies of the English."
"And what will be the end of it all, trapper?"
"The end of it will be, that the Frenchers themselves before long will
be driven out of Canada, just as they have lately been driven out of
India, by a few determined Englishmen, under that brilliant
merchant-soldier, Clive."
"Indeed! Do you think it possible to drive the French out of Quebec?
They have made the place impregnable. When I left there they ridiculed
the idea that the English would ever attempt to take it."
"Time will show," said the trapper. "Do you know that even now a
British fleet is holding the river, and an English army is encamped
about Quebec?"
"Is it possible? How I should like to be there and to serve under
Wolfe's flag; but how did you learn all this in the forest?"
"Even the forest can speak to those who have ears to listen. Why did
the Algonquins depart so rapidly, and make no attempt to recapture me,
when the price of fifty beaver-skins has been set upon my scalp by the
Canadas during the past five years? They could not know then that the
Iroquois were upon their trail."
"Why, indeed; unless they were summoned hastily back to their own
country, or was it that they feared the wrath of the Senecas and the
Cayugas, whose hunting-grounds they had invaded?"
"Partly that, perhaps, for the Senecas, like all the other tribes of the
Six Nations, are a fierce and warlike race; but there was another
reason."
"What was it?"
"Listen! The night before I escaped, a messenger, with a war-hatchet
all covered with blood, entered the Algonquin camp. He also carried a
broad belt of wampum, and the skin of a rattlesnake filled with arrows;
while his tomahawk was stained a deep red, in token of war. He was
received with great deference, and when he had handed the war-belt to
the Algonquin chief, he declared that a fierce and bloody war had broken
out between the French Father and the children of Miquon, and that the
former needed all his red children to come and assist him. He promised
them 'a great plenty' of paleface scalps if they would come; but if they
refused, then, if the English won, they would take from the children of
the Manitou all their hunting-grounds, and burn their wigwams and lodges
to the ground, until the prints of their moccasins should no longer be
found in the forests.
"When the messenger had finished speaking he showered the arrows upon
the earth, and then flung the blood-red hatchet upon the ground,
saying--
"'Even now the River of Canada is full of big canoes that carry the
thunder and the lightning, and the paleface warriors from over the great
Salt Lake, led by a mighty chieftain named Le Loup [Wolfe], have settled
around the fortress of Canada, like a swarm of locusts. Come, my
brothers! Who will take up the hatchet to fight for the Great Canada
Father?'
"After a long pause, as if to give due weight and consideration to this
important message, the Algonquin chief arose from his seat by the
council fire, and made a brief but solemn speech, which, after extolling
the prowess of his ancestors and himself, ended in a promise to return
and assist the French, as soon as the scattered members of the party
returned, and the scouts were called in. He then proceeded slowly to
the spot where the hatchet was half buried, and solemnly took it up.
"A wild burst of savage yells greeted this action, and the evening was
given up to a war-dance. Next day, while the parties were coming in,
one of the scouts was scalped, as you know, by Young Eagle, and the
departure was delayed another day.
"Thus it was," continued the trapper, "that I learnt of the arrival of
Wolfe, and that the plight of the French was so bad that all their
Indian allies had been called in to assist them, with a promise of a
'great plenty' of paleface scalps. A promise which never fails to
attract a red man."
This was news that fired Jamie's soul. What would he not give to join
his countrymen, and to help in wresting the Canadas from the French? At
that moment he envied the smallest drummer-boy in Wolfe's army the part
he was to play in the siege.
"If only Jack were free," he said to himself, "we would start for Quebec
to-morrow, and offer our services; and Jack shall be free, if brave men
can save him!" Then overtaking the trapper, who was a few yards in
advance, for during this conversation they had been following the trail
in single file, he said--
"In another two hours the sun will be entering the pines. I shall be
glad when we reach one of the streams that flows into the lake. Surely
we cannot be far away now!"
The hunter at that instant halted suddenly, and exclaimed, "The
varmint!"
"What's the matter?" inquired Jamie, noting the anxious look on the face
of his companion.
"They have misled us. This is a false trail. Several of the Algonquins
have come this way in order to mislead us, and then doubled back,
walking backwards. It must be so, for look--the trail ends here."
It was only too true. For nearly a mile, through tangled forest, across
streams and open glades, they had followed a false trail.
"That comes of talking too much. Your Indian, when he is on the
warpath, doesn't spill a word, except his blessed 'Ugh!', for he keeps
his nose down to the trail. However, there is no help for it. We must
go back till we strike the main trail again." This all took valuable
time, but at last they discovered the spot where the tracks diverged,
and they got the scent once more. The real trail had been so neatly
covered up, for fifty yards or more, and the false one left open, that
it was no wonder that the mistake was made.
Even here their difficulties did not end, for within another quarter of
an hour they came to a spot where several small streams met, and here
also the trail ended abruptly, and although they examined each bank for
some distance they were unable to discover any clue as to the route
taken by the Algonquins.
