Chapter 1: A Western Settler.

Chapter 2: Friends In Need.

Chapter 3: Philadelphia.

Chapter 4: An Exciting Struggle.

BOOK 2: ROGER'S RANGERS.

Chapter 1: A Day Of Vengeance.

Chapter 2: Robert Rogers.

Chapter 3: The Life Of Adventure.

Chapter 4: Vengeance And Disaster.

BOOK 3: DISASTER.

Chapter 1: A Tale Of Woe.

Chapter 2: Escape.

Chapter 3: Albany.

Chapter 4: Ticonderoga.

BOOK 4: WOLFE.

Chapter 1: A Soldier At Home.

Chapter 2: Louisbourg.

Chapter 3: Victory.

Chapter 4: The Fruits Of Victory.

BOOK 5: WITHIN QUEBEC.

Chapter 1: The Impregnable City.

Chapter 2: The Defences Of Quebec.

Chapter 3: Mariners Of The Deep.

Chapter 4: Hostilities.

BOOK 6: WITHOUT QUEBEC.

Chapter 1: In Sight Of His Goal.

Chapter 2: Days Of Waiting.

Chapter 3: A Daring Design.

Chapter 4: In The Hour Of Victory.

BOOK 7: ENGLISH VICTORS.

Chapter 1: A Panic-Stricken City.

Chapter 2: Surrender.

Chapter 3: Friendly Foes.

Chapter 4: The Last.

Book 1: Border Warfare

Chapter 1: A Western Settler.

Humphrey Angell came swinging along through the silent aisles of

the vast primeval forest, his gun in the hollow of his arm, a heavy

bag of venison meat hanging from his shoulders.

A strange, wild figure, in the midst of a strange, wild scene: his

clothes, originally of some homespun cloth, now patched so freely

with dressed deerskin as to leave little of the original material;

moccasins on his feet, a beaver cap upon his head, his leather belt

stuck round with hunting knives, and the pistol to be used at close

quarters should any emergency arise.

He was a stalwart fellow, as these sons of the forest had need to

be--standing over six feet, and with a muscular development to

match his stately height. His tawny hair had been darkened by

exposure to hot suns, and his handsome face was deeply imbrowned

from the influences of weather in all seasons. His blue eyes had

that direct yet far-away look which comes to men who live face to

face with nature, and learn to know her in all her moods, and to

study her caprices in the earning of their daily bread.

Humphrey Angell was not more than twenty years of age, and he had

lived ten years in the forest. He had come there as a child with

his father, who had emigrated in his young life from England to the

settlement of Pennsylvania, and had afterwards become one of the

scattered settlers on the debatable ground between the French and

English borders, establishing himself in the heart of the boundless

forest, and setting to work with the utmost zeal and industry to

gather round himself a little farmstead where he could pass his own

later years in peace, and leave it for an inheritance to his two

sons.

Humphrey could remember Pennsylvania a little, although the life in

the small democratic township seemed now like a dream to him. All

his interests centred in the free forest, where he had grown to

manhood. Now and again a longing would come upon him to see

something of the great, tumultuous, seething world of whose

existence he was dimly aware. There were times in the long winter

evenings when he and his brother, the old father, and the brother's

wife would sit round the stove after the children had been put to

bed, talking of the past and the future. Then old Angell would tell

his sons of the life he had once led in far-away England, before

the spirit of adventure drove him forth to seek his fortune in the

New World; and at such times Humphrey would listen with eager

attention, feeling the stirrings of a like spirit within him, and

wondering whether the vast walls of the giant forest would for ever

shut him in, or whether it would be his lot some day to cross the

heaving, mysterious, ever-moving ocean of which his father often

spoke, and visit the country of which he was still proud to call

himself a son.

Yet he loved his forest home and the free, wild life he led. Nor

was the element of peril lacking to the daily lot--peril which had

not found them yet, but which might spring upon them unawares at

any moment. For after years of peace and apparent goodwill on the

part of the Indians of the Five Nations, as this tract of debatable

land had come to be called, a spirit of ill will and ferocity was

arising again; and settlers who had for years lived in peace and

quietness in their lonely homes had been swooped down upon, scalped,

their houses burnt, their wives and children tomahawked--the raid

being so swift and sudden that defence and resistance had alike

been futile.

What gave an added horror to this sudden change of policy on the

part of the Indians was the growing conviction throughout the

settlement that it was due to the agency of white men.

France, not content with the undisputed possession of Canada, and

of vast tracts of territory in the west and south which she had no

means of populating, was bitterly jealous of the English colony in

the east, and, above all; of any attempts which it might make to

extend its western border.

Fighting there had been already. Humphrey had heard rumours of

disasters to the English arms farther away to the south. He had

heard of Braddock's army having been cut to pieces in its attempt

to reach and capture the French Fort Duquesne, and a vague

uneasiness was penetrating to these scattered settlers, who had

hitherto lived in quietness and peace.

Perhaps had they known more of the spirit of parties beyond their

limited horizon, they would have been more uneasy still. But habit

is an enormous power in a man's life. Humphrey had gone forth into

the forest to kill meat for the family larder three or four days in

the week, in all seasons when the farm work was not specially

pressing. He came back day by day to the low-browed log house, with

its patches of Indian corn and other crops, its pleasant sounds of

life, the welcome from the children, the approval of father and

brother if the day had been successful, and the smiles of the

housewife when he displayed the contents of his bag. It was almost

impossible to remember from day to day that peril from the silent,

mysterious forest threatened them. They had lived there for ten

years unmolested and at peace; who would care to molest them now?

And yet Humphrey, who knew the forest so well--its mysterious,

interminable depths, its trackless, boundless extent, rolling over

hill and valley in endless billows--he knew well how silently, how

suddenly an ambushed foe might approach, spring out from the thick,

tangled shelter to do some murderous deed, and in the maze of giant

timber be at once swallowed up beyond all danger of pursuit.

In the open plains the Indian raids were terrible enough, but the

horrors of uncertainty and ignorance which enveloped the settlers

in the forests might well cause the stoutest heart to quail when

once it became known that the Indians had become their enemies, and

that there was another enemy stirring up the strife, and bribing

the fierce and greedy savages to carry desolation and death into

the settlements of the English colonists.

Whispers--rumours--had just begun to penetrate into these leafy

solitudes; but communication with the outside world was so rare

that the Angell family, who had long been self-supporting, and able

to live without the products of the mother colony away to the east,

had scarcely realized the change that was creeping over the

country. The old man had never seen anything of Indian warfare, and

his sons had had little more experience. They had been peaceful

denizens of the woods, and bore arms for purposes of the chase

rather than for self-preservation from human foes, as did the bulk

of those dwellers in the woods that fringed the western border of

the English-speaking colony.

"We have no enemies; why should we fear?" asked Charles, the elder

brother, a man of placable temperament, a fine worker with the axe

or plough, a man of indomitable industry, endurance, and patience,

but one who had never shown any desire after adventure or the

chances of warfare. He was ten years older than Humphrey; and the

brothers had two sisters now married and settled in the colony. The

younger brother sometimes talked of visiting the sisters, and

bringing back news of them to the father at home; but Charles never

desired to leave the homestead. He was a singularly affectionate

husband and father, and had been an excellent son to the fine old

man, who now had his time of ease by the hearth in the winter

weather, though during a great part of the year he toiled in the

fields with a right good will, and with much of his old fire and

energy.

Humphrey was nearing home now, and started whistling a favourite

air which generally heralded his approach, and brought the children

tumbling out to meet him in a rush of merry welcome. But there was

no answering hubbub to be heard from the direction of the house, no

patter of little feet, no lowing of kine.

Humphrey stopped suddenly short in his whistling, and bent his ear

forward as though to listen. A faint, muffled, strangled cry seemed

to be borne to his ears. Under his bronze his face suddenly grew

white. He flung the heavy bag from off his back, and grasping his

gun more firmly in his hands, he rushed through the narrow pathway;

and came out upon the clearing around the little farmstead.

In the morning he had left it, smiling in the autumn sunshine, a

peaceful, prosperous-looking place, homely, quaint, and bright. Now

his eyes rested upon a heap of smoking ruins, trampled crops, empty

sheds; and upon a still more horrible sight--the remains of mangled

corpses tied to the group of trees which sheltered the porch. It

was enough to curdle the blood of the stoutest hearted, and freeze

with horror the bravest warrior.

Humphrey was no warrior, but a strong-limbed, tender-hearted youth;

and as he looked at the awful scene before him, a blood-red mist

seemed to swim before his eyes. He gasped, and clutched at the

nearest tree trunk for support. Surely, surely it was some fever

dream which had come upon him. It could not, it should not be a

terrible reality.

"Humphrey, Humphrey! help, help!"

It was the strangled, muffled cry again. The sound woke the young

man from his trance of horror and amazement. He uttered a hoarse

cry, which he scarcely knew for his own, and dashed blindly

onwards.

"Here, here! This way. By the barn! Quick!"

No need to hasten Humphrey's flying feet. He rushed through the

trampled fields. He gained the clearing about the house and its

buildings. He reached the spot indicated, and saw a sight he would

never forget.

His brother Charles was tightly, cruelly bound to the stump of a

tree which had been often used for tethering animals at milking

time just outside the barn. His clothes were half torn from off his

back, and several gaping, bleeding wounds told of the fight which

had ended in his capture. Most significant of all was the long

semicircular red line round the brow, where the scalping knife had

plainly passed.

Humphrey's stout knife was cutting through the cruel cords, even

while his horrified eyes were taking in these details.

When his brother was released, he seemed to collapse for a moment,

and fell face downwards upon the ground, a quiver running through

all his limbs, such as Humphrey had seen many a time in some wild

creature stricken with its death wound.

He uttered a sharp cry of terror and anguish, and averting his eyes

from the awful sights with which the place abounded, he dashed to

the well, and bringing back a supply of pure cold water, flung it

over his brother's prostrate form, laving his face and hands, and

holding a small vessel to his parched and swollen lips so that the

draught could trickle into his mouth.

There was an effort to swallow, a quiver and a struggle, and the

wounded man opened his eyes and sat up.

"Where am I--what is it?" he gasped, draining the cup again and

again, like one who has been near to perish with thirst. "O

Humphrey, I have had such an awful dream!"

Humphrey had so placed his brother that he should not see on

opening his eyes that ghastly sight which turned the younger man

sick with horror each time his eyes wandered that way.

Charles saw the familiar outline of the forest, and his brother's

face bending over him. He had for a moment a vague impression of

something unspeakably awful and horrible, but at that moment he

believed that some mischance had befallen himself alone, and that

he had imagined some black, nameless horror in a fevered dream.

A shiver ran through Humphrey's frame. His blue eyes were dazed and

dilated. What answer could he make? He busied himself with dressing

the wounds upon his brother's chest and shoulders, from which the

blood still oozed slowly.

"What is it?" asked Charles once again; "how did I come to be

hurt?"

Humphrey made no reply, but a groan burst unawares from his lips.

The sound seemed to startle Charles from his momentary calm. He

suddenly put up his hand to his brow, felt the smart of the

significant red line left by the scalping knife, and the next

moment he had sprung to his feet with a sharp, low cry of

unspeakable anguish.

He faced round then--and looked!

Humphrey stood beside him shoulder to shoulder, with his arm about

his brother, lest physical weakness should again overpower him. But

Charles seemed like one turned to stone.

For perhaps three long minutes he stood thus--speechless,

motionless; then a wild cry burst from his lips, accompanied by a

torrent of the wildest, fiercest invective--appeals to Heaven for

vengeance, threats of undying hatred, undying hostility to those

savage murderers whose raid had made this fair spot into a

desolation so awful.

Humphrey stood still and silent the while, like one spellbound. He

scarcely knew his brother in this moment of passionate despair and

fury. Charles had been a silent, placable man all his life through.

Born and bred in the Quaker settlement, till he had taken to the

life of the forest he had been a man of quiet industry and toil

rather than a fighter or a talker. A peaceful creed had been his,

and he had perhaps never before raised a hand in anger against a

fellow creature.

This made the sudden wild and passionate outburst the more strange

and awful to Humphrey. It was almost as though Charles was no

longer the brother he had known all these years, but had been

transformed into a different being by the swift and fearful

calamity which had swept down upon them during these past few

hours.

"I will avenge--I swear it! As they have done, so shall it be done

unto them. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life--is not that

written in the Scriptures? The avenger of blood shall follow and

overtake. His hand shall not spare, neither his eye pity. The

evildoer shall be rooted out of the land. His place shall be no

more found. Even as they have done, so shall it be done unto them."

He stopped, and suddenly raised his clasped hands to heaven. A

torrent of words broke from his lips.

"O God, Thou hast seen, Thine eyes have beheld. If it had been an

open enemy that had done this thing, then could I perchance have

borne it. If it had been the untutored savage, in his ignorant

ferocity, then would I have left Thee, O Lord, to deal with him--to

avenge! But the white brother has risen up against his own flesh

and blood. The white man has stood by to see. He has hounded on the

savages! He has disgraced his humanity! O Lord God, give him into

my hands! let me avenge me of mine adversary. Let the ignorant

Indian escape if Thou wilt, but grant unto me to slay and slay and

slay amid the ranks of the white man, who has sold his soul for

gain, and has become more treacherous and cruel than the Indian

ally whose aid he has invoked. Judge Thou betwixt us, O Lord; look

upon this scene! Strengthen Thou mine arm to the battle, for here I

vow that I will henceforth give my life to this work. I will till

the fields no more. I will beat my pruning hook into a sword. I

will slay, and spare not, and Thou, O God of battles, shalt be with

me. Thou shalt strengthen mine arm; Thou shalt give unto me the

victory. Thou shalt deliver mine enemy into mine hand. I know it, I

see it! For Thou art God, and I am Thy servant, and I will avenge

upon him who has defied Thee this hideous crime upon which Thine

eyes have looked!"

Humphrey stood by silent and awed. An answering thrill was in his

own heart. He had averted his eyes from the ghastly spectacle of

those charred and mangled corpses; but they turned upon them once

more at this moment, and he could not marvel at his brother's

words. He, too, had been trained to peaceable thoughts and ways. He

had hoped that there would soon be an end of these rumours of wars.

His immediate forefathers had been men of peace, and he had never

known the craving after the excitement of battle.

Yet as his brother spoke there came upon him a new feeling. He felt

his arm tingling; he felt the hot blood surging through his veins.

He was conscious that were an enemy to show face at that moment

between the trees of the forest, he would be ready to spring upon

him like a wild beast, and rend him limb from limb without pity and

without remorse.

But the Indians had made off as silently and as swiftly as they

appeared. Not a vestige of the band remained behind. And there was

work for the brothers at that moment of a different sort, and work

which left its lasting mark upon the memory and even upon the

nature of Humphrey Angell.

Together the brothers dug a deep grave. Reverently they deposited

in it all that was left of the mortal remains of those whom they

had loved so tenderly and well: the kindly house mother, to whose

industry and thrift so much of their comfort had been due; the

little, innocent, prattling children and brave little lads, who

were already learning to be useful to father and mother. None of

them spared--no pity shown to sex or age. All ruthlessly murdered;

husband and father forced to watch the horrid spectacle, himself a

helpless prisoner, waiting for his doom.

Humphrey had not hitherto dared to ask the question which had been

exercising him all the while--how it was that his brother's life

had been spared. He also wanted to know where the old man their

father was; for the corpses they had laid in the grave were those

of Charles's wife and children.

Charles noted his questioning glance around when the grave had

received its victims, and he pointed to the smoking ruins of the

house.

"He lies there. They bound him in his chair. They tied the babe

down in his cradle. They set fire to the house. Heaven send that

the reek choked them before the fire touched them! They lie yonder

beneath the funeral pyre--our venerable sire and my bonny, laughing

babe!"

He stopped short, choked by a sudden rush of tears; and Humphrey,

flinging down his spade, threw himself along the ground in a

paroxysm of unspeakable anguish, choking sobs breaking from him,

the unaccustomed tears raining down his cheeks.

The brothers wept together. Perhaps those tears saved Charles from

some severe fever of the brain. He wept till he was perfectly

exhausted, and at last his condition of prostration so far aroused

Humphrey that he was forced into action.

He half lifted, half dragged his brother into one of the empty

barns, where he laid him down upon some straw. He rolled up his own

coat for a pillow, and after hastily finishing the filling in of

the grave, he went back into the forest for his game bag, and

having kindled a fire, cooked some of the meat, and forced his

brother to eat and drink. It was growing dark by that time, and the

blackness of the forest seemed to be swallowing them up.

A faint red glow still came from the direction of the burning

homestead, where the fire still smouldered amid the smoking ruins.

Humphrey closed the door of the barn, to shut out the sight and

also the chill freshness of the autumn night.

He lay down upon the straw beside his brother, worn out in body and

mind. But there could be no thought of sleep for either man that

night; the horror was too pressing and ever present, and anguish

lay like a physical load upon their hearts.

The silence was full of horror for both; in self defence Humphrey

began to speak.

"When was it, Charles? I was in the forest all day, and I saw and

heard nothing. The silence was never broken save by the accustomed

sounds of the wild creatures of the wood. No war party came my way.

When was it?"

"At the noontide meal. We had all gathered within doors. There was

none to give warning of danger. Suddenly and silently as ghosts

they must have filed from out the forest. We were already

surrounded and helpless before the first wild war whoop broke upon

our ears!"

Charles put up his hands as though to shut out that awful yell, the

echoes of which rang so long in the ears of those who had heard it.

Humphrey shivered, and his hands clinched themselves nervously

together.

"Why was I not here to fight and to die?"

"Better to live--and to avenge their blood!" answered Charles, with

a gleam lighting his sunken eyes. He was silent awhile, and then

went on with his narrative.

"It was not a fight; it was only a slaughter! The children rushed

screaming from the house, escaping the first rush of the painted

savages when they burst in upon us. But there were others outside,

who hacked and slashed them as they passed. I had only my hunting

knife in my belt. I stood before Ellen, and I fought like ten

demons! God is witness that I did all that one man could. But what

avail against scores of such foes? Three corpses were heaped at my

threshold. I saw them carrying away many others dead or wounded,

Our father fought too; and Ellen backed into the corner where the

gun stood, and with her own hands she shot down two of the savages.

"Would to heaven she had shot at the white one, who was tenfold

more of a fiend! But he shall not escape--he shall not escape! I

shall know his face when I see it next. And I will not go down to

the grave till he and I have stood face to face once more, when I

am not bound and helpless, but a free man with weapons in my hand.

That day will come; I read it in the book of fate. The Lord God,

unto whom vengeance belongeth, He will cause it to come to pass!"

Humphrey was afraid of these wild outbursts, as likely to bring on

fever; and yet he could not but desire to know more.

"A white man? Nay, brother; that is scarce to be believed. A white

man to league himself to such deeds as these!"

"A white man--a Frenchman. For I called upon him in our tongue, and

he answered me in the same, but with that halting accent which I

know belongs to the sons of France. Moreover, he made no secret of

it. He called us dogs of English, who were robbers of the soil

where none had right to penetrate save the subjects of his royal

master. He swore that they would make an end of us, root and

branch; and he laughed when he saw the Indians cutting down the

little ones, and covering their tender bodies with cruel wounds;

nor had he any pity upon the one white woman; and when I raved upon

him and cursed him, he laughed back, and said he had no power to

allay the fury of the savages. Those who would preserve themselves

safe should retire within the bounds of the colony to which they

belong. France would have an end of encroachment, and the Indians

were her friends, and would help her to drive out the common foe!"

Humphrey set his teeth and clinched his hands. The old instinctive

hatred of centuries between French and English, never really dead,

now leaped into life in his breast. He had heard plenty of talk

during his boyhood of France's boundless pretensions with regard to

the great New World of the West, and how she sought, by the simple

process of declaring territory to be hers, to extend her power over

millions of miles of the untrodden plains and forests, which she

could never hope to populate. He had laughed with others at these

claims, and had thought little enough of them when with father and

brother he set out for the western frontier.

There was then peace between the nations. Nor had it entered into

the calculations of the settlers that their white brethren would

stir up the friendly Indians against them, and bring havoc and

destruction to their scattered dwellings. That was a method of

warfare undreamed of a few years back; but it was now becoming a

terrible reality.

"But your life was spared?" said Humphrey at last; "and yet the

scalping-knife came very close to doing its horrid work."

"Yes: they spared me--he spared me--when he had made me suffer what

was tenfold worse than death; yet I wot well he only thought to

leave me to a lingering death of anguish, more terrible than that

of the scalping knife! They knew not that I had any to come to my

succour. When he drew off the howling Indians and left me bound to

the stump, he thought he left me to perish of starvation and

burning thirst. It was no mercy that he showed me--rather a

refinement of cruelty. I begged him to make an end of my wretched

life; but he smiled, and bid me a mocking farewell.

"Great God of heaven and earth, look down and avenge me of mine

adversary! I trust there are not many such fiends in human shape

even in the ranks of the jealous and all-grasping French. But if

there be, may it be mine to carry death and desolation into their

ranks! May they be driven forth from this fair land which they have

helped to desolate! May death and destruction come swiftly upon

them; and when they fall, let them rise up no more!"

"Amen!" said Humphrey solemnly; and the brothers sat in silence for

a great while, the gloom hiding them the one from the other, though

they knew that their hearts were beating in sympathy.

"The war has broken out," said Humphrey at last. "We can perchance

find our place in the ranks of those who go to drive out the

oppressive race, whose claims are such as English subjects will not

tolerate."

"Ay, there will be fighting, fighting, fighting now till they are

driven forth, and till England's flag waves proudly over this great

land!" cried Charles, with a strange confidence and exultation in

his tones. "England will fight, and I will fight with her. I will

slay and slay, and spare not; and I will tell this tale to all

wherever I go. I will hunt out mine enemy until I compass his

death. They have despoiled me of home, of wife, of children. They

have taken away all the joy of life. The light of my eyes is gone.

Henceforth I have but one thing to live for. I bare my sword

against France. Against her will I fight until the Lord gives us

the victory. The world shall know, and all ears shall tingle at the

tale which I will tell. There shall be no quarter, no pity for

those who use such means as those which have left me what I am

tonight!"

Humphrey could not marvel at the intensity of the ferocity in

Charles's tones. It sounded strange in one of so gentle and

placable a nature; but he had cause--he had cause!

"Think you that the man was other than one of those wild fellows

who run from all law and order in the townships and become denizens

of the wood, and little better than the wild Indians themselves?

We. have heard of these coureurs de bois, as they are called. There

are laws passed against them, severe and restrictive, by their own

people. Perchance it were scarce just to the French to credit them

with all that this man has done."

"Peace, Humphrey," was the stern reply. "We know that the French

are inciting the Indians against our peaceful settlers, and that

what has happened here today is happening in other places along our

scattered frontier. The work is the work of France, and against

France will I fight till she is overthrown. I have sworn it. Seek

not to turn me from my purpose. I will fight, and fight, and fight

till I see her lying in the dust, and till I have met mine enemy

face to face and have set my foot upon his neck. God has heard my

vow; He will fight for me till it be fulfilled."

Chapter 2: Friends In Need.

It was not to be surprised at that, after that terrible day and

night, Charles should awake from the restless sleep into which he

had dropped towards dawn in a state of high fever.

