FACE TO FACE WITH THE UNEXPECTED
SO far Henry had given but scant thought to where he was going. His
whole mind had been concentrated on getting away from Quebec, and from
those who wished to make him suffer for a crime which he had not
committed.
But now, as he stood in the middle of the deserted roadway, with the
gloom of night on every side of him, and with a cutting wind blowing the
drifting snow into his face, he realized that he must find shelter, and
that quickly. He was not accustomed to such a severe winter, and the
cold seemed to pierce him like a knife.
At a corner of the roadway stood a signboard, a rough affair, with an
arrow pointing to the northeast, and under this the name St. Foy.
“That must lead to one of the outposts,” thought the young soldier. “I
can’t go there. I wonder if there isn’t some French farmhouse in this
vicinity where they will give me shelter for the night, and some food?”
To keep warm he began to tramp along the road. He had gone but a short
distance when he came to a cross road. Here everything was covered with
snow, and half blinded by the whirlings of the wind he got onto the
cross road without knowing it.
Two miles were covered, and poor Henry was almost exhausted. More than
once he thought to sit down and rest. But he realized that this would be
madness. “I’d never get up again,” he told himself. “It would be the
sleep of death!”
At last, when he could scarcely drag one limb after the other, he espied
a light shining from the upper window of a small house some distance
away. He fairly staggered toward this, and, reaching the house, knocked
loudly on the door.
After a moment of silence an upper window was opened, and an old woman
peered down from out of her night-cap.
“Who is there, and what is desired?” she asked in French.
“I am freezing!” said Henry in English. “Let me in.”
The old women did not understand his words, but she seemed to understand
the situation, and soon hobbled downstairs and threw open the door.
Henry almost fell into the kitchen, and sank into a heap before the fire
which smoldered in the big chimney-place.
“Poor fellow—and so young!” murmured the old French woman. “He is almost
frozen.” And she bustled about, stirred up the fire, and put on some
fresh sticks of wood, and then made him some hot tea to drink.
It was a good half-hour before Henry felt anything like himself. He was
given some bread and butter, and some warmed-up meat and another cup of
tea. The old woman plied him with questions, and he had a hard task to
make her understand that he wished to remain at the house until
daylight. But when he pointed to the fire, and then at himself, and made
out as if he was sleeping and snoring, she smiled and nodded her head in
assent.
It must be confessed that Henry slept but little that night, even though
his couch on a blanket before the smoldering fire was a fairly
comfortable one. His brain was racked with the question of what to do on
the morrow. Traveling during the daytime would be extremely hazardous,
so long as he remained in the English lines, and when he crossed into
the French lines the situation would be just as bad.
“And it’s too cold to travel at night,” he thought dismally.
The morning found the snow coming down at a furious rate, so that the
landscape was blotted out on every side. The roadway was drifted high
with snow, which lay against the kitchen door to a depth of three feet.
“I reckon I am safe here for the present,” thought the young soldier.
“Nobody will think of visiting this house during such a snow-storm.”
The old woman came down as soon as it was light. She found Henry fixing
the fire, and he had already set the pot of water for boiling.
“You are snow-bound,” she said, but of course he did not understand her.
He gazed thoughtfully out of one of the windows, while she prepared a
simple morning meal from her scanty stock of provisions. He wished he
could pay her, but could only point to his empty pockets, at which she
smiled again, as if that did not matter.
“A good, motherly sort,” he told himself. “Mother at home couldn’t treat
a French soldier any better than this woman is treating me.”
The snow-storm kept up for several days, and after that there were
fierce high winds, which sent the snow flying and drifting in half a
dozen directions at once.
During those days Henry and the old woman were left entirely alone. By
an effort on the part of both he learned that she was a widow with a son
somewhere in the French army, and that her name was Garrot. She deplored
the war, and wished only for peace, no matter which side won.
“And at her age I cannot blame her,” thought Henry. “Probably she has
lost a great deal by the forages of both armies.” And his surmise was
correct.
On the morning of the fourth day at the cottage, the young soldier heard
firing at a distance. The sounds seemed to come closer at noon, but
shortly after that died away utterly.
“Some sort of a skirmish,” thought the youth. “Can it be that the French
have attacked Quebec?”
On the day following, the sun came out, and the weather moderated
greatly. Henry now thought he must set off once more, fearing that some
French troopers might appear at any moment. As best he could he thanked
Madam Garrot for what she had done for him, and then trudged off.
The young soldier had in mind to move up the river bank a distance of
several miles, and then cross the St. Lawrence on the ice. Once in
English territory, he would strike out southward, trusting to luck to
reach some settlement. He carried a small stock of provisions, and also
a pistol and some powder, which he had begged of the old woman, who
seemed, strangely enough, much interested in him.