Time was precious, and a full half-hour had already been wasted here,
when the trapper, who had carefully examined each of the bigger streams,
turned his attention to the third, which was a mere rivulet. Proceeding
twenty yards up the bank of the stream, he dammed up the rivulet with a
few stones, backed by earth-sods, and turned it temporarily out of its
course, so that almost immediately it ran dry. Then, following the
dried-up bed of the stream, he soon perceived the print of a moccasin,
that had only been half-washed away by the water.
"Look!" he said, "even the water sometimes gives up its secrets. Here
is the trail--let us follow it."
Half-a-mile further on they came to a place where the whole band had
left the stream, and struck into the forest again, and just as the sun
was getting low amongst the trees they struck a larger stream that was
capable of bearing a canoe.
"They have taken to the water! See, here are the marks made by the bows
of the canoes, as they pushed off," said the trapper.
"And here is the spot where the boats were hidden amongst the bushes!"
exclaimed Jamie.
"Yes. Let us look around and see if by any chance they have left us a
spare canoe, for if I am not mistaken they have left nearly a dozen of
their warriors in the Iroquois forests."
A diligent search was made, but no trace of a canoe could be found
anywhere. The only thing they could find was a spare paddle, which the
trapper took along with him, saying--
"A paddle without a canoe is not worth much, but if we discover a canoe
and haven't got a paddle, we shall not be much better off."
They had not proceeded far down the bank of the stream when the keen
eyes of the hunter, despite the failing light, perceived a stranded
canoe on the other side of the river.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "The rascals had one canoe too many, but
to prevent us using it they set it adrift, and the current has landed it
across there. I will fetch it."
"No, no!" said Jamie. "I'll fetch it," and, throwing off his hunting
shirt, he plunged into the stream, and swam across to where the canoe
had gone ashore, jammed between two rocks. He had taken the paddle with
him, and he quickly returned in the canoe, which was none the worse for
its little adventure, except that there was a small hole in the bow,
which the trapper soon repaired.
"There is no time to lose. We must hasten; for unless the Algonquins
camp somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late," said the hunter.
The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they paddled swiftly down stream;
but there was still a crimson glow from amongst the pines on the western
side of the river. Sometimes they skimmed along with the current
without putting in the paddle, the next moment they danced and twisted
amongst the rapids; but the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst the
rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever seeking the most sheltered spots.
Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to them the opening of the lake,
and in another moment they were skimming along its glassy surface, close
in-shore. This narrow lake is thirty-five miles long, and from one to
three miles broad, and long before they had covered half its length
darkness fell, but they slackened not their efforts. They paddled in
turn, quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful watch lest they should
discover the camp-fire of the enemy.
They were approaching a headland that jutted out some little way into
the lake, and were scarce a dozen yards from the thick bushes which
overhung the bank, when the screech of an owl reached their ears from
the shore.
Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand for a moment, and peered
into the darkness. A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock at the
very edge of the water, with an uplifted hand that indicated danger.
He knew that form and that call too well to hesitate. "It is Swift
Arrow," he whispered; and drove the canoe in gently towards the shore.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS*
What new danger threatened them now? As they drew ashore at a spot where
the bushes parted to allow the rock to jut into the water, Jamie was
about to inquire from the Indian youth what was the matter, and how he
had managed to strike their trail again, at a moment when perhaps they
most needed his presence, but a low "Hist!" which came from the dark
figure upon the rock, silenced him. Evidently the lad had feared for
their safety, and at great peril had come to save them, or at any rate
to make them conscious of the approaching danger.
Silently, they landed on the margin of the forest, and crept ashore.
The rustle of a leaf, the snapping of a twig might betray their presence
to a lurking scout, though as yet they knew not what danger threatened.
"The Wacondah has made Swift Arrow his messenger, in order to save our
scalps. Swift Arrow will now speak," whispered the hunter.
Then in a low, soft, musical voice, untouched by excitement at the
nearness of danger, or emotion at seeing his friends again, the Indian
pointed to the dark headland, scarce a hundred yards further along the
lake, and said--
"Swift Arrow has kept watch for his friends. There is the Algonquin
camp, and their scouts are close to us; watching both the lake and the
forest. A singing-bird has spoken to them, and they think White Eagle
is behind them. Before daybreak, they will enter the Seneca River, at
the outlet of the lake, on their way back to the Canadas."
"But must we remain here till they are gone?" asked Jamie.
"No," smiled the youth. "Swift Arrow will now lead his paleface friends
out of danger, and pilot them safely to the spot where the White Eagle
awaits the Algonquins, at the portage by the Seneca Falls."
Saying this, he stepped into the canoe and took the paddle, motioning
the others to lie down in the bottom of the craft, and then noiselessly
pushed off from the bank. The Indian did not attempt to continue the
former direction, but paddled cautiously back a little way, hugging the
shore; then he struck directly across the lake, which is here about two
miles broad, and having approached the opposite bank, he turned the head
of the canoe once more towards the outlet of the lake, and paddled
swiftly.