He lay raving in delirium for three days, whilst Humphrey sat

beside him, putting water to his parched lips, striving to soothe

and quiet him; often shuddering with horror as he seemed to see

again with his brother's eyes those horrid scenes upon which the

fevered man's fancy ever dwelt; waking sometimes at night in a

sweat of terror, thinking he heard the Indian war whoop echoing

through the forest.

Those were terrible days for Humphrey--days of a loneliness that

was beyond anything he had experienced before. His brother was near

him in the flesh, but severed from him by a whole world of fevered

imaginings. Sometimes Humphrey found it in his heart to wish that

the Indians would come back and make a final end of them both. All

hope and zest and joy in life seemed to have been taken from him at

one blow. He could neither think of the happy past without pangs of

pain, nor yet face a future which seemed barren of hope and

promise.

He could only sit beside his brother, tend him, nurse him, pray for

him. But the words of prayer too often died away upon his lips. Had

they not all prayed together, after the godly habit of the

household, upon the very morning when this awful disaster fell upon

them? Were these vast solitudes too far away for God to hear the

prayers that went up from them?

Humphrey had never known what awful loneliness could engulf the

human spirit till he sat beside the fevered man in the vast

solitude of the primeval forest, asking in his heart whether God

Himself had not forsaken them.

It was the hour of sundown, and Humphrey had gone outside for a

breath of fresh air. He looked ten years older than he had done a

few days back, when he had come whistling through the forest track,

expecting to see the children bounding forth to meet him. His eyes

were sunken, his face was pale and haggard, his dress was unkempt

and ragged. There were no clever fingers now to patch tattered

raiment, and keep things neat and trim.

There was an unwonted sound in the forest! It was distant still. To

some ears it would have been inaudible; but Humphrey heard it, and

his heart suddenly beat faster.

The sound was that of approaching steps--the steps of men. A few

minutes more and he heard the sound of voices, too. He had been

about to dash into the shed for his gun, but the fresh sounds

arrested his movement.

He had ears as sharp as those of an ambushed Indian, and he

detected in a moment that the men who were approaching the clearing

were of his own nationality. The words he could not hear, but he

could distinguish the intonation. It was not the rapid,

thin-sounding French tongue; it was English--he was certain of it!

And a light leaped to his eyes at the bare thought of meeting a

brother countryman in this desolate place.

Probably it was some other settler, one of that hardy race that

fringed the colony on its western frontier. Miles and miles of

rolling forest lay between these scattered holdings, and since war

was but lately begun, nothing had been done for the protection of

the hapless people now becoming an easy prey of the Indians stirred

up to molest them.

Humphrey knew none of their neighbours. Forest travelling was too

difficult and dangerous to tempt the settler far away from his own

holding. If it were one of these coming now, most likely he too had

suffered from attack or fear of attack, and was seeking a friend in

the nearest locality.

He stood like one spellbound, watching and waiting. The sound of

steps drew nearer to the fringe of obscuring forest trees; the

sound of voices became plainer and more plain. In another minute

Humphrey saw them--two bronzed and stalwart men--advancing from the

wood into the clearing. They came upon it unawares, as was plain

from their sudden pause. But they were white men; they were

brothers in this wild land. There was something like a sob in

Humphrey's throat, which he hastily swallowed down, as he advanced

with great strides to meet them.

"You are welcome," he said. "I had thought the Indians had left no

living beings behind them in all this forest save my brother and

myself."

No introductions were needed in this savage place; the face of

every white man lit up at sight of a like countenance, and at the

sound of the familiar tongue. The men shook hands with a hearty

grip, and one said to Humphrey:

"You have had Indians here?"

Humphrey made an expressive gesture with his hand.

"This was a week ago as fair a holding as heart of man could wish

to see in this grim forest. You see what is left today!"

"Your house is burnt down, as we plainly see. Have you lost aught

beside? Has human blood been spilt?"

"The corpse of my venerable father, and that of a bold baby boy,

lie beneath yon heap of ruins which made their funeral pyre. In

yonder grave lie the mingled corpses of my brother's wife and four

fair children, hacked to death and half burnt by the savages. And

yet this work is not the work of savages alone. With them we have

dwelt at peace these many years. The shame, the horror, the

disgrace of it is that we owe these horrors to the white sons of

France, who hound on the savages to make these raids, and stand by

to see them do their bloody work!"

The two strangers exchanged glances--meaning glances--and one of

them laid a hand upon Humphrey's shoulder, looking earnestly into

his eyes the while.

"Is it so in very truth? So have we heard in whispers, but it was a

thing we could scarce believe. We have travelled far from the lands

of the south to join our brethren of the English race. We heard

rumours of wars cruel and bloody. Yet it seemed to us too strange a

thing to believe that here, amid the hostile, savage Indians, white

man could wage war with white man, and take the bloody heathen man

as his ally, instead of the brother who bears the name of Christ!"

Humphrey looked with some wonder and fascination into the face of

the youth who spoke. It was a refined and beautiful face,

notwithstanding the evidences of long exposure to sun and wind. The

features were finely cut, sensitive and expressive, and the eyes

were very luminous in their glance, and possessed strangely

penetrating powers. In stature the young man was almost as tall as

Humphrey, but of a much slighter build; yet he was wiry and

muscular, as could well be seen, and plainly well used to the life

of the wild woodlands. His dress was that of the backwoods, dressed

deerskin being the chief material used. Both travellers wore

moccasins on their feet, and carried the usual weapons of offence

and defence.

Yet Humphrey felt as though this man was in some sort different

from those he had met in the woods at rare times when out hunting.

His voice, his words, his phraseology seemed in some sort strange,

and he asked him wonderingly:

"From whence are you, friends?"

"From the land of the far south--from the rolling plains of the

giant Mississippi, that vast river of which perchance you have

heard?"

"Ay, verily," answered Humphrey, with a touch of bitterness in his

tone. "I have heard of that great river, which the French King

claims to have discovered, and which they say he will guard with a

chain of forts right away from Canada, and will thus command all

the New World of the West, pinning us English within the limits of

that portion of land lying betwixt the ocean and the range of the

Allegheny Mountains," and Humphrey waved his hand in that

direction, and looked questioningly at the men before him.

He had an impression that all who came from the far south, from the

colony of Louisiana, as he had heard it called, must be in some

sort French subjects. And yet these men spoke his own tongue, and

seemed to be friends and brothers.

"That was the chimera of the French Monarch more than a century

ago. Methinks it is little nearer its accomplishment now than when

our forefathers, acting as pioneers, made a small settlement in a

green valley near to the mouth of the giant river, waiting for the

King to send his priests and missionaries to convert the heathen

from their evil ways, and found a fair Christian realm in that fair

land."

"Then were your forefathers French subjects?" asked Humphrey,

rather bewildered. "If so, how come you to speak mine own tongue as

you do?"

"I come of no French stock!" cried the companion stranger, who had

remained silent until now, looking searchingly round the clearing,

and examining Humphrey himself with curiosity; "I have no drop of

French blood in my veins, whatever Julian may have. I am Fritz

Neville. I come of an English family. But you shall hear all later

on, as we sit by our fire at night. I would hear all your tale of

desolation and woe. We, for our part, have no cause to love the

French oppressors, whose ambition and greed seem to know no bounds.

Can you give us shelter by your hearth tonight? Food we have of our

own, since we find game in sufficient abundance in these forest

tracks."

As he spoke he unslung from his shoulders a fine young fawn which

they had lately shot, and Humphrey made eager answer to the request

for hospitality.

"Would that we had better to offer! But the homestead is burnt. My

brother lies sick of a fever in yon shed--a fever brought on by

loss of blood and by anguish of mind. I have been alone in this

place with him hard upon a week now, and to me it seems as though

years instead of days had passed over my head since the calamity

happened."

"I can well believe that," said the first speaker, whom his

companion had spoken of as Julian. "There be times in a man's life

when hours are as days and days as years. But let me see your

brother if he be sick. I have some skill in the treatment of

fevers, and I have brought in my wallet some simples which we find

wonderfully helpful down in the south, from where I come. I doubt

not I can bring him relief."

Humphrey's face brightened with a look of joyful relief, and Fritz

exclaimed heartily:

"Yes, yes, Julian is a notable leech. We all come to him with our

troubles both of body and mind.

"Lead on, comrade. I will cook the supper whilst you and he tend

the sick man; and afterwards we will tell all our tale; and take

counsel for the future."

It was new life to Humphrey to hear the sound of human voices, to

feel the touch of friendly hands, to know himself not alone in the

awful isolation of the vast forest. He led the way to the rough

shed, which he had contrived during the past days to convert into a

rude species of sleeping and living room. He had made a hearth and

a chimney, so that he could cook food whilst still keeping an eye

upon his sick brother. He had contrived a certain amount of rude

comfort in Charles's bed and surroundings. The place looked

pleasant to the wearied, travellers, for it was spotlessly clean,

and it afforded shelter from the keen night air.

They had been finding the nights grow cold as they journeyed

northward, and Fritz rubbed his hands at sight of the glow of the

fire, and set to work eagerly upon his culinary tasks; whilst

Julian and Humphrey bent over Charles, the former examining the

condition of his pulse and skin with the air of one who knows how

to combat the symptoms of illness.

He administered a draught, and bathed the sick man's temples with

some pungent decoction of herbs which he prepared with hot water;

and after giving him a small quantity of soup, told Humphrey that

he would probably sleep quietly all night, and might very likely

awake without any fever, though as weak as a child.

And in effect only a short time elapsed before his eyes closed, and

he sank into a peaceful slumber, such as he had not known

throughout the past days.

"Thank God you came!" said Humphrey with fervour; "I had thought to

bury my brother here beside his wife, and the loneliness and horror

had well nigh driven me mad. If he live, I shall have something

left to live for; else I could have wished that we had all perished

together!"

"Nay," cried Fritz from the fire, "we can do better than that: we

can join those who have the welfare of the country at heart. We can

punish proud France for her ambition and encroachments, and

perchance--who knows?--England's flag may ere long proudly wave

where now only the banner of France has floated from her scattered

forts."

But just at this moment Humphrey could not be roused to any

patriotic fervour. The sense of personal loss and horror was strong

upon him. His thoughts were turning vaguely towards the mother

country from which his fathers had come. For the moment the wild

West was hateful to him. He could not face the thought of taking up

the old life again. He had been uprooted too suddenly and

ruthlessly. The spell of the forest was gone. Sometimes he felt

that he never wished to look upon waving trees again.

As they partook of the well-cooked supper which Fritz had provided,

and afterwards sat smoking their pipes beside the fire, whilst the

wind moaned and sighed round the corners of the shed, and whispered

through the trees around the clearing, he told these strangers the

whole history of his life, and how it had seemed to be suddenly cut

in half a week ago, whilst the last half already began to look and

feel to him longer than the first.

There was no lack of sympathy and interest in the faces of his

hearers. When they heard how a Frenchman had been with the Indians

upon their raid, Fritz smote the ground heavily with his open hand,

exclaiming:

"That is what we heard as we journeyed onward; that is the rumour

that reached us even in the far south. It was hard to believe that

brother should turn against brother out here in these trackless

wilds, amid hordes of savage Indians. We said it must surely be

false--that Christian men could not be guilty of such wickedness!

Yet it has proved all too true. We have heard stories during our

journey which have filled our hearts with loathing and scorn.

France is playing a treacherous, a vile and unworthy game. England

is no match for her yet--unprepared and taken at a disadvantage.

But you will see, you will see! She will arise from sleep like a

giant refreshed! And then let proud France tremble for her bloody

laurels!"

His eye flashed, and Julian said thoughtfully:

"Ay, truly has she stained her laurels with blood; and she is even

now staining her annals with dark crimes, when she stirs up the

savage Indian to bring death and desolation to those peaceful

settlers with whom they have so long lived as friends. God will

require their blood at the hands of France. Let her beware! for the

hour of her destruction will not be prolonged if she sells herself

to sin."

There was a long silence then between the three men; it was at

length broken by Humphrey, who looked from one to the other, and

said:

"You have not yet told me of yourselves. Who are you, and whence do

you come? I have heard of vast plains and mighty rivers in the

south and west, but I know nothing beyond these forest tracks which

lie about our desolated home."

Fritz signed to Julian to be the speaker, and he leaned his back

against the wall, clasping his hands behind his head. The firelight

gleamed upon his earnest face and shone in his brilliant eyes.

Humphrey regarded him with a species of fascination. He had never

seen a man quite of this type before.

"Have you ever heard," asked Julian, "of that great explorer La

Salle, who first made the voyage of the great river Mississippi,

and founded the infant colony of Louisiana, albeit he himself

perished by the hand of an assassin in the wilderness, before he

had half achieved the object to which he was pledged?"

"I have heard the name," said Humphrey; "I used to hear the men of

Philadelphia talk of such things when I was a boy. But he was a

Frenchman."

"Yes, and came with a commission from the King of France hard upon

a century ago. My great-grandfather and his father were of the

company of La Salle, although they bore their part in a different

expedition from that which is known to the world."

"Are you then French?" asked Humphrey, half disappointed, though he

could not tell why.

Julian smiled, reading the thought in his heart.

"French in little beside name," he replied. "My great grandfather,

Gaspard Dautray, was half English through his mother, an

Englishwoman; and he married Mary Neville, an English maiden, from

whose family Fritz there is descended. In brief, let me tell you

the story. Long before La Salle had penetrated the fastnesses of

the west, there had grown up in a green valley a little colony of

English, outcasts from their own land by reason of their faith.

They had lived at peace for long with the Indian tribes; but when

more white men began invading their country, jealousy and fury were

awakened in the hearts of the Indians, and this little settlement

was in great danger. In their extremity this little colony sent to

La Salle, and though he himself was absent, his lieutenant sent

them a band of men to aid them in defending their lives and

property, and in routing the attacking Indian force.

"But it was no longer safe to remain in the green valley which had

sheltered them so long. They heard of the lands of the south, down

the great mysterious river, and they resolved to seek an asylum

there.

"With the company of La Salle, and yet not attached to it, was a

holy man whom all the world called Father Fritz; a priest, yet one

who followed not the Pope of Rome, but loved each Christian

brother, and recognized only one Church--the Church of the

baptized. He went with the little band, and they made themselves a

new home in the land of the south. They were beloved of the Indians

about them. Father Fritz taught them, baptized such as were truly

converted, and lived amongst them to a hoary old age, loving and

beloved; seeking always to hold them back from greed and

covetousness, and teaching them that the hope for which they must

look was the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself to reign upon

the earth."

Julian paused, looking thoughtfully into the fire. Humphrey heaved

a great sigh, and said half bitterly:

"But the Lord delayeth His coming, and men wage war against their

brethren."

"Yes, verily; yet I think that should make us long the more for the

day which will surely come. However, let me tell my tale. The great

enterprise of France in the south and west has come to but a very

small thing. No chain of forts guards the great river. The highway

from Canada to the south has never been opened up. France is

speaking of it to this day. These very hostile movements towards

England are all part and parcel of the old plan. She still desires

to hold the whole territory by this chain of forts, and shut

England in between the sea and those mountains yonder. You have

heard, I doubt not, how England is resolved not to be thus held in

check. Major George Washington and General Braddock have both made

attacks upon Fort Duquesne, and though both have suffered defeat

owing to untoward causes and bad generalship, the spirit within

them is still unquenched. Fort Duquesne, Fort Niagara, Fort

Ticonderoga--these are the three northern links of the chain, and I

think that England will never rest until she has floated her flag

over these three forts.

"We have come from far to the heart of that great struggle which

all men know must come. The day of rest for us seemed ended. We

have been travelling all through the long, hot summer months, to

find and to be with our countrymen when the hour of battle should

come."

Humphrey looked from one to the other, and said:

"There are only two of you. Where are all the rest from your

smiling valley of the south? Were you the only twain that desired

to join the fight?"

"A dozen of us started, but two turned back quickly, discouraged by

the hardness of the way, and a few died of fever in the great

swamps and jungles: Others turned aside when we neared the great

lakes, thinking to find an easier way. But Fritz and I had our own

plan of making our way to New England, and after long toil and

travel here we are at the end of our journey. For this indeed seems

like the end, when we have found a comrade who will show us the way

and lead us to the civilized world again!"

"Ay, I can do that," answered Humphrey; "I know well the road back

to the world. Nor is it a matter of more than a few days' travel to

reach the outlying townships. I have often said I would go and

visit our sisters and friends, but I have never done so. Alas that

I should go at last with such heavy tidings!"

"Heavy tidings indeed," said Fritz, with sympathy; "yet we will

avenge these treacherous murders upon those who have brought them

to pass."

"That will not restore the dead to life," said Humphrey mournfully.

"No, but it will ease the burning heart of its load of rage and

vengeance."

Humphrey's eyes turned for a moment towards his sleeping brother.

He knew how welcome would be such words to him--that is, if he

awoke from his fever dreams in the same mood as they had found him.

"And yet," said Julian thoughtfully, "we have been taught by our

fathers that brothers should live at peace together, even as we in

our valley lived long at peace with all and with one another. So

long as the memory of our venerable Father remained alive there was

all harmony and concord, and every man sought his brother's well

being as earnestly as his own."

"Can you remember the holy man?" asked Humphrey, with interest.

"No; but my father remembered him well. He was well grown towards

manhood before the venerable old man died at a great age. My

grandfather has told me story after story of him. I have been

brought up to love and revere his memory, and to hold fast the

things which he taught us. But after his death, alas! a new spirit

gradually entered into the hearts of our people. They began to grow

covetous of gain, to trade with the Indians for their own benefit,

to fall into careless and sometimes evil practices. Before my

father died he said to me that the Home of Peace was no longer the

place it once had been, and that he should like to think that I

might find a better place to live in, since I was young and had my

life before me."

"Was that long ago?"

"Just a year. My mother had died six months earlier. The

dissensions of the parent countries had begun to reach to us. We

had been French and English from the beginning, but had dwelt in

peace and brotherly goodwill for nigh upon eighty years. We had

married amongst ourselves, so that some amongst us scarce knew

whether to call themselves French or English. But for all that

disunion grew and spread. Stragglers of Louisiana found their way

to us. They brought new fashions of thought and teaching with them.

Some Romish priests found us out, and took possession of the little

chapel which Father Fritz had built with such loving care, and the

Mass was said instead of that simpler service which he had drawn up

for us. Many of us the priests dubbed as heretics, and because we

would not change our views for them, they became angry, and we were

excommunicated. It has been nothing but growing strife and disunion

for the past two years. I was glad to turn my back upon it at last,

and find my way to a freer land, and one where a man may worship

God according to his conscience; albeit I have no desire to speak

ill of the priests, who were good men, and sought to teach us what

they deemed to be the truth."

"I am a Protestant," said Humphrey; "I know little about Romish

devices. I was taught to hate and abhor them. We dwelt among the

Quaker folk of Pennsylvania. but we are not Quakers ourselves. Out

here in the wilds we must live as we can. We have the Bible--and

that is all."

"People say of the Quakers that they will not fight!" said Fritz

suddenly. "Is that so?"

"I know not," answered Humphrey; "I think I have heard my father

say something of that sort. But surely they will fight to avenge

such things as that!" and he made a gesture with his hand as though

indicating the burnt homestead and the graves of the murdered woman

and children.

"If they be men they surely will. You will go and tell them your

story, Humphrey?"

"Ay, that I will!" answered Humphrey, between his shut teeth.

Fritz sat staring into the fire for some time, and then he too

broke out with some heat.

"Yes, it is the same story all over. It was the French who came and

spoiled our happy home. If they had let us alone, perchance we

might have been there still, hunting, fishing, following the same

kind of life as our fathers--at peace with ourselves and with the

world. But they came amongst us. They sowed disunion and strife.

They were resolved to get rid of the English party, as they called

it. They were all softness and mildness to them. But those in whom

the sturdy British spirit flourished they regarded with jealousy

and dislike. They sowed the seeds of disunion. They spoiled our

valley and our life. Doubtless the germs were there before, but it

was the emissaries of France who wrought the mischief. If they

could have done it, I believe they would have taught the Indians to

distrust us English; but that was beyond their power. Even they

held in loving reverence the name of Father Fritz, and none of his

children, as they called us all alike, could do wrong in their

eyes. So then it was their policy to get rid of such as would not

own the supremacy of France in all things. I was glad at the last

to go. We became weary of the bickerings and strife. Some of the

elders remained behind, but the rest of us went forth to find

ourselves a new home and a new country."

Humphrey listened to this tale with as much interest as it was

possible for him to give to any concern other than his own.

Something of that indignant hatred which was springing into active

life all through the western continent began to inflame his breast.

It had been no effect of Charles's inflamed imagination. The French

were raising the Indians against them, and striving to overthrow

England's sons wherever they had a foothold, beyond their immediate

colonies. It was time they should arise and assert themselves.

Humphrey's eyes kindled as he sat thinking upon these things.

"I too will go forth and fight France," he said at last; and with

that resolve the sense of numb lethargy and despair fell away from

him like a worn-out garment, and his old fire and energy returned.

Chapter 3: Philadelphia.

"I will go and tell my tale in the ears of my countrymen," said

Charles, with steady voice but burning eyes, "and then I will go

forth and fight the French, and slay and slay till they be driven

from off the face of the western world!"

The fever had left Charles now. Some of his former strength had

come back to him. But his brother looked at him often with

wondering eyes, for it seemed to him that this Charles was a new

being, with whom he had but scant acquaintance. He could not

recognize in this stern faced, brooding man the quiet, homely

farmer and settler whose home he had shared for so long.

Their new comrades were glad of the rest afforded them by the

necessity of waiting till Charles should be fit to move. They had

been travelling for many months, and the shelter of a roof--even

though it was only the roof of a shed--was grateful to them.

Fritz and Charles took a strong mutual liking almost from the

first. Both were men of unwonted strength and endurance, and both

were fired by a strong personal enmity towards the French and their

aggressive policy.

Julian told Humphrey, in their private conferences, something of

the cause of this personal rancour.

"There was a fair maid in our valley--Renee we called her--and her

parents were French. But we were all friends together; and Fritz

and she loved each other, and were about to be betrothed. Then came

these troubles, and the priest forbade Renee to wed a heretic; and

though she herself would have been faithful, her parents were

afraid. It seemed to all then that the French were going to be

masters of the land. There was another youth who loved her also,

and to him they married her. That was just before we came away--a

dozen of us English youths, who could not stand the new state of

things and the strife of party. Fritz has neither forgotten nor

forgiven. The name of France us odious in his ears."

"And in yours, too?" asked Humphrey.

Julian's face was grave and thoughtful.

"I have my moments of passionate anger. I hate everything that is

vile and treacherous and aggressive. But I would seek to remember

that after all we are brothers, and that we all bear the name of

Christ. That is what Father Fritz of old sought to make us

remember. Perhaps it comes the easier to me in that I have French

blood in my veins, albeit I regard myself now as an English

subject. I have cast in my lot with the English."

Humphrey and Julian drew together, much as did Charles and Fritz.

Julian was a year or two older than Humphrey, and Charles was

several years older than Fritz; but all had led a free open-air

life, and had tastes and feelings in common. They understood

woodcraft and hunting; they were hardy, self reliant, courageous.

It was of such men as these that the best soldiers were made in the

days that were at hand; although the military leaders, especially

if they came from the Old World with its code of civilized warfare,

were slow to recognize it.