Henry found walking through the snow as difficult as ever. But after
trudging along for half a mile he reached a long stretch which the wind
had swept clear, and which he covered with ease. He kept his eyes and
ears on the alert, but neither French nor English soldiers appeared to
challenge his progress.
That night found the young soldier a good many miles up the St.
Lawrence, at a place which had in years gone by been a combined French
and Indian settlement. Most of the buildings were burnt down, and the
place was entirely abandoned. In searching around he found one part of a
log cabin which could be used as a shelter, and into this he crawled,
and built a small fire in the half-tumbled-down chimney-place.
“Not much of a tavern,” he thought grimly. “But I can be content if I
fare no worse during this journey.”
His physical distress, even though great, was nothing compared to the
trouble he suffered in his mind. He was branded as a thief, and even if
he escaped to his home, how was he to clear his name, and how escape the
military judgment meted out to him for the crime? Even if he was allowed
to go free, folks would point the finger of scorn at him. And then his
mother—he hardly dared to think of her.
“This news will almost kill her,” he said to himself. “She always
expected so much of me!”
The next day he continued his journey up the river bank. He had now
crossed a road where the tracks of several sleighs could be plainly
seen, and was on his guard constantly.
It was almost nightfall when Henry reached a large barn located in the
middle of a field which was deep with snow. A house had stood near by,
but this had been burnt down by the Indians at the outbreak of the war.
But some half-burnt sticks of timber were still visible, and some of
these he gathered, and built himself a fire at which to thaw out his
half-frozen limbs.
The fugitive was utterly worn out, and, having consumed the last of his
scant stock of provisions, he wrapped himself up in some hay in the
barn, and soon fell asleep.
How soundly he slept Henry did not know until nearly daylight, when the
kicking of a horse’s hoofs on the side of a stall below awoke him. He
listened intently, and heard several steeds moving about.
“Some French troopers must be around,” he reasoned, and his heart almost
stopped beating at the thought. With extreme care he peered below. He
could see two forms stretched out in the semi-darkness. Listening, he
heard snoring from another quarter. Not less than six men were below
asleep.
“Now I’m as good as caught,” he thought, but an instant after set his
teeth hard. No, he would not give in thus easily. He would fight first.
“They must have come in too late to notice the fire I built,” he told
himself. “But they’ll see it when they awaken and start on a tour of
discovery. I must get away if I wish to save myself.”
There was a small window at one end of the barn, and he found he could
drop out and into the snow with ease. But just as he was climbing out
another thought came to him—one that amazed even himself, at the risk
involved. Why not try to appropriate one of the French troopers’ horses,
and perhaps a saber and some food as well?
The exposure had made Henry reckless and he did not stop to consider the
plan twice. Turning, he found the rude ladder leading to the lower floor
and went down to the bottom.
There were exactly seven of the troopers, all burly fellows, and one an
under-officer, who was snoring lustily on the top of a feed box.
Henry’s first move was to untie the horse nearest to the stable door.
The snow had drifted in beneath the door, and this helped to deaden the
sounds of the animal’s hoofs as it was led outside. Then the young
soldier returned and picked up the officer’s saber, and also a pistol
and a horn of powder and balls. A knapsack was handy, and into this he
stuffed a mass of provisions taken from three other knapsacks. The
provisions were only army rations, but they were vastly better than
nothing.
As Henry slipped from the stable a second time one of the men stirred
uneasily and opened his eyes.
“Who is there?” he asked sleepily, in French.
Of course Henry did not answer. Instead, he swung himself into the
saddle, which had been left on the steed, and started away from the
stable on a gallop. Reaching the rude stone wall of the field, he made
the horse take it at a bound, and then continued on his way along the
river road.
He had not yet reached some timber ahead of him, when a shot rang out,
followed by another, showing that he was discovered. The bullets,
however, flew wide of the mark, and soon he felt that he was practically
out of range, for the muskets and pistols of those days did not carry as
far, nor as accurately, as do those of modern construction.
“They will be after me,” thought the young soldier, as he continued to
urge the horse onward, and at the same time fastened the knapsack to his
back and the saber to his waist. “Well, if they come, I reckon I can
fight for it,” he continued, and set his teeth together more firmly than
ever.
The timber was gained a few minutes later. Just before passing out of
sight between the trees he looked back. Four troopers had left the barn
on their horses and were in hot pursuit.
[Illustration:
Four troopers were in hot pursuit.—_Page 222._
]
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