This manoeuvre succeeded perfectly, and they got away unobserved.
Taking turns at the solitary paddle, they soon reached the outlet, and
entered the swift stream which takes its name from the lake. Now they
were piloted swiftly and safely past the rapids, aided only by the light
of the stars, and the daring skill of the Indian.
Two hours before dawn, a dull roar fell upon their ears. It was the
cataract, where the whole river tumbles in a frenzy of froth and foam
down a chasm of fifty feet, forming the far-famed Seneca Falls.
The canoes were drawn to the bank at the portage, and as they stepped
ashore, the dark, shadowy forms of several painted warriors emerged from
the cover of the trees. They were the Iroquois scouts, who were keenly
watching for the approach of the enemy. Then a powerful and haughty
chief confronted them. It was the White Eagle himself, but the stern
stoicism of his countenance relaxed for a moment as he greeted his two
paleface friends.
"The paleface hunter is welcome to the camp of the Iroquois. Many moons
have passed since White Eagle and his friend hunted the red deer, and
struck the trail of the moose together," said the chief.
"The home of the Grey Badger is in the wigwams of the Iroquois, and when
he has struck his Canada enemies, he will return to his seat at the
council fire of the White Eagle," replied the hunter.
"Ugh! It is well! I feared that the Canada snakes had charmed away my
friend, but then I remembered that the Grey Badger is too great a
warrior to permit his scalp to hang upon the poles of their lodges."
"It was a mighty close shave this time, chief. I didn't expect to see
my red friends again."
"Bah! The river is now netted for the Canada salmon. My braves will
take 'plenty' scalp before another sunset. Come! My warriors will
watch."
A couple of Indians took up the canoe and carried it to the other end of
the portage, while several others eliminated from the soft bank the
marks made by the bow of the boat and the prints of the moccasins. This
precaution was adopted to prevent an alarm being given to the
Algonquins, who were shortly expected. Then the party retired within
the precincts of the forest, there to await the coming of the dawn.
Dawn came at last--towards the sun-rising a faint yellow streak lit up
the horizon. Next, a saffron tint flushed the sky, and then the stars
faded and disappeared, as the gates of the morning were unbarred, and a
hundred streamers of flashing, roseate hues flooded the blue vault of
heaven. Myriads of songsters awoke the stillness of the forest, for the
day had come, and the dark curtain of night rolled westward.
Another two hours passed, and then the hawk-eyed vigilance of the
watchers was rewarded by a first glimpse of the enemy. The dull,
constant roar of the cataract in their ears prevented their hearing the
sound of the approaching paddles, or the crunching of their birch-bark
canoes upon the beach, but long ere this, the Iroquois scouts had
reported the enemy in sight, and every one was ready for the approaching
fight.
The portage was a short one, and the chief had spread his warriors over
the whole length in order to prevent the escape of any of the
Algonquins. A few scouts headed the party, then came the Indians
carrying the five canoes, and after them, the two prisoners, their arms
bound with thongs, walking between a couple of braves with tomahawks in
their hands.
Every one now eagerly awaited the signal for the combat. The advance
party had reached a point about half-way over the ground, when the
shrill scream of an eagle rose in the air. At the same instant, the
clatter of a dozen rifles, and the fierce war-cry of the thirty
Iroquois, burst upon the ear. The very trees about the unfortunate
Algonquins seemed to turn into frenzied warriors, who, brandishing their
tomahawks, rushed upon their foe. The canoes were thrown to the ground,
and in the confusion which followed, brave deeds were done. A fierce
hand-to-hand fight ensued, but the Algonquins, mowed down by that first
fire, and hopelessly outclassed, were driven nearer and nearer to that
perilous brink, where leapt the mighty cataract into the foaming rapids
and whirlpools below.
A few bold spirits, rather than leave their scalps in the hands of their
enemies, leapt into the chasm beneath, and were never seen again. Except
these, not a soul escaped the vengeance of the Iroquois.
The two braves in charge of the prisoners were the first to fall, for
from their first landing they had been covered by the rifles of the
hunter and Jamie. The latter then drew his hunting-knife from its
sheath, and rushing forward, cut the thongs that bound the two
prisoners, and quickly drew them out of the _melee_ into a place of
safety, and left the contest to the Iroquois, for he had no doubt
whatever of what the result would be, and taking scalps was not exactly
to his liking.
Meanwhile, the White Eagle wielded his tomahawk with all the strength
and fury of an Iroquois chief. He fought his way to where Red Wolf was
heading and encouraging his braves, and hewed him down. It was quickly
over, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Iroquois were masters of
the field.