A heavy storm of wind and rain--the precursor of the coming

winter--raged round the little settlement for several days, during

which the party sat round their fire, talking of the past and the

future, and learning to know each other more and more intimately.

Charles recovered rapidly from the loss of blood and the fever

weakness. His constitution triumphed easily over his recent

illness, and he was only longing to be on the road, that he might

the sooner stand face to face with the foe.

And now the storm was abating. The sun began to shine out through

the driving wrack of clouds. The woodland tracks might be wet, but

little reeked the travellers of that.

They bound upon their backs as much provision as would suffice for

their immediate needs. They looked well to their arms and

ammunition. They had mended their clothes, and were strong and

fresh and full of courage.

The journey before them seemed as nothing to the pair who had

traversed so many thousands of miles of wood and water. And the

settlers had friends at the other end who would remember them, and

have tears of sympathy to shed at hearing their terrible tale.

The brothers stood looking their last upon the clearing which had

for so long been their home. In Humphrey's eyes there was an

unwonted moisture; but Charles's face was set and stern, and his

lips twitched with the excess of restrained emotion. His eyes were

fixed upon the mound which hid from his view the corpses of wife

and children. Suddenly he lifted his clinched hand towards heaven.

"Strengthen, O Lord, this right hand of mine, that it may be strong

against the nation whose crimes bring desolation upon Thy children.

Be with us in the hour of vengeance and victory. Help us to render

unto them even as they have rendered to us."

Julian and Fritz had withdrawn themselves a little, respecting the

inevitable emotion which must come to men at such a moment.

Humphrey turned away, and took a few uncertain steps, half blinded

by the unwonted smart of tears in his eyes. He had come almost to

hate this place of terrible associations; and yet it wrung his

heart for a moment to leave those nameless graves, and that little

lonely spot where so many peaceful and happy hours had been spent.

Julian's hand was on his arm, and his voice spoke in his ear.

"I know what it feels like; I have been through it. The smart is

keen. But it helps us to remember that we are but strangers and

pilgrims. It is perhaps those who have no abiding city here who

most readily seek that which is theirs above."

Humphrey pressed Julian's hand, feeling vaguely comforted by his

words, although he could not enter fully into their significance.

To Charles Julian said:

"'We must remember, even in our righteous wrath, that God has said

He is the avenger. We can trust our wrongs in His hands. He will

use us as His instruments if He thinks good. But let us beware of

private acts of vengeance of our own planning. We must not forget

the reverse of the picture--the mercy as well as the anger of God.

We must not take things out of His hands into our own, lest we

stumble and fall. We have a commandment to love our enemies, and to

do good to those that hate us."

Charles looked fixedly at him.

"I have not forgotten," he said, in his strange, slow way; "I was

brought up amongst those who refuse the sword, calling themselves

servants of the Prince of Peace. We shall see which the Lord will

have--peace or war. Do you think He desires to see a repetition of

such scenes as that?"

Charles pointed sternly to the ruined homestead--the grave beside

it, and his gloomy eyes looked straight into those of Julian; but

he did not even wait for an answer, but plunged along the forest

track in an easterly direction.

* * * * *

In a wide street in Philadelphia, not far from the Assembly Rooms

where such hot debates were constantly going on, stood an

old-fashioned house, quaintly gabled, above the door of which hung

out a sign board intimating that travellers might find rest and

refreshment within.

The whole house was spotlessly clean, and its aspect was prim and

sober, as was indeed that of the whole city. Men in wide-brimmed

hats and wide-skirted coats of sombre hue walked the streets, and

talked earnestly together at the corners; whilst the women, for the

most part, passed on their way with lowered eyes, and hoods drawn

modestly over their heads, neither speaking nor being spoken to as

they pursued their way.

To be sure there were exceptions. In some quarters there were

plenty of people of a different aspect and bearing; but in this

wide and pleasant street, overlooked by the window of the hostelry,

there were few gaily-dressed persons to be seen, but nearly all of

them wore the dress and adopted the quaint speech of the Quaker

community.

From this window a bright-faced girl was looking eagerly out into

the street. She wore a plain enough dress of grey homespun cloth,

and a little prim cap covered her pretty hair. Yet for all that

several little rebellious curls peeped forth, surrounding her face

with a tiny nimbus; and there was something dainty in the fashion

of her white frilled kerchief, arranged across her dress bodice and

tied behind. She would dearly have loved to adorn herself with some

knots of rose-coloured ribbon, but the rose tints in her cheek gave

the touch of colour which brightened her sombre raiment, and her

dancing blue eyes would have made sunshine in any place.

She had opened the window lattice and craned her head to look down

the street; but at the sound of a footstep within doors she quickly

drew it in again, for her mother reproved her when she found her

hanging out at the window.

"What is all the stir about, mother?" she asked; "there be so many

folks abroad, and they have been passing in and out of the Assembly

Rooms for above an hour. What does it all mean? Are they baiting

the Governor again? Are they having another fight about the taxes?"

"Nay, child, I know not. I have been in the kitchen, looking to the

supper. Thy father came in awhile back, and said we had guests

arrived, and that he desired the supper to be extra good. That is

all I know."

"Something has happened, I am sure of that!" cried the girl again,

"and I would father would come and tell us what it is all about. He

always hears all the news. Perhaps the travellers he is bringing

here will know. I may sit with you at the supper table, may I not,

mother?"

"Yes, child; so your father said. He came in with a smile upon his

face. But he was in a great haste, and has been gone ever since. So

what it all means I know not."

Susanna--for such was the name of the girl--became at once

interested and excited.

"O mother, what can it be? Hark at that noise in the street below!

People are crying out in a great rage. What can it be? It was so

that day a week agone, when news was brought in that some poor

settlers had been murdered by Indians, and the Assembly would do

nothing but wrangle with the Governor instead of sending out troops

to defend our people. Do you think something can have happened

again?"

The mother's face turned a little pale.

"Heaven send it be not so!" she exclaimed. "I am always in fear

when I hear of such things--in fear for my old father, and for my

brothers. You know they live away there on the border. I pray

Heaven no trouble will fall upon them."

Susanna's eyes dilated with interest, as they always did when her

mother talked to her of these unknown relations, away beyond the

region of safety and civilization.

To be correct, it should be explained that Susanna was not the real

daughter of the woman whom she called mother; for Benjamin Ashley

had been twice married, and Susanna had been five years old before

Hannah Angell had taken the mother's place. But she never thought

of this herself. She remembered no other mother, and the tie

between them was strong and tender, despite the fact that there was

not more than thirteen years' difference in age between them, and

some girls might have rebelled against the rule of one who might

almost have been a sister.

But Susanna had no desire to rebel. Hannah's rule was a mild and

gentle one, although it was exercised with a certain amount of prim

decorum. Still the girl was shrewd enough to know that her father's

leanings towards the Quaker code had been greatly modified by the

influence of his wife, and that she was kept less strictly than he

would have kept her had he remained a widower.

Hannah bustled away to the kitchen, and Susanna, after one more

longing look out of the window towards the crowd assembled in the

open space beyond, followed her, and gave active assistance in the

setting of the supper table.

A young man in Quaker garb, and with a broad-brimmed hat in his

hand, entered the outer room, engaged in hot dispute with another

youth of different aspect, whose face was deeply flushed as if in

anger.

"Your Franklin may be a clever man--I have nothing against that!"

he exclaimed hotly; "but if he backs up the stubborn Assembly, and

stands idle whilst our settlers are being massacred like sheep,

then say I that he and they alike deserve hanging in a row from the

gables of their own Assembly House; and that if the Indians break

in upon us and scalp them all, they will but meet the deserts of

their obstinacy and folly!"

"Friend," said the other of the sober raiment, "thee speaks as a

heathen man and a vain fellow. The Lord hath given us a commandment

to love one another, and to live at peace with all men. We may not

lightly set aside that commandment; we may not do evil that good

may come."

"Tush, man! get your Bible and look. I am no scholar, but I know

that the Lord calls Himself a man of war--that He rides forth,

sword in hand, conquering, and to conquer; that the armies in

heaven itself fight under the Archangel against the powers of

darkness. And are we men to let our brothers be brutally murdered,

whilst we sit with folded hands, or wrangle weeks and months away,

as you Quakers are wrangling over some petty question of taxation

which a man of sense would settle in five minutes? I am ashamed of

Philadelphia! The whole world will be pointing the finger of scorn

at us. We are acting like cowards--like fools--not like men! If

there were but a man to lead us forth, I and a hundred stout

fellows would start forth to the border country tomorrow to wage

war with those villainous Indians and their more villainous allies

the crafty sons of France."

"Have patience, friend," said the Quaker youth, with his solemn

air; "I tell thee that the Assembly is in the right. Who are the

Penns these proprietaries--that their lands should be exempt from

taxation? If the Governor will yield that point, then will the

Assembly raise the needful aid for keeping in check the enemy,

albeit it goes sorely against their righteous souls. But they will

not give everything and gain nothing; it is not right they should."

"And while they wrangle and snarl and bicker, like so many dogs

over a bone, our countrywomen and their innocent children are to be

scalped and burnt and massacred? That is Scripture law, is it? that

is your vaunted religion. You will give way--you will yield your

principles for a petty victory on a point of law, but not to save

the lives of the helpless brothers who are crying aloud on all

hands to you to come and save them!"

The Quaker youth moved his large feet uneasily; he, in common with

the seniors of his party, was beginning to find it a little

difficult to maintain a logical position in face of the pressing

urgency of the position. He had been brought up in the tenets which

largely prevailed in Pennsylvania at that day, and was primed with

numerous arguments which up till now had been urged with confidence

by the Quaker community. But the peace-loving Quakers were

beginning to feel the ground shaking beneath their feet. The day

was advancing with rapid strides when they would be forced either

to take up arms in defence of their colony, or to sit still and see

it pass bodily into the hands of the enemy.

Susanna was peeping in at the door of the next room. She knew both

the speakers well. Ebenezer Jenkyns had indeed been paying her some

attention of late, although she laughed him to scorn. Much more to

her liking was bold John Stark, her father's kinsman; and as there

was nobody in the room beside these two, she ventured to go a step

within the doorway and ask:

"What is the matter now, Jack? what are you two fighting about so

hotly?"

"Faith, 'tis ever the same old tale--more massacres and outrages

upon our borders, more women and children slaughtered! Settlers

from the western border calling aloud to us to send them help, and

these Quaker fellows of the Assembly doing nothing but wrangle,

wrangle, wrangle with the Governor, and standing idle whilst their

brothers perish. Save me from the faith of the peace makers!"

Again the other young man moved uneasily, the more so as he saw the

look of disdain and scorn flitting over the pretty face of Susanna.

"Thee does us an injustice, friend," he said. "Was it not Benjamin

Franklin who a few months back gave such notable help to General

Braddock that he called him the only man of honesty and vigour in

all the western world? But the Lord showed that He would not have

us attack our brother men, and Braddock's army was cut to pieces,

and he himself slain. When the Lord shows us His mind, it is not

for us to persist in our evil courses; we must be patient beneath

His chastenings."

"Tush, man! the whole campaign was grossly mismanaged; all the

world knows that by now. But why hark back to the past? it is the

present, the future that lie before us. Are we to let our province

become overrun and despoiled by hordes of savage Indians, or are we

to rise like men and sweep them back whence they came? There is the

case in a nutshell. And instead of facing it like men, the Assembly

talks and squabbles and wrangles like a pack of silly women!"

"Oh no, Cousin Jack," quoth Susanna saucily, "say not like women!

Women would make up their minds to action in an hour. Say rather

like men, like men such as Ebenezer loves--men with the tongues of

giants and the spirit of mice; men who speak great swelling words,

and boast of their righteousness, but who are put to shame by the

brute beasts themselves. Even a timid hen will be brave when her

brood is attacked; but a Quaker cannot be anything but a coward,

and will sit with folded hands whilst his own kinsmen perish

miserably!"

This was rather too much even for Ebenezer's phlegmatic spirit. He

seized his broad-brimmed hat and clapped it on his head.

"Thee will be sorry some day, Susanna, for making game of the

Quakers, and of the godly ones of the earth," he spluttered.

"Go thee to the poultry yard, friend Ebenezer," called Susanna

after him; "the old hen there will give thee a warm welcome. Go and

learn from her how to fight. I warrant thee will learn more from

her than thee has ever known before--more than thine own people

will ever teach thee. Go to the old hen to learn; only I fear thee

will soon flee from her with a text in thy mouth to aid thy legs to

run!"

"Susanna, Susanna!" cried a voice from within, whilst Jack doubled

himself up in a paroxysm of delight, "what are you saying so loud

and free? Come hither, child. You grow over bold, and I cannot have

you in the public room. With whom are you talking there?"

"There is only Jack here now," answered Susanna meekly, although

the sparkle still gleamed in her eyes; "Ebenezer has just gone out.

I was saying farewell to him."

"Come back now, and finish setting the table; and if John will stay

to supper, he will be welcome."

John was only too glad, for he took keen pleasure in the society of

Susanna, and was fond of the quaint old house where his kinsman

lived. He rose and went into the inner room, where Hannah received

him with a smile and a nod.

Susanna would have asked him what special news had reached the town

that day, but the sound of approaching feet outside warned her of

the return of her father with the friends he was bringing to

supper. She flew to the kitchen for the first relay of dishes, and

Hannah left her to dish them up, whilst she went to meet the

guests.

Jack and the maidservant assisted Susanna at the stove, and a few

minutes passed before they entered the supper room, where the

company had assembled. When they did so, the girl was surprised to

note that her mother was standing between two tall strangers, one

of whom had his arm about her, and that she was weeping silently

yet bitterly.

Susanna put down her dishes on the table and crept to her father's

side.

"What is the matter?" she asked timidly.

"Matter enough to bring tears to all our eyes--ay, tears of blood!"

answered Ashley sternly. "These two men are your mother's brothers,

who arrived today--just a short while back--as I hoped with

pleasant tidings. Now have we learned a different tale. Their old

father and Charles's wife and children have been brutally murdered

by Indians, and he himself escaped as by a miracle. We have been

telling the tale to the Assembly this very afternoon. Ah, it would

have moved hearts of stone to hear Charles's words! I pray Heaven

that something may soon be done. It is fearful to think of the

sufferings which our inaction is causing to our settlers in the

west!"

"It is a shame--a disgrace!" exclaimed Jack hotly, and then he

turned his glance upon the two other men who were seated at the

table, taking in the whole scene in silence.

Both wore the look of travellers; both were tanned by exposure, and

were clad in stained and curious garments, such as betokened the

life of the wilderness. Jack was instantly and keenly interested.

He himself would willingly have been a backwoodsman had he been

able to adopt that adventurous life.

Ashley saw the look he bent upon the travellers, and he made them

known to one another.

"These friends have travelled far from the lands of the south, and

have been friends in need to our kinsmen yonder. Fritz Neville and

Julian Dautray are their names.

"Susanna, set food before them. Your mother will not be able to

think of aught just now. We must let her have her cry out before we

trouble her."

The rest of the party seated themselves, whilst in the recess by

the window Hannah stood between the brothers she had parted from

ten years ago, listening to their tale, and weeping as she

listened.

Ashley turned to his two guests, who were eating with appetite from

the well-filled platters placed before them, and he began to speak

as though taking up a theme which had lately been dropped.

"It is no wonder that you are perplexed by what you hear and see in

this city. I will seek to make the point at issue as clear to you

as it may be. You have doubtless heard of the Penn family, from

whom this colony takes its name. Much we owe to our founder--his

wisdom, liberality, and enlightenment; but his sons are hated here.

They are absent in England, but they are the proprietaries of vast

tracts of land, and it is with regard to these lands that the

troubles in the Assembly arise. The proprietaries are regarded as

renegades from the faith; for the Assembly here is Quaker almost to

a man. They hate the feudalism of the tenure of the proprietaries,

and they are resolved to tax these lands, although they will not

defend them, and although no income is at present derived from

them."

"Have they the power to do so?" asked Julian.

"Not without the consent of the Governor. That is where the whole

trouble lies. And the Governor has no power to grant them leave to

tax the proprietary lands. Not only so, but he is expressly

forbidden by the terms of his commission to permit this taxation.

But the Assembly will not yield the point, nor will they consent to

furnish means for the defence of the colony until this point is

conceded. That is where the deadlock comes in. The Governor cannot

yield; his powers do not permit it. The Assembly will not yield.

They hate the thought of war, and seem glad to shelter themselves

behind this quibble. For a while many of us, their friends,

although not exactly at one with them in all things, stood by them

and upheld them; but we are fast losing patience now. When it comes

to having our peaceful settlers barbarously murdered, and our

western border desolated and encroached upon; when it becomes known

that this is the doing of jealous France, not of the Indians

themselves, then it is time to take a wider outlook. Let the

question of the proprietary lands stand over till another time; the

question may then be settled at a less price than is being paid for

it now, when every month's delay costs us the lives of helpless

women and children, and when humanity herself is crying aloud in

our streets."

Ashley, although he had long been on most friendly terms with the

Quaker population of the town, was not by faith a Quaker, and was

growing impatient with the Assembly and its stubborn policy of

resistance. He felt that his old friend Franklin should know

better, and show a wider spirit. He had acted with promptness and

patriotism earlier in the year, when Braddock's luckless expedition

had applied to him for help. But in this warfare he was sternly

resolved on the victory over the Governor, and at this moment it

seemed as though all Philadelphia was much more eager to achieve

this than to defend the borders of the colony.

Hitherto the danger had not appeared pressing to the eastern part

of the colony. They were in no danger from Indian raids, and they

had small pity for their brethren on the western frontier. Between

them and the encroaching Indians lay a population, mostly German,

that acted like a buffer state to them; and notwithstanding that

every post brought in urgent appeals for help, they passed the time

in wrangling with the Governor, in drawing up bills professing to

be framed to meet the emergency, but each one of them containing

the clause through which the Governor was forced to draw his pen.

Governor Morris had written off to England stating the exceeding

difficulty of his position. His appeals to the Assembly to defend

the colony were spirited and manly. He was anxious to join with the

other colonies for an organized and united resistance, but this was

at present extremely difficult. Others before him had tried the

same policy, but it had ended in failure. Petty jealousies did more

to hold the colonies apart than a common peril to bind them

together. Political and religious strife was always arising. There

was nothing to bind them together save a common, though rather

cold, allegiance to the English King. Now and again, in moments of

imminent peril, they had united for a common object; but they fell

apart almost at once. Each had its own pet quarrel with its

Governor, which was far more interesting to the people at the

moment than anything else.

Julian and Fritz listened in amaze as Ashley, who was a

well-informed man and a shrewd observer, put before them, as well

as he was able, the state of affairs reigning in Pennsylvania and

the sister states.

"I am often ashamed of our policy, of our bickerings, of our

tardiness," concluded the good man; "yet for all that there is

stuff of the right sort in our people. We have English blood in our

veins, and I always maintain that England is bound to be the

dominant power in these lands of the west. Let them but send us

good leaders and generals from the old country, and I will answer

for it that the rising generation of New England will fight and

will conquer, and drive the encroaching French back whence they

came!"

Chapter 4: An Exciting Struggle.

It was an exciting scene. Susanna stood at the window, and gazed

eagerly along the street, striving hard to obtain a sight of the

seething crowd in the open square.

She could see the tall, haggard form of her Uncle Charles, as she

called him. He was standing upon a little platform that his friends

had erected for him in front of the Assembly Rooms, and he was

speaking aloud to the surging crowd in accents that rang far

through the still air, and even reached the ears of the listeners

at the open window.

For once Hannah made no protest when the girl thrust out her head.

She herself seemed to be striving to catch the echoes of the clear,

trumpet-like voice. Her colour came and went in her cheeks; her

breast heaved with the emotion which often found vent in those days

in a fit of silent weeping.

"Mother dear, do not weep; they shall be avenged! Nobody can listen

to Uncle Charles and not be moved. Hark how they are shouting

now--hark! I can see them raising their arms to heaven. They are

shaking their fists in the direction of the windows of the Assembly

House. Surely those cowardly men must be roused to action; they

cannot hear unmoved a tale such as Uncle Charles has to tell!"

"Yet even so the dead will not be restored to life; and war is a

cruel, bitter thing."

"Yes, but victory is glorious. And we shall surely triumph, for our

cause is righteous. I am sure of that. And Julian Dautray says the

same. I think he is a very good man, mother; I think he is better

than the Quakers, though he does not talk as if he thought himself

a saint.

"O mother, there is Uncle Humphrey looking up at us! I pray you let

me go down to him. I long so greatly to hear what Uncle Charles is

saying. And I shall be safe in his care."

"I think I will come, too," said Hannah, whose interest and

curiosity were keenly aroused; and after signalling as much to

Humphrey, they threw on their cloaks and hoods, and were soon out

in the streets, where an excited crowd had gathered.

"The posts have come in," said Humphrey, as they made their way

slowly along, "and there is news of fresh disasters, and nearer. In

a few minutes we shall have more news. Men have gone in who promise

to come out and read us the letters. But the bearers themselves

declare that things are terrible. The Germans have been attacked. A

Moravian settlement has been burnt to the ground, and all its

inhabitants butchered. Families are flying from the border country,

naked and destitute, to get clear of the savages and their

tomahawks. Every where the people are calling aloud upon the

Assembly to come to their succour."

The crowd in the street was surging to and fro. Some were Quakers,

with pale, determined countenances, still holding to their stubborn

policy of non-resistance to the enemy, but of obstinate resistance

to the Governor and the proprietaries. The sight of these men

seemed to inflame the rest of the populace, and they were hustled

and hooted as they made their way into the Assembly; whilst the

Governor was cheered as he went by with a grave and troubled face,

and on the steps of his house he turned and addressed the people.

"My friends," he said, "I am doing what I can. I have written to

the proprietaries and to the government at home. I have told them

that the conduct of the Assembly is to me shocking beyond parallel.

I am asking for fresh powers to deal with this horrible crisis. But

I cannot look for an answer for long; and meantime are all our

helpless settlers in the west to be butchered? You men of the city,

rise you and make a solemn protest to these obstinate rulers of

yours. I have spoken all that one man may, and they will not hear.

Try you now if you cannot make your voice heard."

"We will, we will!" shouted a hundred voices; and forthwith knots

of influential men began to gather together in corners, talking

eagerly together, and gesticulating in their excitement.

And all this while Charles, wild-eyed and haggard, was keeping his

place on the little platform, and telling his story again and again

to the shifting groups who came and went. Men and women hung upon

his words in a sort of horrible fascination. Others might talk of

horrors guessed at, yet unseen; Charles had witnessed the things of

which he spoke, and his words sent thrills of horror through the

frames of those who heard. Women wept, and wrung their hands, and

the faces of men grew white and stern.

But upon the opposite side of the square another orator was

haranguing the crowd. A young Quaker woman had got up upon some

steps, moved in spirit, as she declared, to denounce the wickedness

of war, and to urge the townsmen to peaceful methods. Her shrill

voice rose high and piercing, and she invoked Heaven to bless the

work of those who would endure all things rather than spill human

blood.

But the people had heard something too much of this peaceful

gospel. For long they had upheld the policy of non-resistance. They

had their shops, their farms, their merchandise; they were

prosperous and phlegmatic, more interested in local than in

national issues. They had been content to be preached at by the

Quakers, and to give passive adhesion to their policy; but the hour

of awakening had come. The agonized cries of those who looked to

them for aid had pierced their ears too often to be ignored.

Humanity itself must rise in answer to such an appeal. They were

beginning to see that their peace policy was costing untold human

lives, amid scenes of unspeakable horror.

They let the woman speak in peace; they did not try to stop her

utterances. But when a brother Quaker took her place and began a

similar harangue, the young men round raised a howl, and a voice

cried out:

"Duck him in the horse pond! Roll him in a barrel! Let him be

tarred and feathered like an Indian, since he loves the scalping

savages so well. Who's got a tomahawk? Let's see how they use them.

Does anybody know how they scalp their prisoners? A Quaker would

never miss his scalp; he always has his hat on!"

A roar of laughter greeted this sally; and a rush was made for the

unlucky orator, who showed a bold front enough to the mob. But at

that moment public attention was turned in a different direction by

the appearing upon the steps of the Assembly Rooms of a well-known

citizen of high repute, who had until latterly been one of the

peace party, but who of late had made a resolute stand, insisting

that something must be done for the protection of the western

settlers, and for the curbing of the ambitious encroachments and

preposterous claims of France.

This grave-faced citizen came out with some papers in his hand, and

the crowd was hushed into silence.

Overhead anxious faces could be seen looking out at the window. It

was not by the wishes of the Assembly that such letters were made

public; but many of them had been addressed to James Freeman

himself, and they could not restrain him from doing as he would

with his own.

"My friends," he said, and his voice rose distinct in the clear

air, "we have heavy tidings today. You shall hear what is written

from some sufferers not far from Fort Cumberland, where forty white

men, women, and children were barbarously murdered a few days back.

"'We are in as bad circumstances as ever any poor Christians were

ever in; for the cries of the widowers, widows, fatherless and

motherless children are enough to pierce the hardest of hearts.

Likewise it is a very sorrowful spectacle to see those that escaped

with their lives with not a mouthful to eat, or bed to lie on, or

clothes to cover their nakedness or keep them warm, but all they

had consumed to ashes. These deplorable circumstances cry aloud to

your Honour's most wise consideration how steps may speedily be

taken to deliver us out of the hand of our persecutors the cruel

and murderous savages, and to bring the struggle to an end.'"

The reader paused, and a low, deep murmur passed through the crowd,

its note of rage and menace being clearly heard. The speaker took

up another paper and recommenced.

"This comes from John Harris on the east bank of the Susquehanna:

"'The Indians are cutting us off every day, and I had a certain

account of about fifteen hundred Indians, besides French, being on

their march against us and Virginia, and now close on our borders,

their scouts scalping our families on our frontier daily.'"

Another pause, another murmur like a roar, and a voice from the

crowd was raised to ask:

"And what says the Assembly to that?"

"They say that if the Indians are rising against us, who have been

friendly so long, then we must surely have done something to wrong

them; and they are about to search for the cause of such a possible

wrong, and redress it, rather than impose upon the colony the

calamities of a cruel Indian war!"

A yell and a groan went up from the crowd. For a moment it seemed

almost as though some attack would be made upon the Assembly House.

The habits of law and obedience were, however, strong in the

citizens of Philadelphia, and in the end they dispersed quietly to

their own homes; but a fire had been kindled in their hearts which

would not easily be quenched.

Days were wasted by the Quakers in an unsuccessful attempt to prove

that there had been some fraud on the part of the Governor in a

recent land purchase from the Indians. And they again laid before

the Governor one of their proposals, still containing the clause

which he was unable to entertain, and which inevitably brought

matters to a deadlock.

The Quakers drew up a declaration affirming that they had now taken

every step in their power, "consistent with the just rights of the

freemen of Pennsylvania, for the relief of the poor distressed

inhabitants," and further declared that "we have reason to believe

that they themselves would not wish us to go further. Those who

would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary

relief and safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."

The Governor, in a dignified reply, once more urged upon them the

absolute necessity of waiving for the present the vexed question of

the proprietary estates, and passing a bill for the relief of the

present sufferers; but the Quakers remained deaf and mute, and

would not budge one inch from their position.

All the city was roused. In houses like that of Benjamin Ashley,

where people were coming and going the whole day long, and where

travellers from these border lands were to be found who could give

information at first hand, the discussion went on every day and all

day long. Ashley himself was keenly excited. He had quite broken

away from a number of his old friends who supported the Assembly in

its blind obstinacy. Nobody could sit by unmoved whilst Charles and

Humphrey Angell told their tale of horror and woe; and, moreover,

both Julian Dautray and Fritz Neville had much to tell of the

aggressive policy of France, and of her resolute determination to

stifle and strangle the growing colonies of England, by giving them

no room to expand, whilst she herself claimed boundless untrodden

regions which she could never hope to populate or hold.

Fresh excitements came daily to the city. Early one morning, as the

tardy daylight broke, a rumble of wheels in the street below told

of the arrival of travellers. The wheels stopped before Ashley's

door, and he hastily finished his toilet and went down.

In a few moments all the house was in a stir and commotion. A

terrible whisper was running from mouth to mouth. That cart

standing grimly silent in the street below carried, it was said, a

terrible load. Beneath its heavy cover lay the bodies of about

twenty victims of Indian ferocity; and the guardians of the load

were stern-faced men, bearing recent scars upon their own persons,

who ate and drank in stony silence, and only waited till the

Assembly had met before completing their grim mission.

The thing had got wind in the town by now, and the square space was

thronged. The members of the Assembly looked a little uneasy as

they passed through the crowd, but not a sound was made till all

had gathered in the upper room.

Then from out the yard of the inn was dragged the cart. No horses

were fastened to it. The young men of the city dragged it out and

pushed it along. The silent, grim-faced guardians walked in front.

As it reached the square the crowd sent up a groaning cry, and

opened right and left for the dreadful load to be set in position

before the windows of the great room where the Assembly had met.

Then the cover was thrown back, and yells and cries arose from all.

Shouts were raised for the Assembly to come and look at their work.

There was no resisting the mandate of the crowd. White and

trembling, the members of the Assembly were had out upon the steps,

and forced to look at the bodies of their victims. The crowd

hooted, groaned, yelled with maddened fury. The advocates of peace

shrank into themselves, appalled at the evidences of barbarities

they had sought to believe exaggerated. It was useless now to

attempt to deny the truth of what had been reported.

Back they slunk into the Assembly House, white and trembling, and

for the moment cowed. The cart was moved on, and stopped in front

of house after house where notable Quakers dwelt who were not

members of the Assembly. They were called to come to their windows

and look, and were greeted with hisses and curses.

The very next day a paper, under preparation by a number of the

leading citizens at the suggestion of the Governor, was presented

to the Assembly under the title of a "Representation." It contained

a stern appeal for the organization of measures of defence, and

ended by the dignified and significant words:

"You will forgive us, gentlemen, if we assume characters somewhat

higher than that of humble suitors praying for the defence of our

lives and properties as a matter of grace or favour on your side.

You will permit us to make a positive and immediate demand of it."

The Quakers were frightened, incensed, and perplexed. Their

preachers went about the streets urging upon the people the

doctrine of non-resistance, and picturing the horrors of warfare.

The Assembly debated and debated, but invariably came to the

conclusion that they must withstand the Governor to the last upon

the question of taxation.

All the city was in a tumult and ferment; but when the news came

that a settlement only sixty miles away, Tulpehocken by name, had

been destroyed and its inhabitants massacred, even the advocates of

peace grew white with fear, and the House began to draw up a

militia law--the most futile and foolish perhaps that had ever been

suggested even by lovers of peace--in the vain hope of appeasing

the people.

But the people would not be appeased by a mere mockery. They

clamoured for the raising of money for a systematic defence of

their colony, and the ground was cut from beneath the feet of the

Assembly by a letter received from England by the Governor--not

indeed in response to his recent urgent appeals, but still written

with some knowledge of the unsettled state of the country. In this

letter the proprietaries promised a donation of five thousand

pounds as a free gift for the defence of the provinces threatened

in so formidable a manner, provided it was regarded as a gift and

not as any part of a tax upon their estates, which were to remain

free according to the old feudal tenure.

The Assembly upon hearing this could hold out no longer. They were

forced by the clamour of public opinion to strike out the debated

and debatable clause from the long-contested bill, and immediately

it was passed into law by the Governor.

"Ay, they have come to their senses at last--when it is well nigh

too late!" spoke John Stark, with a touch of bitterness in his

tone. "They will furnish money now; but what can be done with the

winter just upon us? For six months we must lie idle, whilst the

snow and ice wrap us round. Why was not this thing done before our

settlements were destroyed, and when we could have pushed forth an

army into the field to drive back the encroaching foe, so that they

would never have dared to show their faces upon our border again?"

Charles looked up with burning eyes.

"What say you? Six months to wait? That will not do for me! My

blood is boiling in my veins; I must needs cool it! If these

laggard rulers, with their clumsy methods, cannot put an army in

the field before the spring, surely there are men enough amongst us

to go forth--a hardy band of woodsmen and huntsmen--and hunt and

harry, and slay and destroy, even as they have done!"

"That is what the Rangers do!" cried Stark, with kindling eyes; "I

have heard of them before this. The Rangers of New England have

done good work before now. Good thought, good thought! Why not form

ourselves into a band of Rangers? Are we not strong and full of

courage, seasoned to hardship, expert in our way with gun or axe?

Why should we lie idle here all the long winter through? Why not

let us forth to the forest--find out where help is needed most, and

make here a dash and there a raid, striking terror into the hearts

of the foe, and bringing help and comfort to those desolate

inhabitants of the wilderness who go in terror of their lives? Why

not be a party of bold Rangers, scouring the forests, and doing

whatever work comes to hand? Men have banded themselves together

for this work before now; why may not we do the like?"

"Why not, indeed?" cried Fritz, leaping to his feet. "I pine in the

restraint of this town; I long for the forest and the plain once

more. My blood, too, is hot within me at the thought of what has

been done and will be done again. Let us band ourselves together as

brothers in arms. There must be work and to spare for those who

desire it."

Ashley thoughtfully stroked his chin, looking round the circle

before him. He was a shrewd and thoughtful man, and there was

nothing of cowardice in his nature, although he was cautious and

careful.

"It is not a bad thought, Nephew John," he said; "and yet I had

been thinking of something different for some of you intrepid and

adventurous youths to do. I had thought of sending news of the

state of parties here to our friends and kinsmen in England. When

all is said and done, it is to England that we must look for help.

She must send us generals to command us, and she must help us with

her money. There are many families across the water who would open

their purses on our behalf right generously were our sad case made

known to them. Letters are sent continually, but it is the spoken

tale that moves the heart. I had thought to send across myself to

such of our friends and families as still regard us as belonging to

them. If they made a response such as I look for, we should soon

have means at our disposal to augment what the tardy Assembly may

do by an auxiliary force, equipped and furnished with all that can

be needed. But you cannot be in two places at once.

"What think you, my young friends? Will you serve your distressed

brethren better as Rangers of the forest, or as emissaries to

England?"

"Why not divide our forces?" asked John Stark; "there are enough of

us for that. I have often heard Humphrey speak of a wish to cross

the sea, and to visit the land from which we have all come. Why not

let him choose a comrade, and go thither with letters and messages,

and tell his tale in the ears of friends? And whilst they are thus

absent, why should not the rest of us make up a party of bold

spirits, and go forth into the wilderness, and there carry on such

work of defence and aggression as we find for us to do?"

"Ay. I have no love for the unknown ocean," said Charles; "I have

other work to do than to visit new lands. I have a vow upon me, and

I cannot rest till it be accomplished."

Humphrey and Julian looked at each other. Already they had spoken

of a visit to England. Both desired to see the lands of the Eastern

Hemisphere from whence their fathers had come. Hitherto they had

not seen how this could be accomplished; but Ashley's words opened

out an unexpected way. If the citizens of Philadelphia wanted to

send messengers to their friends across the water, they would

gladly volunteer for the service.

"If Julian will go with me, I will gladly go," said Humphrey.

"I will go, with all my heart," answered Julian at once; "and we

will seek and strive to do the pleasure of those who send us."

Ashley's face beamed upon the pair. He knew by this time that no

better messenger than Julian Dautray could be found. He had a gift

of eloquence and a singularly attractive personality. His nature was

gentle and refined--curiously so considering his upbringing--and he

had a largeness of heart and a gift of sympathy which was seldom to

be met with amongst the more rugged sons of the north.

He had made himself something of a power already in the circle into

which he had been thrown; and when it was known amongst Ashley's

friends and acquaintance that his wife's brother, together with

Julian Dautray, would go to England with their representations to

friends and to those in authority, a liberal response was made as

to their outfit and introductions, and the young men were surprised

to find themselves suddenly raised to a place of such importance

and distinction.

It was an exciting time for Susanna and for all in the house. John

Stark came to and fro, bringing news that he had found fresh

volunteers to join the band of Rangers, who were already making

preparations for departure upon their perilous life of adventure.

Some of the older citizens looked doubtful, and spoke of the

rigours of the winter; but John laughed, and Charles smiled his

strange, mirthless smile, and all declared themselves fearless and

ready to face whatever might be in store. Come what might, they

would go to the help of the settlers, be the Assembly ever so

dilatory in sending help.

"But you will not get killed?" Susanna would plead, looking from

one face to the other. She was fond of John, who had been like a

brother to her all her life; she had a great admiration for

handsome Fritz, who often spent whole evenings telling her

wonderful stories of the far south whilst she plied her needle over

the rough garments the Rangers were to take with them. It seemed to

her a splendid thing these men were about to do, but she shrank

from the thought that harm might come to them. She sometimes almost

wished they had not thought of it, and that they had been content

to remain in the city, drilling with the town militia, and thinking

of the coming spring campaign.

"We must take our chance," answered Fritz, as he bent over her with

a smile on one of those occasions. "You would not have us value our

lives above the safety of our distressed brethren or the honour of

our nation? The things which have happened here of late have

tarnished England's fair name and fame. You would not have us hold

back, if we can help to bring back the lustre of that name? I know

you better than that."

"I would have you do heroic deeds," answered Susanna, with

quickly-kindled enthusiasm, "only I would not have you lose your

lives in doing it."

"We must take our chance of that," answered Fritz, with a smile,

"as other soldiers take theirs. But we shall be a strong and wary

company; and I have passed already unscathed through many perils.

You will not forget us when we are gone, Susanna? I shall think of

you sitting beside this comfortable hearth, when we are lying out

beneath the frosty stars, with the world lying white beneath us,

wrapped in its winding sheet!"

"Ah, you will suffer such hardships! they all say that."

There was a look of distress in the girl's eyes; but Fritz laughed

aloud.

"Hardship! what is hardship? I know not the name. We can track game

in the forest, and fish the rivers for it. We can make ourselves

fires of sparkling, crackling pine logs; we can slip along over ice

and snow upon our snowshoes and skates, as I have heard them

described, albeit I myself shall have to learn the trick of

them--for we had none such methods in my country, where the cold

could never get a grip of us. Fear not for us, Susanna; we shall

fare well, and we shall do the work of men, I trow. I am weary

already of the life of the city; I would go forth once more to my

forest home."

There was a sparkle almost like that of tears in the girl's eyes,

and a little unconscious note as of reproach in her voice.

"That is always the way with men; they would ever be doing and

daring. Would that I too were a man! there is naught in the world

for a maid to do."

"Say not so," cried Fritz, taking the little hand and holding it

tenderly between his own. "Life would be but a sorry thing for us

men were it not for the gentle maidens left at home to think of us

and pray for us and welcome us back again. Say, Susanna, what sort

of a welcome will you have for me, when I come to claim it after my

duty is done?"

She raised her eyes to his, and the colour flooded her face.

"I shall welcome you back with great gladness of heart, Fritz, and

I shall pray for you every day whilst you are away."

"And not forget me, even if other fine fellows of officers, such as

we begin to see in our streets now, come speaking fine words to

you, and seeking to win smiles from your bright eyes? You will keep

a place in your heart still for the rough Ranger Fritz?"

Susanna's eyes lighted with something of mischievous amusement, and

then as she proceeded grew more grave and soft.

"My good mother will take care that I have small converse with the

gay young officers, Fritz. But in truth, even were it not so, I

should never care for them, or think of them as I do of you. You

are facing perils they would not. You are brave with the bravery of

a true hero. It is with the Rangers of the forest that my heart

will go. Be sure you break it not, Fritz, by too rashly exposing

yourself to peril."

"Sweetheart!" was his softly-spoken answer; and Susanna went to her

bed that night with a heart that beat high with a strange sweet

happiness, although the cloud of coming parting lay heavy upon her

soul.

A few days later, Humphrey and Julian, fully equipped with

instructions, introductions, money and other necessaries, left the

city, ready for their homeward voyage; and in another week the

small but hardy band of Rangers, with their plain and meagre

outfit, but with stout hearts and brave resolves, said adieu to

those they left behind, and started westward for that debatable

ground upon which a bloody warfare had to be fought to the bitter

end.

Book 2: Roger's Rangers.

Chapter 1: A Day Of Vengeance.

To the west! to the west! to the west!

Such was the watchword of the band of sturdy Rangers who set forth

from Pennsylvania to the defence of the hapless settlers.

They were but a handful of bold spirits. It was little they could

hope to accomplish in attempting to stem the tide of war; but their

presence brought comfort to many an aching heart, and nerved many a

lonely settler to intrench and defend his house and family, instead

of giving way to utter despair.

There was work for the little band to do amongst these scattered

holdings. John Stark urged upon such settlers as had the courage to

remain to build themselves block houses, to establish some sort of

communication with one another, to collect arms and ammunition, and

be ready to retire behind their defences and repel an attack. For

the moment the Indians seemed glutted with spoil and with blood,

and were more quiet, although this tranquillity was not to be

reckoned upon for a day. Still, whilst it lasted it gave a

breathing space to many harassed and desperate settlers; and Fritz

could give them many valuable hints as to the best method of

intrenching themselves in block houses. He had seen so many of

these upon his long journey, and understood their construction

well.

Everywhere they found the people in a state of either deep

despondency or intense exasperation. It seemed to them that they

had been basely deserted and betrayed by their countrymen, who

should have been prompt to send to their defence; and although the

arrival of the Rangers, and the news they brought of future help,

did something to cheer and encourage them, it was easy to see that

they were deeply hurt at the manner in which their appeals had been

met, and were ready to curse the Quakers and the Assembly who had

calmly let them be slaughtered like brute beasts, whilst they

wrangled in peaceful security over some disputed point with the

Governor.

"Are you Rogers' men?" was a question which the Rangers met again

and again as they pursued their way.

"No," they would answer; "we know of no Rogers. Who is he, and why

is his name in all men's mouths?"

This question was not always easy to get answered. Some said one

thing and some another; but as they pursued their western way, they

reached a settlement where more precise information was to be had.

"Have you not heard of Robert Rogers, the New Hampshire Ranger?

Well, you will hear his name many times before this war is closed.

He has gathered about him a band of bold and daring spirits. He has

lived in the forest from boyhood. He has been used to dealings with

both English and French settlers. He speaks the language of both.

But he is stanch to the heart's core. He is vowed to the service of

his country. He moves through the forests, over the lakes, across

the rivers. None can say where he will next appear. He seems

everywhere--he spies upon the foe. He appears beneath the walls of

their forts, snatches a sleepy sentry away from his post, and

carries him to the English camp, where information is thus gleaned

of the doings of the enemy. He and his band are here, there, and

everywhere. We had hoped to have seen them here by this. Colonel

Armstrong sent a message praying him to come and help him to attack

a pestilent nest of savages which is the curse of his life. We had

hoped you were the forerunners of his band when you appeared. But

in these troublous times who can tell whether the messenger ever

reached his destination?"

"But if we are not Rogers' men, we are Rangers of the forest,"

cried Stark, who was leader of the party. "We can fight; we are

trained to the exercise of arms. We will push on to this Colonel

Armstrong, and what aid so small a band can give him that we will

give."

"He will welcome any help from bold men willing to fight," was the

answer they got. "Pray Heaven you be successful; for we all go in

terror of our lives from the cruelty of Captain Jacobs. If he were

slain, we might have rest awhile."

"Captain Jacobs?"

"So they call him. He is a notable Indian chieftain. Most likely

the French baptized him by that name. They like to be called by

some name and title which sounds like that of a white man. He lives

at the Indian town of Kittanning, on the banks of the Allegheny,

and he is upheld by the French from Fort Duquesne and Venango. They

supply him with the munitions of war, and he makes of our lives a

terror. Colonel Armstrong has been sent by the Governor to try to

fall upon him unawares, and oust him from his vantage ground. If

the town were but destroyed and he slain, we might know a little

ease of mind."

The eyes of the Rangers lighted with anticipation. This was the

first they had heard of real warfare. If they could lend a hand to

such an expedition as this, they would feel rewarded for all their

pains and toil.

"Captain Jacobs, Captain Jacobs!" repeated Charles, with a gleam in

his sombre eyes; "tell me what manner of man this Captain Jacobs

is."

"I have seen him once--a giant in height, painted in vermilion, and

carrying always in his hand a mighty spear, which they say none but

he can wield. His eyes roll terribly, and upon his brow is a

strange scar shaped like a crescent--"

"Ay, ay, ay; and in his hair is one white tuft, which he has

braided with scarlet thread," interposed Charles, panting and

twitching in his excitement.

"That is the man--the most bloodthirsty fire eater of all the

Indian chiefs. Could the country but be rid of him, we might sleep

in our beds in peace once more, instead of lying shivering and

shaking at every breath which passes over the forest at night."

"Let us be gone!" cried Charles, shaking his knife in a meaning and

menacing fashion; "I thirst to be there when that man's record is

closed. Let me see his end; let me plunge my knife into his black

heart! There is another yet whom my vengeance must overtake; but

let me fall upon this one first."

"Was he one of the attacking party that desolated your homestead?"

asked Stark, as they moved along in the given direction, after a

brief pause for rest and refreshment.

"Ay, he was," answered Charles grimly. "I could not forget that

gigantic form, that mighty spear, that scar and the white tuft! He

stood by, and laughed at my frantic struggles, at the screams of

the children, at the agony of my gentle wife. A fiend from the pit

could not have been more cruel. But the hour is at hand when it

shall be done to him as he has done. His hand lighted the wood pile

they had set against the door of the house. Let him suffer a like

fate at our hands in the day of vengeance!"

Spurred on by the hope of striking some well-planted blow at the

heart of the enemy, the hardy band of Rangers pushed their way

through the forest tracks, scarcely pausing for rest or sleep, till

the lights of a little camp and settlement twinkled before them in

the dusk, and they were hailed by the voice of a watchful sentinel.

"Friends," cried Stark, in clear tones--"Rangers of the

forest--come to the aid of Colonel Armstrong, hoping to be in time

for the attack on Kittanning."

"Now welcome, welcome!" cried the man, running joyfully forward;

and the next minute the little band was borne into the camp by a

joyful company of raw soldiers, who seemed to feel a great sense of

support even from the arrival of a mere handful.

"Rogers' Rangers are come! the Rangers are come!" was the word

eagerly passed from mouth to mouth; and before the newcomers could

make any explanation, they found themselves pushed into a

fair-sized building, some thing in the form of a temporary

blockhouse, and confronted with the Colonel himself, who received

them with great goodwill.