"Thanks, Jamie! You have saved my life, and I can never repay you. I
had given up all hope of escape. So rigidly were we watched that there
was not the slightest opportunity for us to gain our freedom. We were
to have been tortured and put to death at sunset, at soon as we had
reached the shambles of Fort Oswego, for you know the French have taken
the place, after a dreadful slaughter, and now claim to be masters of
both shores of the lake. Still, all that is past now, and I am thankful
to be with my friends once more. Jamie, old fellow, how can I thank you
for all this?"
"You've had a narrow squeak, Jack, but you must thank the hunter here,
and Swift Arrow, who I believe has not taken food since you were made a
prisoner. Come!" and Jamie led his old comrade towards the others.
"Let me introduce you to the 'Great Paleface Hunter' who held your trail
till the White Eagle could arrive with his braves."
"What! the Grey Badger, the friend of the chief?"
"The same. He is a mighty paleface, and I have learnt to love him
already. He is the most renowned hunter in all the forests south of the
lakes."
So, while the Indians harvested the spoils of the enemy, the three
palefaces lit a fire, and cooked a breakfast from a large salmon,
speared in the river below, satisfied the pangs of hunger at a spot a
little apart from the braves, near by the lower end of the portage, and
then talked for an hour about all the news that had filtered through the
forest relative to the great conflict, which was already raging so
fiercely on both banks of the St. Lawrence.
The youths listened with pent-up feelings, while the hunter told all he
had heard from passing _voyageurs_ and Indian runners of the disasters
that had befallen the English arms of late. He described the disaster
of Ticonderoga, the fall of Fort Oswego, and the partial success of
Dieskau, but when he spoke of the capture of Fort William Henry and the
frightful massacre which followed, the lads sprang to their feet, and
declared in one breath--
"We will go and offer our services to General Wolfe, for our country
needs us!"
The light of battle was in their eyes, the courage of manhood mounted to
their brows, as they clasped each other's hand across the fire, and
repeated their promise to join the English lines; then, turning to the
trapper, who remained seated by the fire, smoking calmly and puffing the
blue smoke from an Indian calumet, Jamie said--
"Say, hunter! Will you join us on yet another trail, where the game
shall be, not redskins, but the recreants of Montcalm, and the reward,
not Indian scalps, but the honour of the old flag, or--a soldier's
grave?"
"Lads," he replied, "my country has not been over kind to me. I am an
exile from my native land, and yet I have never committed a crime. My
conscience is clear; but I, too, feel my country's call, and I know her
need, and it shall never be said of me that I shirked the call of duty,
when already so many exiles have left their bones to bleach in the
forest, for the land that has denied to them a hearth and a home. I
will go! Let us bid good-bye to the chief and his braves."
The parting scenes between the White Eagle and the hunter, the paleface
youths and their Indian friends, was affecting in the extreme, when it
became known that they were now about to part, and perhaps for ever. All
the rich memories of their forest life were brought back to them, and to
the palefaces especially the fidelity of their red brothers, their lofty
characters, despite their many failings, their simple faith in the Great
Spirit, the Wacondah of their race; their comradeship in hunting the red
deer and the shaggy brown bear amid all the savage scenery of mountain
and forest, and taking from the streams and lakes the salmon and the
sturgeon, or descending wild rapids and torrents in their frail
birch-bark canoes, with these children of the Manitou--all this they
recalled, and forsook it with a pang of regret; but another voice was
calling to them, and their beating hearts were but responding to the
call of Duty.
At last, they stood by their canoe ready to depart, at the lower end of
the portage, below the Falls; and the Indians were standing around them,
sad and melancholy, for their grief had for once broken down their manly
reserve, and the stoic mask, which had enabled some amongst them to
endure torture without flinching, could not now keep back the moisture
from many an eye.
Listen! the great chief, in prophetic strain, is speaking his last
solemn words of farewell--
"The face of the Manitou is hid behind a cloud, and the hearts of his
red children are sad. Nevermore will the Great Paleface Hunter, the
friend of the White Eagle, hunt the deer in the hills of the Iroquois.
Nevermore will he sit at the council fire of my people, and smoke the
calumet, while his red brothers listen to the wisdom that falls from his
lips like the dew from heaven. Nevermore will he speak to us of the
sacred writings that the Wacondah has given to the children of the
Sun-rising!
"When his canoe has sailed into the regions of the East-wind, then shall
my people be scattered like the leaves in autumn, and the few that
remain, to fish the streams and hunt the moose and the elk, will be but
as blasted pines, where the fires of the forest have raged."
"Nay, chief! The sun will shine again, and I shall return if the
Manitou wills it," urged the hunter, as he flicked the water impatiently
with his paddle.
"The Wacondah has said it! My paleface brother shall nevermore look
upon the face of the White Eagle."
"Then I shall look for my red friend in the happy hunting-grounds of the
Manitou. Good-bye!"
The next moment the canoe shot into the stream, and began to descend
rapidly towards the great lake. A last long look was cast behind, a
last adieu waved to their friends, who stood watching till they passed
from view, then the low murmur of the Falls ceased as they sped on their
way.