"You are from Captain Rogers?" he said; "is one of you that notable

man himself?"

Stark stepped forward to act as spokesman, and was shaken warmly by

the hand.

"Rangers we are, but not of Rogers' company," he said. "Indeed,

when we started forth from Philadelphia to the succour of the

distressed districts, we had not even heard the name of Rogers,

though it is now familiar enough.

"We heard, however, that you were in need of the help of Rangers,

and we have come with all haste to your camp. We wish for nothing

better than to stand in the forefront of the battle against the

treacherous and hostile Indians. Although not of Rogers' training,

you will not find us faint of heart or feeble of limb. There are a

dozen of us, as you see, and we will fight with the best that we

have."

"And right welcome at such a moment," was the cordial answer, "for

the men I have with me are little trained to warfare; and though

they will follow when bravely led, they are somewhat like sheep,

and are easily thrown into confusion or turned aside from the way.

Tonight you shall rest and be well fed after your march, and on the

morrow we will make a rapid secret march, and seek to fall upon the

foe unawares."

The Rangers were as hungry as hunters, and glad enough to sit down

once more to a well-spread table. The rations were not luxurious as

to quality, but there was sufficient quantity, which to hungry men

is the great matter. The Colonel sat with them at table, heard all

they had to tell of the state of the country from Philadelphia

westward, and had many grim tales to tell himself of outrages and

losses in this district.

"We lost Fort Granville at harvest time, when the men were forced

to garner their crops, and we had to send out soldiers to protect

them. The French and Indians set upon the Fort, and though it was

gallantly defended by the lieutenant in charge, it fell into their

hands. Since then their aggressions have been unbearable. Captain

Jacobs has been making the lives of the settlers a terror to them.

We have sent for help from the colony, with what success you know.

We have sent to the Rangers under Rogers, and had hoped to be

reinforced by them.

"But if he cannot help us, it is much to have stout-hearted friends

come unexpectedly to our aid. Have you seen fighting, friends? or

are you like the bulk of our men--inured to toil and hardship, full

of zeal and courage, ready to wield any and every weapon in defence

of property, or against the treacherous Indian?"

"Something like that," answered Stark; "but we can all claim to be

good marksmen, and to have good weapons with us. Our rifles carry

far, and we seldom miss the quarry. I will answer for us that we

stand firm, and that we come not behind your soldiers in

steadiness, nor in the use of arms at close quarters."

"That I can well believe," answered the Colonel, with a smile; "I

have but a score of men who have been trained in the school of

arms. The rest were but raw recruits a few months ago, and many of

them have little love of fighting, though they seek to do their

duty.

"Well, well, we must not sit up all night talking. We have a hard

day's march before us tomorrow, and we must needs make all the

speed we can. Indian scouts might discover our camp at any moment,

and our only chance is to fall upon the Indian town unawares. They

do not look for attack in the winter months--that is our best

protection from spies. And so far I think we have escaped notice.

But it may not last, and we must be wary. We will sleep till dawn,

but with the first of the daylight we must be moving. The way is

long, but we have some good guides who know the best tracks. We

ought to reach the town soon after nightfall; and when all are

sleeping in fancied security, we will fall upon them."

The Rangers were glad enough of the few hours of sleep which they

were able to obtain, and it was luxury to them to sleep beneath a

roof, and to be served the next morning with breakfast which they

had not had to kill and cook themselves.

The men were in good spirits, too. The arrival of the little body

of Rangers had encouraged them; and as the company marched through

the forest, generally in single file, the newcomers scattered

themselves amongst the larger body, and talked to them of what was

going forward in the eastern districts, and how, after long delay,

reinforcements were being prepared to come to the aid of the

hapless settlers.

That was cheering news for all, and it put new heart into the band.

They marched along cheerily, although cautiously, for they knew not

what black scouts might be lurking in the thickets; and if the

Indians once got wind of their coming, there would be little hope

of successful attack.

On and on they marched all through the keen winter air, which gave

them fine appetites for their meals when they paused to rest and

refresh themselves, but made walking easier than when the sun beat

down pitilessly upon them in the summer. There had been no heavy

snow as yet, and the track was not hard to find. But the way was

longer than had been anticipated, and night had long closed in

before they caught a glimpse of any settlement, although they knew

they must be drawing near.

The guides became perplexed in the darkness of the forest. The moon

was shining, but the light was dim and deceptive within the great

glades. Still they pushed on resolutely, and the Rangers gradually

drew to the front, goaded on by their own eagerness, and less

disposed to feel fatigue than the soldiers, who were in reality

less hardy than they.

All in a moment a strange sound smote upon their ears. It was the

roll of an Indian drum. They paused suddenly, and looked each other

in the face. The rolling sound continued, and then rose a sound of

whooping and yelling such as some of their number had never heard

before.

"It is the war dance," whispered one of the guides; and a thrill

ran through the whole company. Had they been discovered, and were

the Indians coming out in a body against them?

For a brief while they were halted just below the top of the ridge,

whilst a few of the guides and Rangers crept cautiously forward to

inspect the hollow in which they knew the village lay.

Colonel Armstrong was one of this party, and he, with Stark and

Fritz, cautiously crept up over the ridge and looked down upon the

Indian town below.

The moon lighted up the whole scene. There was no appearance of

tumult or excitement. The sound of the drum and the whooping of the

warriors were not accompanied by any demonstration of activity by

those within the community. Probably some war party or hunting

party had returned with spoil, and they were celebrating the event

by a banquet and a dance.

The soldiers were bidden to move onward, but very cautiously. It

was necessary that they should make the descent of the rugged path

before the moon set, and it was abundantly evident that the Indians

had at present no idea of the presence of the enemy.

Slowly and cautiously the soldiers crept down the steep path, doing

everything possible to avoid a noise; but suddenly the sound of a

peculiar whistle sounded from somewhere below, and there were a

movement and a thrill of dismay through all the ranks; for surely

it was a signal of discovery!

Only Fritz was undismayed, and gave vent to a silent laugh.

"That is not an alarm," he whispered to the Colonel; "it is but a

young chief signalling to some squaw. But the place is not asleep

yet; if we go much nearer we shall be seen. Those bushes would give

us cover till all is quiet. We could crouch there and rest, and

when the time has come spring out upon the village unawares."

The Colonel approved the plan, and the weary men were glad enough

of the rest before the battle should begin. All were full of hope

and ardour; but in spite of that, most of them fell asleep crouched

in the cover. The surrounding hills kept off the wind, and it was

warm beneath the sheltering scrub.

But Charles sat up with his hands clasped round his knees, his eyes

intently fixed upon the Indian village. Beside him were a few of

his chosen comrades amongst the Rangers--men older than the hardy

youths who had organized the band--settlers like himself, who had

suffered losses like his own, and in whose hearts there burned a

steady fire of vengeful hate that could only be quenched in blood.

To them crept one of the guides who knew the district and the town

of Kittanning. With him were his son and another hardy lad. He

looked at Charles and made a sign. The next moment some six or

eight men were silently creeping through the sleeping soldiers,

unnoticed even by the sharp eyes of the Colonel, who was stationed

at some little distance.

Like human snakes these men wriggled themselves down the tortuous

path, keeping always under cover of the bushes; and even when the

open ground below was reached, they slipped so silently along

beneath the cover of the hedges that not an eye saw them, not even

the sharp ears of the Indians heard their insidious approach.

"Which is the house of Captain Jacobs?" asked Charles in a whisper

of the guide.

"It lies yonder," he answered, "in the centre of the village. It is

the strongest building in the place, and has loopholes from which a

hot fire can be poured out upon an approaching foe. The Indians

here have great stores of gunpowder and arms--given them by the

French to keep up the border war. Unless we can take them by

surprise, we be all dead men; for they are as ten to one, and are

armed to the teeth."

Charles's face in the moonlight was set and stern.

"Here is a stack of wood," he said. "Let every man take his fagot;

but be silent as death."

Plainly these men knew what they had come to do. In perfect

silence, yet with an exercise of considerable strength, they loaded

themselves with the dry brushwood, and split logs which the Indians

had cut and piled up ready for use either to burn or for the

building of their huts. Then, thus loaded, they crept like ghosts

or ghouls through the sleeping street of the Indian town, and piled

their burdens against the walls of the centre hut, which belonged

to the chief.

Twice and thrice was this thing repeated; but Charles remained

posted beside the door of the house, working in a strange and

mysterious fashion at the entrance. Upon his face was a strange,

set smile. Now and again he shook his clinched hand towards the

heavens, as though invoking the aid or the wrath of the Deity.

The bold little band were in imminent peril. One accidental slip or

fall, an unguarded word, an involuntary cough, and the lives of the

whole party might pay the forfeit. They were in the heart of an

Indian village, enemies and spies. But the good fortune which so

often attends upon some rash enterprise was with them tonight. They

completed their task, and drew away from the silent place as

shadow-like as they had come.

But they did not return to their comrades; they posted themselves

at a short distance from the place. They looked well to the priming

of their rifles, and to their other arms, and sat in silence to

await the commencement of the battle.

The moon set in golden radiance behind the wooded hills. In the

eastern sky the first rose red showed that dawn would shortly

break. Looking towards the hill, the little band saw that movement

had already begun there. They rose to their feet, and looked from

the moving shapes amid the brushwood towards the still sleeping,

silent town.

"The Lord of hosts is with us," spoke Charles, in a solemn voice;

"He will deliver the enemy into our hands. Let us quit ourselves

like men and be strong. Let us do unto them even as they have done.

Let not the wicked escape us. The Lord do so to me, and more also,

if I reward not unto yon cruel chieftain his wickedness and his

cruelties. If he leave this place alive, let my life pay the

forfeit!"

A murmur ran through the little group about him. Each man grasped

his weapon and stood still as a statue. This little company had

posted themselves upon a knoll which commanded the house of the

bloodthirsty chief. It was their business to see that he at least

did not escape from the day of vengeance.

The moments seemed hours to those men waiting and watching; but

they did not wait in vain.

A blaze of fire, a simultaneous crack of firearms, and a wild shout

that was like one of already earned victory, and the assailants

came charging down the hillside, and across the open fields, firing

volley after volley upon the sleeping town, from which astonished

and bewildered savages came pouring out in a dense mass, only to

fall writhing beneath the hail of bullets from the foe who had

surprised them thus unawares.

But there were in that community men trained in the arts of war,

who were not to be scared into non-resistance by a sudden

onslaught, however unexpected. These men occupied log houses around

that of their chieftain, and instead of rushing forth, they

remained behind their walls, and fired steadily back at the enemy

with a rapidity and steadiness which evoked the admiration of the

Colonel himself.

Fiercely rained the bullets from rank to rank. Indians yelled and

whooped; the squaws rushed screaming hither and thither; the fight

waxed hotter and yet more hot. But all unknown to the Indians, and

unseen by them in the confusion and terror, a file of stern,

determined men was stealing towards the very centre of their town,

creeping along the ground so as to avoid notice, and be safe from

the hail of shot, but ever drawing nearer and nearer to that

centre, where the defence was so courageously maintained.

Charles was the first to reach the log house against which the

brushwood had been piled. In the dim light of dawn his face could

be seen wearing a look of concentrated purpose. He had lately

passed an open hut from whence the inhabitants had fled, and he

carried in his hand a smouldering firebrand. Now crouching against

the place from which the hottest fire belched forth, he blew upon

this brand till a tongue of flame darted forth, and in a moment

more the brushwood around the house had begun to crackle with a

sound like that made by a hissing snake before it makes the fatal

spring.

Five minutes later and the ring of flame round the doomed house was

complete. The firing suddenly ceased, and there was a sound of

blows and cries, turning to howls of fury as the inmates found that

the door would not yield--that they were trapped.

The Rangers, rushing up, seized burning brands and commenced

setting fire to house after house, whilst their comrades stood at a

short distance shooting down the Indians as they burst forth. A

scene of the wildest terror and confusion was now illumined by the

glare of the fire, and at short intervals came the sound of short,

sharp explosions, as the flames reached the charged guns of the

Indians or the kegs of gunpowder lavishly stored in their houses.

But Charles stood like a statue in the midst of the turmoil. His

face was white and terrible; his gun was in his hands. He did not

attempt to fire it, although Indians were scuttling past him like

hunted hares; he stood stern and passive, biding his time.

The ring of flame round the centre house rose higher and higher.

Cries and screams were heard issuing from within. Some intrepid

warrior was chanting his death song, dauntless to the last. A

frightened squaw was shrieking aloud; but not even the sound of a

woman's voice moved Charles from his fell purpose.

Suddenly his, face changed; the light flashed into his eyes. He

raised his head, and he laid his gun to his shoulder.

Out upon the roof of the cabin, ringed as it was with fire, there

sprang a man of gigantic aspect, daubed and tattooed in vermilion,

his hair braided in scarlet, and one white tuft conspicuous in the

black. He stood upon the roof, glaring wildly round him as if

meditating a spring. Doubtless the smoke and fire shielded him in

some sort from observation. Had not there been one relentless foe

vowed to his destruction, he might in all probability have leaped

the ring of flame and escaped with his life.

But Charles had covered him with his gun. The chieftain saw the

gleaming barrel, and paused irresolute. Charles's voice rose clear

above the surrounding din.

"Murderer, tyrant, tormentor of helpless women and babes, the white

man's God doth war against thee. The hour of thy death has come. As

thou hast done unto others, so shall it be done unto thee."

Then the sharp report of the rifle sounded, and the chief bounded

into the air and fell back helpless. He was not dead--his yells of

rage and fear told that--but he was helpless. His thigh was

shattered. He lay upon the roof of the blazing cabin unable to move

hand or foot, and Charles stood by like a grim sentinel till the

frail building collapsed into a burning mass; then with a fierce

gesture he stirred the ashes with the butt of his rifle, saying

beneath his breath:

"That is one of them!"

Victory for the white man was complete, notwithstanding that bands

of Indians from the other side of the river came rushing to the

succour of their allies. They came too late, and were scattered and

dispersed by the resolute fire of the English. The whole village

was destroyed. Colonel Armstrong took as many arms and as much

ammunition as his men could carry, and devoted the rest to

destruction.

More satisfactory still, they released from captivity eleven

prisoners, white men with women and children, who had been carried

off at different times when others had been massacred. From these

persons they learned that the Indians of Kittanning had often

boasted that they had in the place a stock of ammunition sufficient

to keep up a ten years' war with the English along the borders. To

have taken and destroyed all these stores was no small matter, and

the Colonel and his men rejoiced not a little over the blow thus

struck at the foe almost in his own land.

But there was no chance of following up the victory. Armstrong was

not strong enough to carry the war into the enemy's country;

moreover, the winter was already upon them, although up till the

present the season had been especially mild and open. He must march

his men back to quarters, and provide for the safety of his

wounded, and for the restoration of the rescued prisoners to their

friends.

He would gladly have kept Stark and his little valiant band with

him, but the Rangers had different aims in view.

"We must be up and doing; we must find fighting somewhere. On Lake

George we shall surely find work for men to do. Rangers of wood and

forest care nothing for winter ice and snow. We will go northward

and eastward, asking news of Rogers and his Rangers. It may be that

we shall fall in with them, and that we can make common cause with

them against the common foe."

So said Stark, speaking for all his band, for all were of one heart

and one mind.

Therefore, after a few days for rest and refreshment, the little

army retreated whence it had come; whilst the bold band of Rangers

started forth for the other scene of action, away towards the

north, along the frozen lakes which formed one of the highways to

Canada.

Chapter 2: Robert Rogers.

They met for the first time, face to face, amid a world of ice and

snow, upon the frozen surface of Lake George.

Stark and his little band had been through strange experiences, and

had met with many adventures as they pursued their course towards

the spot where they heard that the French and English were lying

encamped and intrenched, awaiting the arrival of spring before

commencing the campaign afresh; and they now began to have a

clearer notion of the situation between the two nations than they

had hitherto had.

They had spent a week in the quaint Dutch town of Albany, and there

they had heard many things with regard to the state of parties and

the affairs between the two nations.

England and France were nominally at peace, or had been, even

whilst these murderous onslaughts had been going on in the west.

But it was evident to all that war must be shortly declared between

the countries, if it had not already been proclaimed. The scent of

battle seemed in the very air. Nothing was talked of but the great

struggle for supremacy in the west, which must shortly be fought

out to the bitter end.

The aim of France was to connect Canada with Louisiana by a chain

of forts, and keep the English penned up in their eastern provinces

without room to expand. The northern links of this chain were Fort

Ticonderoga, just where the waters of Lake George join those of

Champlain; Fort Niagara, which commanded the lakes; and Fort

Duquesne, at the head of the Ohio, the key to the great

Mississippi.

It was a gigantic scheme, and one full of ambition; there was one

immense drawback. The French emigrants of the western world

numbered only about one hundred and eighty thousand souls, whilst

the English colonies had their two millions of inhabitants. The

French could only accomplish their ends if the Indians would become

and remain their allies. The English, though equally anxious to

keep on good terms with the dusky denizens of the woods, who could

be such dangerous foes, had less need to use them in fight, as, if

they chose to combine and act in concert, they could throw an army

into the field which must overpower any the French could mass.

But the weakness of the provinces hitherto had been this lack of

harmony. They would not act in concert. They were forever

disputing, one province with another, and each at home with its

governor. The home ministry sent out men unfit for the work of

command. Military disasters followed one after the other.

Washington and Braddock had both been overthrown in successive

attempts upon Fort Duquesne; and now the English Fort of Oswego,

their outpost at Lake Ontario, was lost through mismanagement and

bad generalship.

Canada owned a centralized government. She could send out her men

by the various routes to the points of vantage where the struggle

lay. England had an enormous border to protect, and no one centre

of operations to work from. She was hampered at every turn by

internal jealousies, and by incompetent commanders. Braddock had

been a good soldier, but he could not understand forest fighting,

and had raged against the Virginian men, who were doing excellent

work firing at the Indians from behind trees, and meeting their

tactics by like ones. Braddock had driven them into rank by beating

them with the flat of his sword, only to see them shot down like

sheep. Blunders such as this had marked the whole course of the

war; and misfortune after misfortune had attended the English arms

upon the mainland, although in Acadia they had been more

successful.

These things Stark and his little band heard from the Dutch of

Albany; they also heard that the English were encamped at the

southern end of Lake George, at Forts Edward and William Henry,

their commander being John Winslow, whose name was becoming known

and respected as that of a brave and humane soldier, who had

carried through a difficult piece of business in Acadia with as

much consideration and kindliness as possible.

Now he was in command of the English force watching the movements

of the French at Ticonderoga; here also were Rogers and his Rangers

to be found. They had marched into Winslow's camp, it was said,

some few months earlier, proffering their services; and there they

had since remained, scouting up and down the lake upon skates or

snowshoes, snatching away prisoners from the Indian allies, or from

the very walls of the fort itself, and intercepting provisions sent

down Lake Champlain for the use of the French.

Details of these escapades on the part of the Rangers were not

known in Albany; but rumours of Rogers' intrepidity reached them

from time to time, and Stark and his band were fired anew by the

desire to join themselves to this bold leader, and to assist him in

his task of harassing the enemy, and bringing assistance of all

sorts into the English camp.

Bidding adieu to the Dutch, who had received them kindly, and now

sent them away with a sufficiency of provisions to last them

several days, they skimmed away still to the northward on their

snowshoes. They had taken directions as to what route to pursue in

order to reach Fort Edward, and thence to pass on to Fort William

Henry; but the heavy snowfall obliterated landmarks, and they

presently came to the conclusion that they had missed the way, and

had travelled too far north already.

"Then we must keep in a westerly direction," quoth Stark, as they

sat in council together over their fire at night; "we cannot fail

thus to strike the lake at last, and that, if frozen hard, can be

our highway. At the southern end is the fort William Henry; at the

northern outlet is the French fort with the name of Ticonderoga."

This deflection in direction being agreed to, the party lay down to

sleep--Charles Angell offering to act as sentry, as he frequently

did.

Since the tragedy which had wrecked his life, Charles had seldom

been able to sleep quietly at night. He was haunted by horrible

dreams, and the thought of sleep was repugnant to him. He would

often drop asleep at odd hours over the campfire whilst his

comrades were discussing and planning, and they would let him sleep

in peace at such times; but at night he was alert and wide awake,

and they were glad enough to give him his request, and let him keep

watch whilst they rested and slumbered.

The silence of the snow-girt forest was profound; yet Charles was

restless tonight, and kept pausing to listen with an odd intensity

of expression. His faculties, both of sight and hearing, had become

preternaturally acute of late. More than once this gift of his had

saved the party from falling amongst a nest of hostile Indians;

tonight it was to prove of service in another way.

In the dead of night the Rangers were awakened by a trumpet-like

call.

"To arms, friends, to arms! The Indians are abroad; they are

attacking our brothers! I hear the shouts of battle. We must to

their rescue! Let us not delay! To arms, and follow me; I will lead

you thither!"

In a second the camp was astir. The men lay down in their clothes,

wrapping a buffalo robe about them for warmth. In a few seconds all

were aroused, strapping their blankets upon their shoulders and

seizing their weapons.

"What have you heard, Charles, and where?" asked Stark and Fritz in

a breath as they ran up.

"Yonder, yonder!" cried Charles, pointing in a northwesterly

direction; "it is a fight on the ice. It is not far away. The

Indians are attacking white men--English men. I hear their cries

and their shoutings. Hark--there is shooting, too! Come, follow me,

and I will take you there. There is work for the Rangers tonight!"

Yes, it was true. They could all hear the sound of shots. What had

gone before had only reached the ears of Charles; but the report of

firearms carried far. In three minutes the bold little company had

started at a brisk run through the snow-covered forest, getting

quickly into the long swing of their snowshoes, and skimming over

the ground at an inconceivably rapid pace, considering the nature

of the ground traversed.

All at once the forest opened before them. They came out upon its

farthest fringe; and below them lay, white and bare, and sparkling

in the moonlight, the frozen, snow-laden plateau of the lake.

It was a weirdly beautiful scene which lay spread like a panorama

before them in the winter moonlight; but they had no time to think

of that now. All eyes were fixed upon the stirring scene enacted in

the middle of the lake, or at least well out upon its frozen

surface, where a band of resolute men, sheltering themselves behind

a few sledges, which made them a sort of rampart, were firing

steadily, volley after volley, at a band of leaping, yelling

Indians who had partially surrounded them, and who were slowly but

steadily advancing, despite their heavy loss, returning the fire of

the defendants, though by no means so steadily and regularly, and

whooping and yelling with a fearful ferocity.

It was easy to see, even by the moonlight alone, that the men

behind the sledges were white men. A sudden enthusiasm and

excitement possessed our little band of Rangers as this sight burst

upon them, and Stark gave the instant word:

"Steady, men, but lose not a moment. Form two lines, and rush them

from behind. Reserve your fire till I give the word. Then let them

have it hot, and close upon them from behind. When they find

themselves between two fires, they will think themselves trapped.

They will scatter like hunted hares. See, they have no notion of

any foe save the one in front. Keep beneath the shadow of the

forest till the last moment, and then rush them and fire!"

The men nodded, and unslung their guns. They made no noise gliding

down the steep snow bank upon their long shoes, and then out upon

the ice of the lake.

"Fire!" exclaimed Stark at the right moment; and as one man the

Rangers halted, and each picked his man.

Crack-crack-crack!

Literally each bullet told. Twelve dusky savages bounded into the

air, and fell dead upon the blood-stained snow.

Crack-crack-crack!

The affrighted Indians had faced round only to meet another volley

from the intrepid little band behind.

That was enough. The prowess of the Rangers was well known from one

end of the lake to the other. To be hemmed in between two companies

was more than Indian bravery or Indian stoicism could stand. With

yells of terror they dropped their arms and fled to the forest,

followed by a fierce firing from both parties, which made great

havoc in their ranks. The rout was complete and instantaneous. Had

it not been for panic, they might have paused to note how few were

those new foes in number, and how small even the united body was as

compared with their own numbers; but they fled, as Stark had

foretold, like hunted hares, and the white men were left upon the

lake face to face, with dead and dying Indians around them.

An enormously tall man leaped up from behind the rampart of

sledges, and came forward with outstretched hand. He was a man of

magnificent physique, with a mass of wild, tangled hair and beard,

and black eyes which seemed to burn like live coals. His features

were rugged and rather handsome, and his nose was of very large

proportions.

Stark took a step forward and shook the outstretched hand. He knew

this man, from descriptions received of him during their months of

wandering.

"You are Captain Rogers?"

"Robert Rogers, of the Rangers, at your service," replied the

other, in a deep, sonorous voice, which seemed to match his size;

"and this is my brother Richard," as another fine-looking man

approached and held out his hand to their deliverers. "And right

glad are we to welcome such bold spirits amongst us, though who you

are and whence you come we know not. You have saved us from peril

of death tonight, and Rogers never forgets a service like that."

"We have come from far to seek you," answered Stark; "we ourselves

are Rangers of the forest. We fear neither heat nor cold, peril,

hardship, nor foe. We long to fight our country's battle against

the Indian savages and against the encroaching French. It has been

told us again and again that Rogers is the captain for us, and to

Rogers we have come."

"And right welcome are all such bold spirits in Rogers' camp!" was

the quick reply. "That is the spirit of the true Ranger. Nor shall

you be disappointed in your desire after peril and adventure. You

can see by tonight's experience the sort of adventure into which we

are constantly running. We scouts of the lake have to watch

ourselves against whole hordes of wily, savage Indian scouts and

spies. Some of our number are killed and cut off with each

encounter; and yet we live and thrive and prosper. And if you ask

honest John Winslow who are those who help him most during this

season of weary waiting, I trow he will tell you it is Rogers and

his bold Rangers."

By this time the whole band of Rangers had gathered round Stark's

little company, and the men were all talking together. In those

wild lands ceremony is unknown; friendships are quickly made, if

quickly sundered by the chances and changes of a life of adventure

and change; and soon the band felt as if one common spirit inspired

them.

There were three wounded men in Rogers' company; they were put upon

a sledge and well covered up. Then the party moved along to a

position at some distance from that where they had met the attack.

"The Indians will come back to find and remove their dead,"

explained Rogers. "It is better to be gone. We will encamp and

bivouac a little farther away. Then we will hold a council as to

our next move. They will not be in haste to molest us again."

The plan was carried out. The hardy Rangers hollowed out a

sheltered nook in the snow, threw up a wall of protection against

the wind, lighted a fire, and sat round it discussing the events of

the night, and exchanging amenities with their new comrades.

The two Rogerses, together with Stark, Fritz, and the silent,

watchful Charles, gathered in a knot a little apart, and Rogers

laid before them, in a few brief speeches, the situation of affairs

upon the lake.

Lake Champlain, the more northern and the larger of the twin lakes,

was altogether guarded by the French. St. John stood at its head,

and Crown Point guarded it lower down--being a great fortified

promontory, where the lake narrowed to a very small passage,

widening out again below, till it reached the other strong fort and

colony of Ticonderoga, where Lake George formed a junction with it,

though the lake itself still ran an independent course to the

south, parallel with Lake George, being fed by the waters of Wood

Creek, a narrow, river-like inlet, which was a second waterway into

the larger lake.

The position of Ticonderoga was, therefore, very important, as it

commanded both these waterways; and even if the English could

succeed in avoiding the guns of that fort, there was still Crown

Point, further to the north, to keep them from advancing.

In addition to these advantages, the French had won the local

Indians to their side; and though they did much towards

embarrassing their white allies, and were a perfect nuisance both

to officers and men, they were too useful to risk offending or to

be dispensed with, as they were always ready for a dash upon any

English scouting parties, and formed a sort of balance to the

tactics of the English Rangers.

"They are villainous foes!" said Rogers, with a dark scowl. "It is

their great joy to take prisoners; and when the French have

extracted from them all the information they can as to the strength

and prospects of the English, the Indians will claim them again, to

scalp and burn, and the French scarcely raise a protest. It is said

that they speak with disgust of the barbarities of these savage

allies, but they do little or nothing to check them. That is why my

wrath often rises higher against the French than against the

Indians themselves. They know no better; but for white man to

deliver white man into their hands--that is what makes my blood

boil!"

The fire leaped up in Charles's eyes, and he had his tale to tell,

at hearing of which the Rogerses set their teeth and muttered

curses not loud but deep.

"Now will I tell you what we started forth to do," said the leader

of the band. "We have been busy all winter. Last month we skated

down the lake when it was clear of snow, passed Ticonderoga all

unseen, intercepted some sledges of provisions, and carried them

and their drivers to our fort. Now we are bent upon a longer

journey. We want to reach Crown Point, and make a plan of the works

for our brave Commander Winslow. We were a part of the way on our

route, when we fell in with Indians conveying provisions to the

French on these sledges. We took them from them and dispersed the

crew; but they must have scattered and got help, and they set upon

us, as you have seen. Now that we have three wounded and two

somewhat bruised and shaken, I am thinking it would be better to

send them back, with a few sound men as escort--for the provisions

will be welcome at the fort, which is not too well victualled--whilst

the rest of us push on, and see if we can accomplish our errand. Now

that we are thus reinforced, we shall be strong enough to do this."

The eyes of Stark and Fritz sparkled at the prospect.

"We will go with you," they cried. "We long for such work as this;

it is what we have come for from our homes and friends."

And then Stark added modestly:

"And if I am but little trained to arms, I can draw. I have been

used to that work in my old life, which was too tame for me. I

understand how to make plans and elevations. If I could but get a

good view of the fortifications, I will undertake to make a good

drawing of them for your general."

Rogers slapped him heartily upon the back.

"A draughtsman is the very fellow we want," he cried; "and a

draughtsman who can wield weapons as you can, John Stark, is the

very man for us. You and your band will be right welcome. You can

all use snowshoes, I see, and doubtless skates also?"

Stark nodded. By that time all were proficient in these arts, even

Fritz, to whom they had been new at the commencement of the winter.

Charles fingered the knife at his belt, and his cavern-like eyes

glowed in their sockets.

"Let me fight the French-the French!" he muttered. "I have avenged

myself upon the Indian foe. Now let me know the joy of meeting the

white foe face to face!"

"Is that poor fellow mad?" asked Rogers of Fritz, when next

morning, all preparations being speedily made, the party had

divided, and the larger contingent was sweeping down the lake

towards the distant junction, which was guarded by the guns of

Ticonderoga.

"I think his brain is touched. He has been like that ever since I

have known him; but his brother and friends say that once he was

the most gentle and peaceful of men, and never desired to raise

hand against his fellow. It is the horror of one awful memory that

has made him what he is. I thought perhaps that when he wreaked his

vengeance upon the Indian chieftain who had slain his wife and

children, he would have been satisfied; but the fire in his heart

seems unquenched and unquenchable. Sometimes I have a fancy that

when his wrath is satisfied the spring of life will cease within

him. He grows more gaunt and thin each week; but he is borne along

by the strong spirit within, and in battle his strength is as the

strength of ten."

"As is ofttimes the way with men whose minds are unhinged," said

Rogers. "Truly we have small reason to love our white brothers the

French, since at their door lies the sin of these ravages upon the

hapless border settlers. We will requite them even as they deserve!

We will smite them hip and thigh! though we must not, and will not,

become like the savage Indians. We will not suffer outrage; it

shall be enough of shame and humiliation for them to see the flag

of England flaunting proudly where their banners have been wont to

fly."

A few days of rather laborious travel--for the snow was soft--and

Crown Point lay before them. They had left the lake some time

before, skirting round Roger's Rock, and thus making a cut across

country, and missing the perils of passing Ticonderoga.

"We will take that in returning," said Rogers; "but we will not

risk being seen on our way down, else they might be upon the alert

for our return. We will arrange a pleasant surprise for them."

The way was laborious now, for they had to climb hills which gave

them a good view over the fortifications of Crown Point; but this

elevation once safely attained, without any further molestation

from Indians, they were able to make a complete survey of the

fortifications; and Stark made some excellent plans and drawings,

which gave a fine idea of the place.

So far all had been peaceful; but the Rangers were not wont to come

and go and leave no trace. There were outlying farms around the

fortifications, and comings and goings between the French soldiers

and peasants.

"We will stop these supplies," said Rogers, with a sardonic smile;

"the French shall learn to be as careful of their flour as we have

to be!"

And carefully laying an ambush in the early grey of a winter's

morning, he sprang suddenly out upon a train of wagons wending

their way to the fortifications.

The drivers, scared and terrified, jumped from their places, and

ran screaming into the defences, whence soldiers came rushing out,

sword in hand, but only to find the wagons in flames, the horses

driven off to the forest, and the barns and farmsteads behind

burning.

It was a savage sort of warfare, but it was the work of the Rangers

to repay ferocity in kind, and to leave behind them dread tokens of

the visits they paid.

Whilst the terrified inhabitants and the angry soldiers were

striving to extinguish the flames, and vituperating Rogers and his

company, these bold Rangers themselves were fleeing down the lake

as fast as snowshoes could take them, full of satisfaction at the

havoc they had wrought, and intent upon leaving their mark at

Ticonderoga before they passed on to Fort William Henry.

Guarded as it was by fortifications and surrounded by Indian spies,

Rogers and his men approached it cautiously, yet without fear; for

they knew every inch of the ground, and they were so expert in all

woodcraft and strategic arts that they could lie hidden in

brushwood within speaking distance of the foe, yet not betray their

presence by so much as the crackle of a twig.

It was night when they neared the silent fort. A dying moon gave

faint light. The advancing party glided like ghosts along the

opposite bank. A sentry here and there tramped steadily. The

Rangers could hear the exchange of salute and the rattle of a

grounded musket. But no sign did they make of their presence. They

kept close in the black shadow, and halted in a cavern-like spot

well known to them from intimate acquaintance.

Richard Rogers had been sent scouting by his brother, and came in

with news.

"There will be marching on the morrow. Some soldiers will leave the

fort for the nearest camp; I could not gather how many, but there

will be some marching through the forest. If we post ourselves near

to the road by which they will pass, we may do some havoc ere they

know our whereabouts."

This was work entirely to the liking of the Rangers. Before dawn

they were posted in their ambush, and allowed themselves a few

hours of repose, but lighted no fire. They must not draw attention

to themselves.

They were awake and astir with the first light of the tardy dawn,

eagerly listening whilst they looked to the priming of their arms,

and exchanged whispered prognostications.

Then came the expected sound--the tramp, tramp, tramp of a number

of men on the march.

"Hist!" whispered Rogers, "lie low, and reserve your fire. These

sound too many for us."

The men kept watch, and saw the soldiers file by. There were close

upon two hundred. It would have been madness to attack them, and

the Rangers looked at one another in disappointment.

"Cheer up! there may be more to come," suggested Rogers; and before

another hour had passed, their listening ears were rewarded by the

sound of a bugle call, and in a few minutes more the trampling of

feet was heard once again, and this time the sound was less and

more irregular.

"Some stragglers kept behind for something, seeking to catch up the

main body," spoke Rogers in a whisper. "Be ready, men; mark each

his foe, and then out upon them, and take prisoners if you can."

The taking of prisoners was most important. It was from them that

each side learned what was being done by the various commanders. A

prisoner was valuable booty to return with to the fort. Rogers

seldom went forth upon any important expedition without returning

with one or more.

The men swung by carelessly, laughing and talking. They had such

faith in their Indian scouts that they never thought of an ambushed

foe.

The ping of the rifles in their rear caused a strange panic amongst

them. They faced round to see the redoubtable Rogers spring out at

the head of a compact body of men.

But the strangest thing in that strange attack was a wild,

unearthly yell which suddenly broke from one of the Rangers.

It was like nothing human; it was like the fierce roar of some

terrible wild beast. Even Rogers himself was startled for the

moment, and looked back to see from whence it had come.

At that moment Charles Angell dashed forward in a frantic manner.

He had flung his gun from him; his eyeballs were fixed and staring;

there was foam upon his lips; his hair was streaming in the wind.

He bore an aspect so strange and fearful that the French uttered

yells of terror, and fled helter-skelter from the onslaught.

But if any had had eyes to note it, there was one Frenchman whose

face became ashy white as he met the rolling gaze of those

terrible, bloodshot eyes. He too flung away his gun, and uttered a

frantic yell of terror, plunging headlong into the wood without a

thought save flight.

"It is he! it is he! it is he!"

This was the shout which rang from the lips of Charles as he dashed

after the retreating figure. All was confusion now amid French and

Rangers alike; that awful yell, and something in the appearance of

Charles, had startled friend and foe alike.

There were several of the French soldiers left dead in the wood,

and one was captured and made prisoner; but the rest had fled like

men demented, and the Rangers could not come up with them. As for

Charles and his quarry, they had disappeared, and it was long

before any trace could be found of them.

Stark and Fritz, however, would not give up the search, and at last

they came upon the prostrate form of Charles. He lay face downwards

on the frozen ground, which was deeply stained with blood. His

wrist was fearfully gashed by some knife; yet in his fingers he

held still a piece of cloth from the coat of the French fugitive.

It had been literally torn out of his grasp before the man could

get free, and he had nearly hacked off the left hand of the hapless

Charles.

Yet the man had made good his escape, leaving Charles well nigh

dead from loss of blood. But they carried him tenderly back to

their cave, and making a rough sledge for him; then brought him

safely with their prisoner into the camp at Fort William Henry.

Chapter 3: The Life Of Adventure.

"I have seen him once, and he has escaped me. But we shall meet

again, and then the hour of vengeance will have come!"

This was the burden of Charles's words as he lay in his narrow

quarters in the Rangers' huts just without Fort William Henry,

tended by his comrades till his wound healed. The fever which so

often follows upon loss of blood had him in its grip for awhile,

and he would lie and mutter for hours in a state of semi-delirium.

The sympathy of his comrades for this strange man with the tragic

story was deep and widespread. Charles had become a favourite and

an object of interest throughout the ranks of the Rangers, and

great excitement prevailed when it was understood that he had

really seen the man--the Frenchman--who had stood by to see his

wife and family massacred, and had deliberately designed to leave

him, cruelly pinioned, to die a lingering death of agony in the

heart of the lonely forest.

Every day he had visitors to his sickbed, and again and again he

told the tale, described his foe, and told how he knew that the man

recognized him, first taking him--or so he believed--for a spectre

from the tomb, afterwards filled with the most lively terror as he

realized that he was pursued by one who had such dire cause for

bitter vengeance.

"We have met twice!" Charles would say, between his shut teeth.

"Once I was at his mercy, and he showed none. The second time he

fled before me as a man flees from death and hell. The third time

we meet--and meet we shall--it will be that the Lord has delivered

him into my hand. I will strike, and spare not. It will be the hour

appointed of Heaven!"

With the lengthening days and the approach of spring the life of

the Rangers became less full of hardship, though not less full of

adventure. Snowshoes and skates were laid aside, and the men

started to construct boats and canoes in which they soon began to

skim the surface of the lake; scouting here, there, and all over,

and bringing back news of the enemy's movements and strength even

when no capture of prisoners rewarded their efforts.

Rogers had taken a great liking to John Stark and his followers. He

dubbed Stark his lieutenant, and Fritz and Stark were inseparable

companions by this time. Charles attached himself to no person in

particular, but was the friend of all; pitied and respected for his

misfortunes, allowed to come and go much as he would; regarded

rather as one set aside by Heaven for an instrument of vengeance;

standing alone, as it were, not quite like any of his comrades; a

dreamy, solitary creature, seldom talking much, often passing the

whole day in silent brooding; yet when there was fighting to be

done, waking up to a sort of Berserker fury, dealing blows with an

almost superhuman strength, and invariably filling the hearts of

his adversaries with a species of superstitious fear and dread.

For the tall, gaunt figure with the haggard face, flaming eyes, and

wildly-floating locks bore so weird an aspect that a man might be

pardoned for regarding it as an apparition. Not a particle of

colour remained in Charles's face. The flesh had shrunk away till

the bones stood out almost like skin stretched over a skull. The

hair, too, was white as snow, whilst the brows were coal black,

enhancing the effect of the luminous, fiery eyes beneath. It was

small wonder that Charles was regarded by Rangers and soldiers

alike as a thing apart. He came and went as he would, no man

interfering or asking him questions.

At the same time he seemed to regard Fritz and Stark as his chief

friends; and if they started forth with any of the Rangers, it was

generally observed that Charles would be of the company.

The life of the forest was pleasant enough in the warmer weather;

but the garrison at the fort were anxious to know what orders they

would receive for the summer campaign, and so far nothing was heard

but that they were to remain on the defensive. This might be

prudent, seeing that Ticonderoga was< strongly fortified and

garrisoned; but it pleased neither soldiers nor officers, and the

Rangers went scouting more and more eagerly, hoping to learn news

which might tempt those in authority to sanction some more overt

movement.

One day a strange adventure befell the Rangers. Rogers and his

little flotilla of boats were here, there, and everywhere upon the

lake. Not only did they move up and down Lake George, which was

debatable ground, commanded at the different ends by a French and

English fort, but they carried boats across a mountain gorge to the

eastward, launched them again in South Bay, and rowed down the

narrow prolongation of Lake Champlain, and under cover of dark

nights would glide with muffled oars beneath the very guns of

Ticonderoga, within hearing of the sentries' challenge to each

other, and so on to Crown Point, whence they could watch the

movements of the enemy, and see their transports passing to and fro

with provisions for Ticonderoga.

Many a small boat was seized, many a large one sunk by these hardy

Rangers of the forest. They were as wily as Indians, and as sudden

and secret in their movements. The French regarded them with a

species of awe and fear. They would sometimes find an English boat

or canoe in some spot perfectly inexplicable to them. They could

not believe that anyone could pass the fortifications of

Ticonderoga unseen and unheard, and would start the wildest

hypotheses to account for the phenomenon, even to believing that

some waterway existed which was unknown alike to them and their

Indian scouts.

But to return to the adventure to which allusion has been made.

Rogers with some thirty of his Rangers was out upon one of those

daring adventures. They were encamped within a mile of Ticonderoga.

Their boats were lying in a little wooded creek which gave access

to the lake. Some of the party, headed by Rogers, had gone on

towards Crown Point by night. Stark, with a handful of trusty men,

lay in hiding, watching the movements from the fort, and keeping a

wary eye upon those who came and went, ready to pounce out upon any

straggler who should adventure himself unawares into the forest,

and carry him off captive to the English camp.

Certain tidings as to the course the campaign was likely to take

were urgently wanted by this time. The posts to the English fort

brought in no news save that it was thought better for the army on

the western frontier to remain upon the defensive, and no talk of

sending large reinforcements came to cheer or encourage them.

Winslow was impatient and resentful. He thought there were

mismanagement and lack of energy. He knew that the provinces had

been roused at last out of their lethargy, and had pledged

themselves to some active effort to check French aggression; yet

weeks were slipping by, one after the other, and no help of any

consequence came to the army on the outskirts. No command reached

the eager soldiers for a blow to be struck there, as had been

confidently expected.

Perhaps the French might be better informed as to what was going on

in other parts of the great continent, and so prisoners were wanted

more urgently than ever.

At midday upon a steamy midsummer day, one of the young Rangers who

had been wandering about near to the camp in search of game came

back with cautious haste to report that he had seen a small party

of French leaving the fort by the water gate, cross the narrow

waterway, and plunge into the forest. He had observed the direction

taken, and thought they could easily surround and cut them off. He

did not think there were more than six in the party; probably they

were out hunting, unconscious of the proximity of any foe.

Stark was on his feet in a second. This was just the chance for the

Rangers. Seizing their arms and hastily conferring together, they

laid their plans, and then divided themselves into three companies

of three, planning to fetch a circuit, keep under cover, and thus

surround the little company, who would believe themselves entirely

overmatched, and some of whom would surrender at discretion, if

they did not all do so.

Stark, Fritz, and Charles remained together, taking a certain path

as agreed upon. They crept like Indians through the wood. Hardly

the breaking of a branch betrayed their movements. In Charles's

eyes the slumbering fire leaped into life. He always lived in the

hope of again meeting his foe face to face. He knew that he was

probably within the walls of Ticonderoga. Any day might bring them

face to face once more.

Softly and cautiously they crept through the brushwood. Stark had

made a sign of extra caution, for some nameless instinct seemed to

have told him that they were near the quarry now. He paused a

moment, held up his hand as if in warning; and at that instant

there suddenly arose from the heart of the wood the unwonted sound

of a sweet, fresh girl's voice raised in a little French song!

The men looked at one another in amaze. Were their ears deceiving

them? But no; the trilling notes came nearer. Involuntarily they

pressed forward a few paces, and then came to a dead stop. What was

it they saw?

A maiden, a young girl of perhaps seventeen summers, her hat

suspended by a broad ribbon from her arm, and half filled with

flowers, was wandering through the woodland tracks as quietly as

though in her sheltered home across the water. As she moved she

sang snatches of song in a clear, bird-like voice; and when her

eyes suddenly fell upon the three strange figures in the path,

there was no fear in their violet depths, only a sort of startled

bewilderment, instantly followed by an eagerness that there was no

mistaking.

"Oh," she exclaimed eagerly, in accents which denoted almost

unmixed pleasure, and speaking English with only a very slight

intonation denoting her mixed nationality, "I am sure that I have

my wish at last! You are Rogers' Rangers!"

Stark and Fritz had doffed their hats in a moment. They were more

nonplussed a great deal than this fearless maiden, who looked like

the goddess of the glade, secure in her right of possession. Her

eyes were dancing with glee; her mouth had curved to a delicious

smile of triumph.

"I have been longing to see the Rangers ever since I arrived at

Ticonderoga; but they declared they were terrible fire-eating men,

worse than the wild Indians, and that they would kill me if I

adventured myself near to them--kill me or carry me away captive.

But I said 'No!'" (and the girl threw back her head in a gesture of

pride and scorn); "I said that the Rangers were Englishmen--English

gentlemen, many of them--and that they did not war with women! I

was not afraid; I knew they would not lay a finger upon me.

"I am not wrong, am I, sirs? You would not hurt a maiden who trusts

your chivalry and honour?"

"I would slay the first man who dared so much as to lay a finger

upon you, lady," answered Stark impetuously, "even though he were

my own comrade or brother! We are Rogers' Rangers, as you have

rightly guessed; and we are here scouting round Fort Ticonderoga,

ready to intercept its inmates when we may catch them. But you are

right: we war not with women; we fight with men who can fight us

back.