Soon, they passed the ruins of Fort Oswego, and entered Lake Ontario.
Then they stretched across the lake to the Thousand Islands, and entered
the St. Lawrence and stole quietly past the French post at Fort
Frontenac. Then for hundreds of miles they were carried by the swift
current of the Canada River, down past Mont Royale, and the mouth of the
Ottawa River, past Trois Rivieres, until one day they heard the sounds
of heavy firing, as though a battle were in progress.
'Twas early in September 1759, and the guns of Quebec were firing at the
English ships and batteaux, as they passed the citadel, to gain the
upper reaches of the river. As they passed the next bend in the river,
they saw the French warships which had retreated up the stream, away
from those terrible English. They also perceived on the heights to the
left, in the vicinity of Cape Rouge, the sentries of Bougainville's
detachment, and here they ran a narrow escape of capture, being taken by
the French for spies.
Before sunset on the eleventh of September, they espied with great joy,
on the southern bank, the white tents and the red coats of Wolfe's army.
*CHAPTER XX*
*THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM*
"Halt! Who goes there?"
It was a burly Highlander, an outpost sentry of the British army, that
challenged the three paleface scouts.
"Friends!" cried Jamie.
"Then ye'll just gi'e me the password," replied the soldier, levelling
his musket at the youth who had acted as spokesman.
"I do not know the password," said Jamie, boldly confronting the
levelled firearm. "We have just come in from the frontier to offer our
services to General Wolfe."
"Then ye'll just ground your arms, and bide a wee, till I call the
sergeant!"
The sergeant in charge of the party came up in response to the sentry's
call, and while he was engaged in conversing with the strangers, an
aide-de-camp to General Wolfe, who was a field officer in the Royal
Americans, galloped by. Seeing three men in the garb of the forest, and
knowing the value of such hardy, trained frontiersmen, having seen a
good deal of such service himself, he reined in his charger, received
the salute of the sergeant, who, on being requested, reported the
business of the strangers.
"Look here! Do you fellows know anything of Quebec, or the river and
the forts?" asked the field officer.
"Yes, sir!" replied Jamie. "Two of us lived there for nearly twelve
months as nominal prisoners of the French."
"Indeed? When did you leave there?"
"Last spring, sir."
"Do you know the river this side of the city?"
"Every creek and cove, sir, between Cape Rouge and the narrows."
"That will do! Shoulder your rifles and come with me."
Then, putting as much dignity into their carriage as their rough
appearance would permit, the three scouts followed the officer. They
passed through several lines of sentries, but they were not challenged
further, as the aide-de-camp gave the password at each barrier.
They soon entered the inner camp and passed between rows of white tents.
Groups of Highlanders, Anstruthers, and Grenadiers in their scarlet
uniforms were sitting about the camp-fires, seeing to their equipment,
cooking rations, etc. Others were just landing from the transports and
batteaux which lay in the river opposite the camp.
Despite their deer-skin shirts, Indian moccasins and beaver caps, there
was a deep bronze upon the faces of the strangers, and a keen alertness
about their movements, and especially their eyes, that bespoke them real
scouts of the backwoods and pioneers of the Empire, with an experience
that few could boast, even amongst those five thousand red-coats that
were the flower of the British army; and many a soldier lifted his eyes
to gaze after them as they passed by.
Having reached the vicinity of the General's tent, the field officer
handed them over to an orderly of Monckton's Grenadiers, with orders to
find them quarters and rations until the General expressed his pleasure
concerning their offer of service.
All that day they remained in the camp, but no message came from the
commander. Evidently he was busy with more important duties, and could
not be bothered about the services of a few rude frontiersmen; but next
morning, towards noon, the field officer returned in person and said--
"General Wolfe desires to speak with you. Come with me!"
Jamie's heart beat wildly at the thought of speaking with this great
soldier, the darling and the genius of the whole army. They arrived at
the large tent which served as the head-quarters of the staff. A sentry
barred the way till the password was repeated, and then, following the
officer, they entered, Jamie first, then Jack, and last of all the
hunter.
All three quickly brought their hands to the salute as they stood before
a large table, at which sat three officers of high rank. They were
Generals Murray, Monckton and Townshend, and although unknown to the
youths, who wondered which of the three was Wolfe, they have each left
an honoured name on the scroll of Empire.
But who was that pale, ascetic-looking invalid, reclining on a couch
beside General Murray? Surely he was no soldier! He was weak and
sickly, and appeared to be suffering from some painful malady. What was
he doing here? wondered Jamie, giving him a passing glance, and then
directing his attention to the three officers, who were conversing
amongst themselves, and examining charts and maps with such intensity
that they scarcely seemed as yet to have noticed the newcomers.
Suddenly the invalid on the couch said something, and instantly the
three soldiers ceased their conversation, dropped the charts and maps,
and listened to his every word with marked reverence and respect.
"Murray," he said, "which are the two scouts who were prisoners in
Quebec till last spring? Let them come to me."
The aide-de-camp indicated Jamie and Jack, and then General Murray
approached them and said--
"Step forward! General Wolfe desires to speak with you," at the same
time making a respectful gesture in the direction of the couch.
"General Wolfe! Could that feeble person be the great soldier on whom
England relied to win the Canadas from the French?" thought Jamie, as he
stepped forward and saluted the invalid. He was amazed and dumfounded.
It was well for him at that moment that he had learnt something of the
Indian virtue of hiding his feelings, or his face might have shown
something of his disappointment.
"Why, you are quite a lad! Come, let me look at you! There, that will
do! I like your face, and yours, too."
"Thank you, General!"
"Now tell me what you know of Quebec, and when you landed there, and
when you left, and how."
Then Jamie, acting as spokesman for the two, told him briefly but
clearly his history, commencing with the sea-fight, his capture, and how
he spent his time at Quebec, his adventure with the Iroquois on the St.
Lawrence, and his escape by the steep pathway that led up on to the
Plains of Abraham, and how that Jack had accompanied him in that and all
the other adventures he had met with on the frontiers.
"Good!" exclaimed the General, into whose eyes the fire had leapt as the
lad described his adventures, especially the fight with the French
frigate.
"Pass me that chart of the river and the Plains, Monckton. There, that
will do! Just show me, lad, the spot where you landed that day and
climbed to the Plains. Here, take hold of this chart!"
Jamie took the chart, spread it out on the ground, and knelt down by the
couch.
"There," he said, pointing to a tiny dent in the northern shore, "is the
spot where we made our escape. It is a league or so above the city."
"And if I sent you down there with a boat in the dark, could you find it
again?" said the General in a soft voice.
"Yes, sir, I could!"
"And if I ordered you to land a boat-load of soldiers on the top of the
cliffs there before dawn to-morrow morning, how would you set about it?"
Jamie flushed with pride at the thought of such a commission, but he
answered quietly and firmly--
"General, if you trusted that boat to me I would wait till the second
ebb tide to-night, then, under cover of darkness, I would drop down with
the current, keeping in mid-stream till nearly opposite the cove, then,
edging in to the northern bank, I would run the boat ashore at the
inlet, and lead the men up on to the Plains two hours before dawn."
"By George, Townshend, he'll do! Let him have a seat in the first boat,
and his companions too. But see that they are kept in charge of the
orderly, and not permitted outside the lines till I send for them."
"Yes, sir."
"By the way, Monckton, is there a guard at that point above the cove?"
"Vergois' guard is stationed there, sir. It is part of Bougainville's
command."
"My lad," said the General, half rising from the couch and putting his
hand on Jamie's shoulder, "it is a very important duty that I am
entrusting to you to-night. I am going to put you in the first boat,
along with the other guides, as your knowledge of the spot may be
useful, and it is of the first importance that we should not pass that
cove in the darkness. The safety of the British army, to a great
extent, will be entrusted to you, and perhaps--who knows?--the destiny
of Canada. You will be kept under the charge of the orderly till
nightfall, as there are plenty of spies about the camp. If you do your
duty this night, your King and your country will be grateful to you.
Good-bye!"
Darkness came at length on that famous 12th of September, 1759, and as
soon as the northern bank disappeared in the gloom of evening, the
English camp was astir with quiet and concealed movements. Only to a
few was the plan of campaign known, for in the rapidity and secrecy of
the movement lay the only chance of success--for against the English the
odds were desperate. Wolfe, however, was so far recovered from his
sickness that he was able to command in person, and the inspiration that
this knowledge gave to the men was equivalent to the addition of an army
corps.
An officer who took part in the events of that night has left it on
record that despite the reverse at the Montmorency six weeks before,
"the men were uncommonly eager and difficult to restrain, and yet," he
added, speaking to a comrade a few hours before the event, "if we
succeed in scaling and capturing that rock-crowned citadel, I shall
think little in future of Hannibal leading his army over the Alps."
At nine o'clock thirty boats collected from the warships and transports,
rendezvoused in a line in front of Admiral Holmes' flagship. Then the
last "general order" issued by Wolfe was read to the troops by the
generals in command. It contained these striking words--
"Now is the time to strike a stroke which will determine the fate of
Canada."
Then fifteen hundred men, the forlorn hope of the expedition, selected
chiefly from the Highlanders, the Anstruthers and the Light Infantry,
were crowded into the boats, and now nothing remained but the final
issue, as the troops calmly waited for the second ebb tide, which was to
carry them down-stream.
At one o'clock the tide ebbed, and the order was given to cast off. Not
a soldier or a sailor remained behind who was not cursing his ill-luck
that he had not been chosen to go ahead in the boats. The order had
been given for silence, and nothing could be heard but the gurgling of
the water as it washed the sides of the boats; but the excitement,
though suppressed, must have been intense as the men grasped their
muskets and lay close together, looking at the stars above or those
rugged heights, which ever and anon loomed darkly from the northern
shore.