"But tell us, fair lady, how comes it that you are here alone in

the forest? It is scarce safe in these troubled times of warfare,

with Indians all around, and rude soldiers prowling the woods and

lurking in its fastnesses."

"Ah, but my escort is close at hand. I did but stray away a little

in search of flowers. They said the forest was free from peril

today. The Indians have gone off yonder on some enterprise of their

own, and the English are lying within their lines far enough away.

I begged and prayed, and at last they gave way. My brother and the

men are after a fine young deer they sighted. I bid them leave me.

I was not afraid. I thought the worst that could happen would be

that I came face to face with a party of Rangers, and that was

exactly what I have longed to do ever since I arrived."

The girl looked up smiling into the faces of the bronzed, stalwart

men standing before her; then she seated herself upon a fallen tree

and motioned them to be seated likewise.

"I want to talk," she said; "let us sit down and be sociable. I

daresay they will be some time in killing their quarry. We will

enjoy ourselves till they come back. They shall not hurt you; I

will ensure that."

Stark smiled a little at the girl's assurance.

"More likely they may suffer at our hands, lady. There are more of

us scattered about the forest. But our aim is not to slay, but to

obtain prisoners who shall give us news; so you need not fear that

harm will befall your brother--least of all if he speaks the

English tongue as you do. If I might make bold to ask you of

yourself, how comes it that an English girl is in such a wild spot

as this, and amid the soldiers of France?"

"I am not English," answered the maiden, with a smile; "I am French

upon my father's side, and my mother was a Scotchwoman. I have

lived in Scotland, where I learned your tongue; and I always spoke

it with my mother so long as she lived. It is as easy to me as my

father's French."

"And how come you to this wild spot in the heart of these forests,

and with warfare all around?"

"I will tell you that, too. My father has always been a man of

action, who has loved travel and adventure. Since the outbreak of

this war in the west he has longed to be in the midst of it. He is

something of a soldier, and something of a statesman, and he is the

friend of many great ones at Court, and has been entrusted before

now with missions requiring skill and tact. He is also the kinsman

of the Marquis of Montcalm, whose name no doubt you know by this

time."

"He is the new military commander sent out by the King of France,

to take the lead in the war now commenced in Canada and along the

border between France and England," answered Stark promptly.

"Yes; and my father and uncle came out with him, and my brother and

I also. My uncle is the good Abbe Messonnier; but you will not have

heard of him, though he is well known and well beloved in France.

My father has certain work to do here the nature of which I do not

fully know, nor could I divulge if I did. We arrived at Quebec a

short time ago, and thence we moved on to Montreal. But it was

needful for my father and uncle to visit some of these outposts,

and we begged, Colin and I, not to be left behind. We burned with

curiosity to see the strange sights of which we had heard--the

Indians in their war paint, the great forests and lakes, the forts

and their garrisons, and all the wonders of the west.

"So they brought us in their company. My father takes me everywhere

with him that he can. Since my mother's death he seems unable to

lose sight of me. We have been hard upon a month at the fort now.

We are learning all we can of the condition of affairs, to report

to the Marquis when we return to Montreal or to Quebec. He himself

talks of coming to command here when the time comes for the attack

to be made upon your fort; but that will scarcely be yet, for there

is so much he has to set in order in Canada. Oh, the way things are

managed there--it is a disgrace!"

"Is Canada weak then?" asked Stark, burning with curiosity for

information on the subject.

The girl slowly shook her head.

"Perhaps I ought not to talk with you, since you are the enemies of

my countrymen. And, in sooth, I know little enough to tell. I hear

one say this and one the other, and I cannot know where the truth

lies. But of one thing they are very certain and confident--that

they will drive out the English from all these western outposts,

and will keep them shut in between the mountains and the sea; and

that France alone shall rule this mighty continent of giant forests

and rivers, undisturbed by any foreign foe. Of that all men are

confident."

The Rangers exchanged glances, and the girl saw it.

"You do not believe me," she said quickly; "but, indeed, I have

heard so many strange things that I know not what to believe

myself. Strangest of all is that white men should call upon those

terrible savage Indians to war with them against their white

brethren. That, as my good uncle says, is a disgrace to humanity.

Ah! I would you could have heard him speak to the officers at

yonder fort since his arrival there. They brought in a few

prisoners a few days after we came. They were going to cook and eat

them--to treat them--oh, I cannot think of it! My uncle went to the

officers, and bid them interfere; but they only shrugged their

shoulders, and said they must not anger the Indians, or they would

desert, and become even more troublesome than they are already. He

got them out of their hands himself, and sent them safely to

Montreal; and oh, how he spoke to the French soldiers and officers

afterwards! He said that such wicked disregard of the bond betwixt

Christian and Christian must inevitably draw down the wrath of

Heaven upon those who practised it, and that no cause could prosper

where such things were permitted.

"I have heard things since I have been here that have filled my

heart with sorrow and anger. I have been ashamed of my countrymen!

I have felt that our foes are nobler than ourselves, and that God

must surely arise and fight for them if these abominations are

suffered to continue."

The Rangers were silent; they well knew what she meant. The French

were culpably weak where the Indians were concerned, permitting

them almost without remonstrance to burn their prisoners from the

English lines, and even after engagements leaving the English dead

and wounded to the Indians and the wolves, though the English

always buried the French dead with their own when they had been in

like circumstances, and had showed kindness to their wounded.

"The Indians are the plague of the lives of men and officers

alike," continued the girl, breaking forth in animated fashion.

"They eat up a week's rations in three days, and come clamouring

for more. They make rules for the English which they will not

observe themselves. They are insolent and disgusting and

treacherous. Oh, I cannot think how our people bear it! I would

sooner lose all than win through using such tools. I hate to think

of victory obtained by such means. You Rangers are brave men;

though men dread you, yet they respect you, and would fain imitate

your prowess. The Indians are devils--I can find no other name for

them. They are fiends, and I verily think that evil will befall us

if we league ourselves with them. Thus my uncle tries to teach; but

they will not listen to his words."

"Time will show, lady," answered Fritz; "and there are Indians who

are gentle and tamable, and are some of them even sincere believers

in our Christian faith. I have seen and lived among such in the

lands of the south. But here they have been corrupted by the vices

of those who should teach them better. It is a disgrace to England

and France alike that this should be so."

At this moment the sound of shouting and yelling arose from the

forest, and some shots were fired in close succession. The girl

started to her feet, looking white and scared; but Fritz and Stark

stood close beside her, one on either hand, as if to assure her

that no harm should befall her.

The next moment a fair-haired youth, with a strong likeness to the

girl, came dashing blindly through the forest, calling her name in

accents of frantic fear.

"Corinne, Corinne, Corinne! Where are you? Hide yourself! Have a

care! The Rangers are upon us!"

"I am here, Colin. I am safe!" she cried, in her flute-like

accents--"I am here all safe. The Rangers are taking care of me.

See!"

He pulled up short, blinded and breathless. He had come tearing

back to his sister's aid, full of remorse at having been tempted to

leave her for a moment in the pleasure of the chase. He stood

panting, staring at the strange group, unable to get out a word.

"Call the men in," said Stark, addressing Charles, who had remained

silent all the while; "tell them to hurt no one--to make no

captures. This lady's escort is to remain unmolested. Bring them

here, and we will deliver them their charge safe and sound."

With alacrity Charles disappeared upon his errand. The old

tender-heartedness of the man always returned when he saw anything

young and helpless. There was no fierceness in his strange face

today, and Corinne, looking after him, said wonderingly:

"Who is he? he looks like one who has seen a ghost!"

In a few terse phrases Fritz told the outline of Charles's story,

and how he himself with his companion had found the hapless man and

his brother.

"Oh, this war is a terrible thing!" cried Corinne, pressing her

hands together. "It makes men into devils, I think. Ah, why can we

not live at peace and concord with our brothers? Surely out here,

in these wild lands, French and English might join hands, and live

as brothers instead of foes."

"I fear me," said Fritz, looking out before him with wide gaze,

"that that time is far enough away--that it will never come until

the kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our God and

of His Christ, when He shall reign for ever and ever."

She looked at him in quick surprise. She had not expected to hear

such words in the mouth of one of Rogers' Rangers.

"I have heard my uncle speak so," she said slowly; "but the

soldiers think of nothing but fighting and conquest."

"We used to think much of that day down in my southern home. We

were taught to look for the day of the Lord and the coming of

Christ. But men were even there growing weary and impatient. The

strife of parties was spoiling our home. That is why so many of us

journeyed forth to see the world. But I do not forget what my

forefathers taught and believed."

There was a light of quick sympathy in the girl's eyes; but she had

no time to reply, for the Rangers were coming back, with the French

soldiers in their company. They had surprised the whole band, and

had practically made them prisoners when Charles came up with his

strange message, and they marched them along to see what it all

meant.

Great was their astonishment when they saw the golden-haired girl

with her fearless bearing, and the handsome lad standing beside

her, still breathless and bewildered.

"Release these men," said Stark briefly; "they have been told off

for the service of this lady. Let them resume their charge, and

return in safety to the fort, or continue their chase in the forest

at pleasure. We do not war with women.

"If you wish to see some pretty hunting, Mistress Corinne, Rogers'

Rangers are at your service, and the haunts of bird and beast are

well known to us."

The girl's eyes sparkled. She was as full of the love of adventure

as any boy could be. She looked at her brother, but he shook his

head in doubt.

"I think our father would not wish it," he said. "I thank these

gentlemen most gratefully for their courtesy and chivalry, but I

think we must be returning to the fort. It may be that the shots

will have been heard, and that soldiers may be coming in search of

us already.

"We shall not forget your kindness, sir. I trust the day will come

when we may be able to requite you in kind;" and he held out his

hand, first to Stark and then to Fritz.

Corinne had looked a little mutinous at first; but when her brother

spoke of a possible sortie across the water from the fort, her face

changed. Perhaps she was not quite so confident of the chivalry of

the French soldiers as she had been of that of the Rangers.

"Perhaps it is best so; yet I should have loved to scour the forest

with Rogers' Rangers.

"Are you the great Rogers himself?" she asked, turning to Stark,

and then letting her glance wander to Fritz's fine face.

"No, Mistress Corinne; Rogers himself is away farther afield,"

answered Stark. "This is Fritz Neville, and I am John Stark, whom

he honours with the title of his lieutenant."

"Fritz Neville--John Stark," she repeated, looking from one to the

other, a smile in her frank, sweet eyes. "I shall not forget those

names. I shall say them over every day to myself, and pray that in

times of warfare the saints will watch over and protect the brave

English Rangers, who had us as prisoners in their power, and let us

go away safe and sound."

She held out her hand as she spoke, first to one and then to the

other of the men, both of whom took it reverently, pressed it, and

bowed low with a sort of rude homage. The other Rangers sent up a

little cheer for the brave young lady who spoke their tongue so

well; and the French soldiers, who looked a little ashamed of the

predicament in which they had placed themselves, smiled, and became

friendly and at ease, realizing that all was well.

"We will escort you to your boat, lady," said Stark; "you will

suffer us that privilege."

"Ah yes, if it will be safe. But they will not dare fire from the

fort when they see that our company is returning. I would I could

take you back with me, and introduce you to my father and uncle;

but perchance it would not be safe."

"Perhaps we shall make their acquaintance some other way!" said

Stark, with a touch of grim humour; and Corinne, understanding him,

exclaimed:

"Ah, do not let us think of that! let us only remember that we have

met as friends in the wild forest."

"A pleasant memory truly," answered Stark gallantly, "and one so

new to a Ranger that he will never be like to forget it;" and as

they pursued their way towards the lake, he held the youth and the

girl spellbound and breathless by tales of the strange life of

adventure which they led, and by detailing some of their

hairbreadth escapes from the hands of Indians and Frenchmen as they

scoured the forest, lay in ambush, and skulked beneath the very

ramparts of the enemy's fortifications, hearing the talk of the

sentries overhead.

"Nay, but you are brave men in sooth; you deserve success. The

fortunes of war must surely be yours at last," cried Corinne, with

covert enthusiasm.

"Ah! here is the lake, and here is our boat. Nay, come not further.

I fear lest hurt should come to you. I thank you again with all my

heart. Perhaps the day will come when we shall see each other

again. I would fain believe that I shall meet again with Rogers'

bold, chivalrous Rangers."

"It may be--it may be," answered Stark, with a smile. "Farewell,

sweet Mistress Corinne; may you come safely through all perils by

land and water. Your brave spirit will carry you well through

life's troubled sea, I think."

She smiled, and stepped into the boat. Then suddenly turning and

waving her hand, she said:

"I will tell you one thing which my uncle has said. Whether he will

be a true prophet or no I cannot tell. His words are these, and

they were spoken to M. de Montcalm: 'You are safe now, for England

is governed by an imbecile--the Duke of Newcastle--a minister

without parts, understanding, or courage. But there is another man

in England of a different calibre. If ever you hear that Pitt is at

the head of the administration, then look to your laurels; for, if

I be not greatly deceived, that man has brain and energy to turn

the whole tide of battle. Three years after he begins to rule

England's policy, and France will have begun to lose her empire in

the West!'"

Chapter 4: Vengeance And Disaster.

The episode of Corinne, and the prophecy she had quoted to them,

formed one of the bright episodes in a year which brought little

success or relief to the army encamped upon the waters of Lake

George. There was no campaign that year. The two armies lay inside

their respective fortifications, each keeping on the defensive; and

the bold Rangers alone did active skirmishing service, as has been

related, appearing at all sorts of apparently impossible points,

swooping down upon an unwary hunting party or a sleeping sentinel,

bringing in spoil to the fort, burning transports bound for

Ticonderoga, and doing gallant irregular service which kept the

garrison and the Rangers in spirits, but did little or nothing to

effect any change in the condition of affairs.

Anxiously was news waited for from England. What was the parent

country going to do for her Western children in their hour of need

and extremity? There were rumours afloat of a massing of Indian

tribes to be let loose upon the hapless settlers along the Indian

border; and although Sir William Johnson, that able agent of

England's with the natives, was hard at work seeking to oppose and

counteract French diplomacy amongst the savage tribes, there was

yet so much disunion and misunderstanding and jealousy amongst

English commanders and governors, that matters were constantly at a

deadlock; whilst France, with her centralized authority, moved on

towards her goal unimpeded and at ease (as it seemed to the

harassed English officials), although not without her internal

troubles also.

November brought about the usual breaking up of the camps on both

sides. The French soldiers were drafted back to Canada in great

companies, sorely beset and harassed at times by the action of the

Rangers; whilst Winslow drew off the bulk of his men to winter

quarters in the larger towns of New England and the adjacent

colonies, leaving Major Eyre in charge of the fort, with sufficient

men to hold it during the dead winter season.

Rogers' Rangers were independent of weather. They pursued their

hardy and adventurous calling as well through the ice-bound winter

months as during the genial season of summer. But from time to time

his followers liked to visit their homes and friends, and Winslow

was glad enough to have their company upon his march back upon

civilization; for the Rangers were masters of the art of woodcraft,

and were the most able allies when difficulties arose through the

rising of rivers or the intricacies of the forest paths.

Stark and his little band, now reduced from a dozen to nine,

accompanied the army back to winter quarters; for John desired to

see his friends, and also to raise recruits for next season's

campaign, now that he had learned experience, and had inspiring

tales to tell of adventure, victory, and quick retributive

vengeance upon a treacherous and rapacious enemy.

Fritz and Charles both accompanied him, though the latter with some

reluctance. He would rather have remained in the neighbourhood of

the French lines, behind which lay the foe he was bent on meeting

once more face to face; but Stark had represented to him that his

sister would wish to see him once more, and Rogers had appointed

January as the time when he and his Rangers would be back, when the

ice would be firm and hard, and they could renew their wild winter

warfare, whilst during the earlier months of the winter there was

no certainty of carrying on any successful operations. Heavy rain

and soft snow were too much even for the hardy Rangers to grapple

with. They were practically useless now till the frost came and

fastened its firm grip upon the sleeping world.

There was joy in many a city throughout the English colony when the

troops marched in; although there was mourning in many homes for

the loss of some son or brother killed by the foe, or by the many

forms of sickness which prevailed at the fort.

There were troubles, too, with the citizens about the billeting of

the English contingent, and many were the heart burnings which

arose between stubborn townsmen and military rulers before these

matters could be adjusted. But all this made little matter in

houses like that of Benjamin Ashley, who was a true patriot at

heart, and threw open his doors not only to his wife's brother, but

to as many war-weary soldiers as he could accommodate, and was

never tired of hearing all that they could tell as to their past

experiences, or of discussing with them the probable result of the

coming struggle.

Fritz would sit beside Susanna's spinning wheel in the evening,

telling her stories to which she listened in open-eyed amaze, and

giving eager heed to the discussion of politics amongst the other

men. Charles would sit apart, absent and dreamy--a strange figure

amongst the rest--very gentle and tender in his manner towards

Hannah and Susanna, but taking little or no interest in the daily

round of life, and only counting the days till he could return to

the forest and his mission of vengeance.

There was great discontent in the hearts of the colonists. They

declared that nothing was done for them, and yet they were never

prepared to bestir themselves actively. When Fritz asked eagerly

about the English statesman Pitt, he was told that he and the Duke

of Newcastle were now acting together in the ministry, and that

some hoped for better things in consequence. But it was evident to

all by this time that the first move made by the new minister would

be directed against Louisbourg in Acadia, the only stronghold yet

remaining to the French in Cape Breton Island. After driving the

enemy from thence, he might, and probably would, turn his attention

to the western frontier; but meantime the colonists here would have

mainly to hold back the enemy by their own united efforts, and

unity of action was just the thing which appeared most difficult to

them.

It was not encouraging; but the hardy Rangers were not to be

disheartened, and true to their promise, they only stayed within

winter quarters till after the festive Christmas season; and then

gathering together a compact little body of volunteers, Stark set

forward once again for the wild forest, where he was to meet Rogers

and his band.

Fritz was ready to go, despite his parting with pretty Susanna,

whose bright eyes sparkled with tears as she said goodbye. It was

not a time for making new ties; yet the little maiden knew very

well by this time that her life and his were bound together by a

strong and tender bond, and that into her own something had entered

which could never be taken away.

They met in the heart of the forest, a few miles from Fort William

Henry--Rogers and his large company, and Stark with his smaller

contingent. But Stark was now the leader of a band of five-and-twenty

bold spirits; for so inspiring had been his stories of the Ranger's

life that volunteers had come crowding in, and he had had some ado

to get rid of those who were manifestly unfit for the life. Even

Ebenezer Jenkyns, in his wild desire to win the approval of Susanna,

had begged to be permitted to join the Ranger band, and Stark had

had some difficulty in ridding himself of the youthful Quaker,

suddenly possessed of martial ambitions and ardour.

Right glad were the garrison at the fort to see the Rangers come

marching in. They had been quite quiet, save for a few minor

nocturnal raids from Indians, which had not done much harm. Their

chief foe was smallpox, which kept breaking out amongst the men, as

well as other forms of sickness. They did not understand

sanitation, and the fort was dirty and unhealthy. Rogers would not

have his men lodged within it; but the Rangers built themselves

huts just outside, and when not otherwise occupied, spent their

time in the construction of boats and sloops for use on the lake,

in which work Major Eyre had kept his men employed during the

previous months.

But it was not for peaceful toil like this that the Rangers had

gathered together; in a little while, accordingly, a scouting party

was formed, with Crown Point as its goal.

Snowshoes and skates were looked to, and the hardy Rangers started

off beneath the grey, leaden winter sky, gliding through the grim,

ghost-like forest, silent as death, past ice-bound waterfalls, and

forests of fir and larch bent and bowed by the load of snow, ever

onwards and northwards, always on the alert, ready for instant

action, fearless and undismayed in a white wilderness and in those

trackless solitudes which would strike dismay into many a bold

heart.

They skirted round Ticonderoga, not showing themselves to their

foe, and encamped upon the edge of Lake Champlain, lighting fires,

and making themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted.

They had travelled hard for many days, and were glad of a little

rest.

But this rest was not of long duration. Early the next morning,

before it was well light, Charles, the sleepless watcher, awoke the

camp by his low whistle of warning.

"I hear the sound of a sledge on the ice!" he said.

In a moment every Ranger was on the alert; every man had seized his

weapons, the fires were stamped out, and preparations were made for

an instant move.

A few minutes more and they heard the sound also--the sharp ring of

a sledge upon the ice, and the beat of horse hooves as it drew

nearer.

Now horses were prizes greatly in demand at the English fort, and

Rogers was eager to obtain possession of this prize. He called out

to Stark to make a dash along the lake side with a dozen of his

men, and try to head it off towards the spot where he and the rest

of the Rangers would wait. And hardly had the order left his lips

before Stark was off upon his mission.

On and on dashed the sledge with its unsuspecting occupants. They

had come forth from Ticonderoga, and were heading for Crown Point.

Stark and his men flitted like shadows along the snowy banks. The

horses paused. There was something amiss with the harness. Stark

looked at his men, gave a fine English cheer, and rushed forth upon

the ice, with a dozen stout followers at his heels.

In a moment the occupants of the sledge saw their peril. A yell

arose from the throats of all the three. They turned like

lightning, and the horses sprang forward at a gallop; but in a

moment they were surrounded by Stark and his men, who called upon

them to surrender, and sprang at the horses to stay their headlong

flight.

But now a new terror was added to the scene. Round the bend of the

lake swept other sledges--quite an army of them; and whilst the

French sent up shouts for help, Stark looked round to see what

Rogers and his company were doing.

"Here they come! here they come! Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!"

yelled his men, as they saw the compact band of veteran woodsmen

rushing forth to their aid.

That cry was well known to the French. For a moment there was a

pause, the sledges pulling up as though in doubt whether to rush

forward and seek to fight their way through, or to turn and run

back to Ticonderoga. But the energy with which the Rangers came on

settled that point. Every sledge wheeled round and fled, whilst

Rogers' men dashed helter skelter upon them, flinging themselves

upon the horses, firing at the occupants, and in spite of all

resistance securing three sledges, six horses, and seven French

prisoners.

The rest of the sledges escaped, and Rogers and Stark met each

other with grave faces.

"They will give notice at Ticonderoga that we are here," said the

former. "They will come out against us and cut off our retreat. We

must examine the prisoners ourselves and learn all we can from

them, and then make our way to the fort as fast as possible through

the forest. The enemy may be upon us before nightfall."

Fritz, who spoke French as easily as English, had already been

questioning the prisoners separately.

"They all tell the same tale," he said gravely: "they have five

hundred regular soldiers at the fort, and Indians coming in daily.

They were organizing parties to intercept communication between

Fort Edward and Fort William Henry. They are pledged to the

extermination of the Rangers wherever they meet them. Directly they

know that we are lurking in their vicinity, they will come out in

great numbers against us."

Rogers' face was set and stern.

"We will give them a warm welcome when they do!" he said. "Meantime

we will lose no time. Light up the fires and dry the ammunition

which has become wet. The horses must be sacrificed and the sledges

burned. As for the men, we must keep them till the last minute.

When we go, they can go back to their fort. They will have nothing

to tell there which is not known already. The Rangers slay men in

fair fight, but they do not butcher prisoners."