Jamie, with his two companions, was in the first boat eagerly scanning
that dark outline and noting every headland, watching for that little
indentation just between St. Nichol and Le Foulton, where he and Jack
had so often landed their little fishing canoe during their enforced
stay in Quebec.
Suddenly a low voice broke upon their ears from the stern sheets of the
next boat, which was only a dozen feet away. It was the voice of Wolfe
reciting to his officers and to a young midshipman, named Robinson, who
has left the incident on record. He was quoting from memory the stanzas
from "Gray's Elegy"--
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
"Gentlemen," Jamie heard him say, "I would rather have written those
lines than take Quebec to-morrow." And every English schoolboy now
knows how strangely prophetic and appropriate were those lines.
They were now rapidly approaching the little cove, and Jamie signalled
to the steersman of his boat to edge in a little closer to the northern
shore, which now towered above them like a great barrier. As he did so
the voice of a sentry came through the gloom from the heights above--
"_Qui vive?_"
"_La France!_" replied a captain of the Highlanders from Jamie's boat.
"_A quel regiment?_" came back from the heights.
"_De la Reine!_" answered the Highlander.
The sentry appeared satisfied, as the Queen's regiment formed part of
Bougainville's command, which had been sent further up the bank in order
to watch Wolfe's movements.
Shortly afterwards they were challenged again, but a few more adroit
answers saved the situation.
"This is the spot," whispered Jamie, and the boat was run upon the bank
in the little sandy cove beneath the cliffs, and a hundred men were
quickly clustered upon the little beach. Wolfe was amongst the first to
land, and as he looked up at the rugged heights he shook his head and
coolly remarked--
"You can try it, but I don't think you'll get up."
The next moment Jamie and his companions, closely followed by twenty
volunteers, were climbing the precipitous front, dragging themselves up
by the roots and branches of the shrubs and trees which overhung the
steep ascent. For another moment those below waited with breathless
suspense. Then quick, ringing shots were heard, as those few determined
men overpowered the small French guard at the top. This was followed by
a thin British cheer, and immediately the Highlanders below, with the
Light Infantry and the others, clambered up the apparently impossible
heights and gained the plains above.
At dawn fifteen hundred men stood upon the Plains of Abraham, and then
the ships, which had dropped down the river behind the boats, landed the
rest of the army. When the sun rose on the 13th of September, the watch
on the citadel beheld with amazement the red coats of the British army
forming up into lines--and preparing for battle.
Swift couriers had carried the tidings across the St. Charles to
Montcalm, and the roll of drums was heard amid his camp, and soon the
French division were pouring across the bridge of boats. At nine
o'clock, the armies were facing each other on the Plains above the city.
Then the rattle of musketry began as the French sharpshooters lined the
bushes and entrenchments previously prepared to the north-west of the
city.
On came the columns of Montcalm, firing and shouting in an inspiriting
manner, led by their renowned leader in person.
How different those thin red lines of Highlanders, Grenadiers and hardy
colonial levies. An ominous silence hung like a cloud over the English
ranks. It was the silence that presages the storm--the calm, still
waters of a dam about to burst its bounds and spread havoc and death.
As the French fire became more effectual, the gaps in the English ranks
became frequent, but they were filled in silence as the rear men stepped
to the front. In those ranks scarce a word was spoken, and as yet not a
shot had been fired. Officers of Montcalm have since said that this
ominous silence cast a chill over the French columns that half decided
the issues of the day.
Not till the French were within forty yards was the word given to fire,
then simultaneously the long line of muskets were brought to the level,
and from end to end of the English ranks a crashing blaze of leaden hail
was poured upon the enemy. The columns of Montcalm reeled and staggered
before this dreadful impact. A second volley was fired, and then,
before the smoke had rolled away, or the enemy had had an opportunity to
reform his shattered ranks, a deafening cheer rang from end to end of
the Plains. The flood of British fury was at length undammed, and
trampling the dead and dying they swept the shattered columns before
them in one mad, wild stampede. The Highlanders, wielding their
terrible broadswords, chased the fugitives right up to the gates of the
city and across the St. Charles River.
The defeat was crushing and absolute, and in that moment of victory the
destiny of Canada was settled, but the cheers of the victors were
silenced as the sad news passed from rank to rank that Wolfe had fallen.
In the heat of the fight, leading on the Grenadiers, his wrist had been
shattered by a ball. He quickly bound it in a handkerchief, and
continued the fight. A second ball pierced his side, but he stayed not.
Then a bullet entered his breast, and he reeled and fell.
Four soldiers raised him up, and carrying him to the rear laid him
gently upon the grass. He appeared to be unconscious, but when a soldier
near him exclaimed--
"See how they run!"
"Who run?" asked the dying soldier, opening his eyes.
"The enemy, sir! They give way everywhere!" was the reply.
"Then tell Colonel Burton to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River
to cut off their retreat from the bridge. Now, God be praised! I will
die in peace," were the last words of General Wolfe. That day England
gained an Empire, but lost a hero.
The three scouts had finished their task when they led the forlorn hope
up the precipice and on to the Plains, but they were not to be denied a
share in the fight, for they had received permission to join the ranks
of the centre column, which was under the personal command of Wolfe, and
bore the brunt of the fight on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. They
were in the forefront of that wild rush to the bridge, where the fight
was thickest, and where many hundreds were hurled into the St. Charles
River, and where Montcalm's retreat was effectually blocked and victory
made secure.
The battle was over now, for though one of the most glorious, it was one
of the briefest in history, and though they had lost each other in the
pursuit, the three comrades were glad to rejoin the ranks at the
roll-call on the Plains and find each other alive and well, except for
minor wounds, though the joy of victory was damped and a chill went to
every heart when the word was passed down the ranks that their
illustrious leader had fallen.
Next morning General Townshend passed to the head of every regiment in
succession, and thanked the troops for their brilliant services, and
soon afterwards one of his aide-de-camps approached the scouts and
requested their immediate presence in the General's tent. They followed
him, wondering that he had not forgotten them altogether in the
excitement of so great a victory. When they stood in his presence they
saluted and waited for him to speak.
"Jamie Stuart and Jack Elliot!" said General Townshend, and instantly
several other officers, who had been busily engaged writing dispatches
for England, rose and stood at attention. "In the name of His Most
Gracious Majesty, King George the Second, I thank you for the eminent
services you have rendered to your country. I have appointed you both
from this day to be ensigns in the Royal Americans. Here are your
commissions. Right nobly have you won them. May you be spared long to
serve your country! God save the King!"
The youths were overwhelmed with this generous tribute from so great a
soldier. They could find no words to express their gratitude for this
signal honour conferred upon them. A commission in His Majesty's
victorious army seemed too great a reward for their poor services, so
each raised his hand to the salute again and repeated the General's
words--
"God save the King!"
The General then turned to the hunter, who had been an interested and
sympathetic witness of this stirring scene, but as he spake his voice
softened, for he had noticed that down the bronzed cheek of the old man
there trickled a tear.
"Frontiersman, what is your name?" he asked.
There was a pause, and for a few seconds the hunter's eyes were turned
to Jamie, and a strange far-away look came into his face. Then in a
half-broken voice he answered--
"John Stuart of Burnside! An exile!"
"Father!" burst from Jamie's lips, and the next instant the paleface
hunter and his son were hugging each other with joy.
The next moment General Townshend advanced to the hunter, and pinning
the King's medal upon his breast, he said--
"He is no longer an exile who wears this honoured decoration. John
Stuart, I thank you for the work you have already done, but there are
still further services that I wish to ask of you. I understand that
your knowledge of the river and the forest from this point to Mont
Royale is unsurpassed by that of any person in the camp. Your knowledge
will shortly be invaluable to us. I appoint you as Frontiersman and
Chief Guide to the British Army in the Canadas, and, furthermore, I
desire to say that His Majesty shall be reminded after the war of the
important services which I trust you will then have rendered to your
country."
"General," said the hunter, "I am an exile from my native land, but I
have never committed a crime, and my conscience is clear. England has
treated me unkindly, but I love my country, and without any thought of
reward I freely offer you my services. If necessary, I will gladly die
for my country."
"Thank you, Frontiersman!" said the General, touched by these words. "A
grateful country will not forget your devotion to her interests in the
hour of her need. May every son of Britain likewise forget his private
wrongs in England's hour of danger."
Four days later, on that memorable 17th of September, 1759, the white
flag was hung out from the citadel at Quebec, and on the next day the
Gibraltar of North America passed for ever from its old masters into the
hands of Britain.
"Look, Jack! The French ensign is coming down," said Jamie, and they
both looked towards the citadel, and a moment afterwards, amid the clash
of martial music, the salute of the batteries, and the wild cheering of
the soldiers, the English flag waved proudly over the fort and the
river.
"There, Jamie, our dream has come true, it's the old flag at last, and,
thank God, we have helped to plant it there."
After the fall of Quebec, the paleface hunter and the two youths
accompanied the army in its victorious march upon Mont Royale, and when
the war was over they returned to England. Jack survived his two
brothers, and in time became the Squire of Burnside, and I find that to
John Stuart, Esquire, of Burnside, Yorkshire, a grant of Crown land was
made for his services to his country, and that the old farmhouse, which
still stands, above the wood and the trout-stream, was built by him and
his son Jamie in 1775. And there they lived happily for many years, and
there Jamie's descendants live to this day, for only two years ago,
while visiting his ancestral home and poring over ancient deeds and the
old family Bible, with its records and dates, the author discovered this
forgotten story of adventure and peril.