The thing was done. Rogers' commands were carried out, and in

cautious single file the band of Rangers crept through the forest

by devious tracks known to themselves, keeping eyes and ears ever

on the alert.

"Have a care!" came the warning cry of Charles at last; "I hear the

cocking of guns."

The words had hardly passed his lips before a volley blazed out

from the bushes, and many a bold Ranger fell as he stood, shot

through the heart.

"Steady, men--and fire!" cried Rogers, speaking as coolly as though

a hail storm and not one of hot lead was raining about them. Blood

was running down his cheek from a graze on the temple; and Fritz

felt for the first time the stinging sensation in his arm which he

had heard described so many times before.

In a moment they had spread themselves out in the best possible

manner, retreating upon the hill they had just descended, and

covering themselves with the trees, from behind which they fired

with unerring accuracy. Stark and some of his men were at the top

of the hill, having been the rear guard of the company. They poured

a steady, deadly fire into the bushes which concealed the foe;

whilst their comrades, running from tree to tree, fell back upon

them, and forming on the hilltop, repulsed again and again, with

stubborn gallantry, the assault of a foe which they knew must

outnumber them by four or five to one.

But the face of Rogers was still set and stern.

"They will try to outflank us next, and get round to the rear," he

said between his teeth to Stark. "Stark, you must pick some of our

best men, and stop that movement if it occurs. If they get us

between two fires, we are all dead men!"

"Fritz, you will be my lieutenant," said Stark, as he looked about

him and chose his company. Fritz was at his side in a moment. "We

are in as evil a chance as ever men were yet," he added, "but I

think we shall live to tell the tale by the warm fireside at home.

I have been in tight fixes before this, and have won through

somehow. I trust our gallant Rogers will not fall. That would carry

confusion to our ranks."

Shoulder to shoulder stood Fritz and Stark, warily watching the

movements of the foe. They saw them creeping round the base of the

hill--saw it by the movement of the brushwood rather than by

anything else; for their foes were used to bush craft, too.

"If anything should go amiss with me today, friend John," said

Fritz, as he loaded his piece, looking sternly down into the hollow

beneath, "give my love to Susanna, and tell her that her name will

be on my lips and my heart in the hour of death."

"Talk not of death, man, but of victory!" cried Stark, whose

indomitable cheerfulness never forsook him. "Yet I will remember

and give the message to my pretty cousin--for I know that women

live on words like these--if the blow has to fall. But never think

of that!"

"I do not," answered Fritz; "I hope to come forth safe and sound.

But were it otherwise--"

"Fire!" cried Stark, breaking suddenly into the commander; and a

sharp, deadly volley blazed forth from the guns of his contingent.

It was plain that the enemy had not expected this flank movement to

be observed. Cries of dismay and pain rang through the forest. They

broke cover and ran back towards the main body, followed by another

well-directed volley from the brave Stark and his men.

Round the spot where Rogers and the main body of the Rangers stood

the fight waxed fierce and hot. But Stark held to his post on the

spur of the hill, where he saw how the foe was trying to get round

to their rear; and again and again his well-aimed volleys sent them

flying back decimated to their companions.

But how was it going with the others? The firing was incessant, and

shouts and cries told of death and disaster on both sides. Stark

bid Fritz make a dash for the main body and bring back word. The

brief winter's day was beginning to draw to a close. There was

something terrible in the brightness of the fire that was streaming

from the thickets as the daylight failed. It seemed as though the

very forest was in flames; and the crack of musketry was almost

unceasing.

"They are calling upon us to surrender," said Fritz, hastening back

with his tale. "The French are calling upon Rogers by name, begging

him to trust to their honour and clemency, and promising the best

of treatment if he and his brave men will surrender. They are

calling out that it is a pity so many bold men should perish like

brute beasts. But Rogers stands like a rock, and replies by volley

after volley. He has been hit through the wrist, and his head is

bound about by a cloth; but he looks like a lion at bay, and will

not yield one inch."

"Let us back to his side, and make one great charge against the

foe!" shouted Stark, who saw that no further flank movement was to

be anticipated now. His men answered by a cheer. They were ready

for any display of gallantry and courage, and swore by Stark, who

was beloved of all for his happy temper and cheerful, dauntless

bravery.

Up the shoulder of the hill and across the ridge they dashed. They

shouted their cry of "Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" It was

taken up by those upon the top, who gathered together and made a

blind rush down towards their foe. The French, taken by surprise at

this impetuosity, and afraid of the darkness of the forest, made

off in haste for Ticonderoga, having worked sad havoc amongst the

bold Rangers, who were left alone with their wounded and dead, the

shades of night gathering fast round them, and the camp of the foe

within a few miles.

It was a situation of grave peril; but Rogers was not to be

daunted. He buried his dead; he gathered together the wounded, and

afraid to allow even a night for rest, he marched his party all

through the night, and by morning they were upon the shores of Lake

George.

"I will fetch a sledge for the wounded," quoth Stark, full of

energy and enterprise as usual. "It will puzzle the enemy to find

the route we have taken. Lie you here close and keep watch and

ward, and I will fetch succour from the fort before the French have

time to seek us out."

This was good counsel, and Rogers followed it. Stark, after a quick

journey across the ice, brought sledges and soldiers from the fort,

and in a few more days the Rangers were brought back in triumph to

their huts without Fort William Henry, where they were content to

lie idle for a short while, recovering from their wounds and

fatigues. Hardly a man had escaped uninjured; and some were very

dangerously wounded, and died from the effects of the injuries

received. Fritz himself had a slight attack of fever resulting from

the wound which he had scarcely noticed in the heat of battle.

Stark was almost the only member of the company who had come forth

quite unscathed, and he was the life of the party during the next

spell of inaction, telling stories, setting the men to useful

tasks, making drawings of the French forts for the guidance of the

English, and amusing the whole place by his sudden escapades in

different directions.

The Rangers were further cheered by a letter of thanks from General

Abercromby, lately sent out from England, recognizing their gallant

service, and promising that it should be made known to the King.

But the adventures of the winter were not over, although the days

were lengthening out, and the blustering rains and winds of March

had come. The snow was greatly lessened; but a spell of frost still

held the lake bound, and the rigours of the season were little

abated.

It was St. Patrick's Day; and as some of the soldiers in Fort

William Henry were Irish, they had celebrated the anniversary by a

revel which had left a large proportion more or less drunk and

incapable. Their English comrades had followed their lead with

alacrity, and the Fort was resounding with laughter and song.

But the Rangers in the huts outside were on the alert and as Stark

remarked with a smile, they must keep watch and ward that night,

for nobody else seemed to have any disposition to do so.

Major Eyre, in pity for the forlorn condition of his men, had not

restrained them from amusing themselves in their own fashion upon

this anniversary. It was well, however, that there were some

sleepless watchers on the alert that night; for as the grey dawn

began to break, a sound was heard over the ice as though of an

approaching multitude. The Rangers gave the alarm, and manned the

guns. There was nothing to be seen through the murky mists of dawn;

but the guns belched forth fire and round shot towards the lake,

and the sounds suddenly ceased.

An hour later Charles came rushing in; there was blood upon his

face, and his eyes were wild, but in his excitement he seemed to

know nothing of any hurt.

"They are coming! they are coming! I have seen them! There are

hundreds upon hundreds of them, well armed, well equipped with

everything that men can want. They are bound for the fort. They are

going to take it, They have sworn it! And he is in their ranks. I

saw him with these eyes. He is there. He is one of them. We shall

meet again, and this time he shall not escape me!"

In a moment all was excitement and bustle. The men, sobered by the

near presence of danger, were at their posts in a moment. All knew

that the fort was not strong, and that a resolute assault by a

large force would he difficult to repel; but at least they had not

been taken by surprise, and that was something.

A yell from without told that something was going on there. The

Rangers were driving off a party of men who had crept up under

cover of the mist wreaths, hoping to fire the huts outside, and so

burn the fort. They were sent helter skelter over the ice to rejoin

their comrades; and after a pause of some hours an officer was seen

advancing from the French lines bearing a flag.

He was blindfolded, that he might not see the weak parts of the

fort, and was brought to Major Byre and the other officers. His

message was to advise them to surrender the fort and obtain for

themselves favourable terms, threatening a massacre if this was

refused.

"I shall defend myself to the last!" said Major Byre calmly.

"Englishmen do not give up their forts at the bidding of the foe.

We can at least die like men, if we cannot defend ourselves, and

that has yet to be proved."

The news of this demand and the reply flew like wildfire through

the ranks, and inspired the men with courage and ardour. The

Rangers were brought within the fort, and all was made ready for

the assault.

A storm of shot hailed upon the fort. Through the gathering

darkness of the night they could only distinguish the foe by the

red glare from their guns. The English fort was dark and silent. It

reserved its fire till the enemy came closer. The crisis was coming

nearer and nearer. There was a tense feeling in the air, as though

an electric cloud hovered over all.

Charles went about with a strange look upon his face.

"He is there--he is coming. We shall meet!" he kept repeating; and

all through that night there was no sleep for him--he wandered

about like a restless spirit. No service was demanded of him. He

was counted as one whose mind wanders. Yet in the hour of battle

none could fight with more obstinate bravery than Charles Angell.

"Fire! fire! fire!"

It was Charles's voice that raised the cry in the dead of the

night. No attack had been made upon the fort; but under cover of

darkness the enemy had crept nearer and nearer to the outlying

buildings, and tongues of flame were shooting up.

Instantly the guns were turned in that direction, and a fusillade

awoke the silence of the sleeping lake, whilst cries of agony told

how the bullets and shots had gone home.

"Come, Rangers," shouted Rogers, "follow me out and fall upon them!

Drive them back! Save the fort from fire!"

Rogers never called upon his men in vain. No service was too full

of peril for them. Ignorant as they were of the number or power of

their assailants, they dashed in a compact body out of the side

gate towards the place where the glare of the fire illumined the

darkness of the night.

Dark forms were hurrying hither and thither; but the moment the

Rangers appeared with their battle cry, there was an instant rout

and flight.

"After them!" shouted Rogers; and the men dashed over the rough

ground, pursuers and pursued, shouting, yelling, firing--and they

saw that some bolder spirits amongst the Frenchmen had even set

fire to the sloop on the stocks which Rogers had been teaching the

soldiers how to construct.

But in the forefront of the pursuit might be seen one wild, strange

figure with flying hair and fiery eyes. He turned neither to the

right hand nor to the left, but ran on and on in a straight line,

keeping one flying figure ever in view.

The flying figure seemed to know that some deadly pursuit was

meant; for he, too, never turned nor swerved, but dashed on and on.

He gained the frozen lake; but the treacherous, slippery ice seemed

to yield beneath his feet. He had struck the lake at the point

where it was broken up to obtain water for the fort.

A yell of horror escaped him. He flung up his arms and disappeared.

But his pursuer dashed on and on, a wild laugh escaping him as he

saw what had happened. The next minute he was bending down over the

yawning hole, and had put his long, strong arm through it into the

icy water beneath.

He touched nothing. The hapless man had sunk to rise no more. Once

sucked beneath the deep waters of the frozen lake, exhausted as he

was, there was no hope for him. Charles cut and hacked at the ice

blocks, regardless of his own personal safety; and after long

labour he succeeded in moving some of them, and in dragging out the

lifeless corpse, already frozen stiff, of the man he had sworn to

slay.

The French were flying over the frozen ice, the Rangers in pursuit.

They came upon the strange spectacle, and stopped short in amaze. A

dead man lay upon the ice of the lake where it was broken and

dangerous, his dead face turned up to the moonlight, his hands

clinched and stiff and frozen. Beside the corpse sat Charles, his

glassy eyes fixed upon the dead face, himself almost as stiff and

stark.

They came up and spoke to him; but he only pointed to the corpse.

"That is he--that is he!" he cried hoarsely. "I saw him, and he saw

me. We fought, and he fled. I have been running after him over ice

and snow for years and years. He is dead now--dead, dead, dead! The

Lord has delivered him into my hand. My work is done!"

He stood up suddenly, threw up his arms, and then fell heavily

forward face downwards upon the ice.

When they lifted him up and carried him within the fort, it was to

find that Charles Angell the Ranger was dead.

Book 3: Disaster.

Chapter 1: A Tale Of Woe.

The intrepidity of the officer in command, and the alertness and

courage of the Rangers, had saved Fort William Henry from one

threatened disaster.

When the French had fairly retreated, after having been forced to

content themselves with the burning of the boats and the unfinished

sloop and certain of the surrounding huts and buildings, the

English found out from their prisoners how great their peril had

been. For the French force sent against them had been a strong one,

well equipped, and hopeful of surprising the place and carrying it

by a coup de main.

Failing in this, they had made a show of hostility, but had not

really attempted anything very serious. The season was against

anything like a settled siege, and they had retreated quickly to

their own quarters.

But this attack was only to be the prelude to one on a very

different scale already being organized at headquarters. The

English heard disquieting rumours from all quarters, and turned

eager eyes towards England and their own colonies from whence help

should come to them, for their numbers were terribly thinned by

disease, and death in many forms had taken off pretty well a third

of their number.

Rogers himself had been attacked by smallpox, and upon his recovery

he and the large body of the Rangers betook themselves to the woods

and elsewhere, preferring the free life of the forest, with its

manifold adventures and perils, to the monotonous life in an

unhealthy fort.

But Fritz remained behind. When Rogers left he was not fit to

accompany him, having been suffering from fever, though he had

escaped the scourge of smallpox. He had felt the death of Charles a

good deal. He had become attached to the strange, half-crazed man

who had been his special comrade for so long. It seemed like

something wanting in his life when his care was no longer required by

any one person. Indeed all the Rangers missed their white-headed,

wild-eyed, sharp-eared recruit; and as the saying is, many a better

man could better have been spared.

Stark went with Rogers, too much the true Ranger now to be left

behind. Fritz intended to follow them as soon as he was well

enough. Meantime he had formed a warm friendship with two young

officers lately come to the fort with the new commander, Colonel

Monro--one of them being Captain Pringle, and the other a young

lieutenant of the name of Roche.

Colonel Monro was a Scotchman, a brave man and a fine soldier.

Those under his command spoke of him in terms of warm and loving

admiration. Fritz heard of some of his achievements from his new

friends, and in his turn told them of his own adventures and of the

life he had led during the past two years.

"We have heard of the Rangers many a time and oft," cried Roche.

"We had thought of offering ourselves to Rogers as volunteers; but

men are so sorely wanted for the regular army and the militia that

our duty seemed to point that way. But I should like well to follow

the fortunes of the hardy Rogers."

It was true indeed that men were sorely wanted at Fort William

Henry. Colonel Monro looked grave and anxious as he examined its

defences. It was an irregular bastioned square, built of gravel and

earth, crowned by a rampart of heavy logs, and guarded by ditches

on three sides, and by the lake on the north. But it was not strong

enough to stand a very heavy assault, although it was provided with

seventeen cannons, besides some mortars and swivels.

The garrison numbered at this time something over two thousand; but

there were many sick amongst these, and sickness was inclined to

spread, to the grave anxiety of the commander.

Fourteen miles away to the south lay Fort Edward, and General Webb

was there with some fifteen hundred men. He had sent on as many men

as he felt able to spare some short time before, in response to an

appeal from Colonel Monro. Disquieting rumours of an advance from

Ticonderoga were every day coming to their ears. Summer was at its

height, and if a blow were to be struck, it would certainly be

soon.

A scouting party was sent out under the command of a certain

Colonel Parker, in order to learn the strength of the enemy and

what they were about. Three days passed in anxious suspense, and as

nothing was heard of the scouting party, Fritz begged leave to go

forth with a handful of men to look for them, promising not to

expose himself or them to danger. As he knew the forest so well,

and was an experienced Ranger, leave was quickly obtained, and

Pringle and Roche were permitted to be of the company.

They started with the first dawn of the summer's morning; but they

had not gone far before they came upon traces of their companions.

Fritz's quick eyes saw tracks in the forest which bespoke the near

neighbourhood of Indians, and this made them all proceed with great

caution. The tracks, however, were some days old, he thought, and

led away to the westward. At one spot he pointed out to his

companions certain indications which convinced him that a large

number of Indians had lately been lying there.

"Pray Heaven it has not been an ambush sent to outwit and overpower

our men!" he said. "What would those raw lads from New Jersey do if

suddenly confronted by a crew of yelling Indians? I trust I am no

coward myself, but the sound of that awful war whoop thrills me

still with a kind of horror; it has been the forerunner of many a

tragedy to the white man out in wildernesses such as this."

"I have heard it once," said Pringle, with an expressive gesture,

"and I could well wish never to hear it again, did not duty to King

and country drive me willingly forth to fight against these dusky

savages, who make of these fair lands a veritable hell upon earth.

"Hark! what is that?"

It was like the sound of a faint cry not so very far away. They

listened, and it was presently repeated. Fritz started forward at a

run.

"That is no Indian voice," he exclaimed; "it is one of our men

calling for aid. He has heard our voices."

Followed by the rest of the party, Fritz ran forward, and soon came

out into a more open glade, commanded by the ridge where he had

observed the signs of Indian occupation. As he did so he uttered a

startled exclamation, which was repeated in all kinds of keys by

those who came after. For in this glade lay the bodies of full

fifty of their soldiers, for the most part stripped and scalped;

and the place was so trodden and bloodstained as to show plainly

that it had been the scene of a bloody conflict.

Crawling forth from a little sheltered gorge was a wan, dishevelled

figure, bloodstained and ghastly. And Fritz, springing forward,

caught the lad in his strong arms, whilst he fell to feeble sobbing

in the plenitude of his thankfulness and relief.

When he was fed and heartened up he had a terrible tale to tell.

It had been as Fritz thought. A party of Indians had been crouching

in the forest, and had fallen upon the company unawares. Colonel

Parker had not been wise. He had divided his men into two

companies. One had gone by boats, and one had skirted through the

forest. What had happened to the boats the lad could not tell. He

had been one of the very few survivors of the land party, and he

owed his escape to his having fallen wounded and breathless into

the little cleft in the rocks hidden by the thick undergrowth, so

that the Indians did not find him when they made their search after

scalps and accoutrements.

Crouching amongst the bushes, half fainting from terror, the lad

had seen it all.

"They scalped them one by one, yelling and shouting and dancing.

They cared not whether they were dead or not. Oh, it was horrible,

horrible! They lighted a fire to burn some of the prisoners, and

danced around it yelling and jeering as their victims died. Oh, I

can never forget the sight! Every moment I thought they would find

me. I thought of all the things I had heard that savages did to

their prisoners. If I had had my sword, I would have run it through

my heart. But I had nothing, and presently I suppose I fainted, for

I can remember no more; and when I woke they had all gone, and only

the bodies lay about beside me. They had taken off their own dead;

but I durst not come out, lest they should come back and find me,

and I did not know where I was.

"There was water in the brook, or I should have died; and I used to

crawl out and drink, and go and hide myself again. And last of all

I heard English voices, and called out; and that is all I can tell

you."

They made a litter and carried the lad back to the fort, where he

lay tossing in fever for many a long day to come. It was evil news

that they had for their comrades; and it was not more cheering when

stragglers from the scouting party came back by twos and threes,

all with the same tale. The Indians were overrunning all the

forests and lakes. They had mustered around the French camp by

hundreds and thousands, and were scouring the woods everywhere,

under no sort of discipline, excited, rebellious, rapacious, yet

too useful as allies not to be humoured by those who had summoned

them to their aid.

All had horrid tales to tell of cannibal feasts, and of the savage

treatment of prisoners. Some declared they had seen French officers

and ecclesiastics striving to interfere, but that the Indians paid

no manner of heed to them.

"There was a young priest who saw them eating human flesh at their

fire, and he came up and rebuked them. I was sitting by. I had a

cord round my neck. Sweat was pouring from me, for I knew I should

be the next victim. They looked at the priest, and one young Indian

cried out in French, 'You have French taste, I have Indian; this is

good meat for me. Taste it yourself, and see if you cannot learn to

like it too!' Whereat all the rest laughed aloud. But the priest

rebuked them again, and offered money if they would give me up; and

presently they did, though rather against their will. They were

sending some prisoners to Montreal, and I was to have gone there,

too; but in the night I escaped, and as I knew something of the

forest, I have got back safe and sound."

Tales like these came pouring in as the survivors struggled back to

the fort. All were agreed that the Indians were very numerous and

very fierce, and it was said by all that the muster of the French

seemed to be very strong.

Anxiety and fear reigned throughout the fort. Fritz almost lived

upon the lake in his boat, watching for the first signs of the

enemy's approach. That a great part of it would come by water he

did not doubt. And sometimes he would leave his boat in a creek,

and climb some adjacent height, from whence he could scan the

surface of the lake, and see what was stirring there.

Roche was his companion on those excursions; and the two had

climbed together to a commanding height, when upon the dawn of a

glorious midsummer morning they saw the long-expected flotilla

covering the lake and making headway up it.

What a sight it was! The hearts of the onlookers seemed to stand

still within them as they looked. And yet it was a magnificent

spectacle. Myriads and myriads of Indian canoes like flocks of

waterfowl seemed swarming everywhere, whilst from two to three

hundred bateaux conveyed the French and Canadian soldiers. Then

there were great platforms bearing the heavy guns, and rowed by

huge sweeps, as well as being assisted by the bateaux; whilst the

blaze of colour formed by the uniforms of the various battalions

formed in itself a picture which had seldom been seen in these

savage solitudes.

"We shall have our work cut out to face such odds!" cried Fritz, as

he turned to dash down the hill and regain his canoe. But Roche

laid a hand upon his arm, and pointed significantly in another

direction.

Fritz looked, and a smothered exclamation, almost like a groan,

broke from him.

Far away through the mazes of the forest, skirting round towards

the doomed fort by a road parallel with the lake, was a large body

of troops--how large the spectators could not guess, but they saw

enough to tell them that it was a very considerable detachment.

Such an army as the one now marching upon Fort William Henry had

not been seen there before. To those who knew the weakness of the

fort and of its garrison it seemed already as though the day were

lost.

Moreover these men knew that the great Marquis de Montcalm himself

was coming this time to take personal command, and his name

inspired respect and a certain fear. He was known to be a general

of considerable distinction; it was felt that there would be no

blundering when he was at the head of the expedition.

To fly back to the fort with these ominous tidings was but the work

of a few short hours. In a moment all was stir and bustle. The

soldiers were not to be disheartened. They were ready and almost

eager for the battle, having become weary of inaction and suspense.

But the face of Colonel Monro was grave and stern, and he called

Fritz aside presently and conferred with him apart.

"I must send a messenger to Fort Edward to General Webb, to report

to him our sorry plight. He has said that he can spare no more men;

but this extremity of ours should be told him. Think you that you

can take a letter safely to him? You Rangers are the best of

messengers; and you have seen this great armament, and can speak

with authority concerning it. Tell him how sore our need is. It may

be that he can hurry up the reinforcements, or that they may be

already on their way. Even a few hundreds would be better than

none. At least he should know our need."

Fritz was ready in a moment to take the message, but he had small

hope of any result, and he saw that the brave Colonel had little

either. General Webb was a man upon whose courage and generalship

several aspersions had already been cast. If ever he was to regain

confidence and show these aspersions to be untrue, this was the

time to show himself in his true colours. But it was with no

confidence that Fritz set forth upon his errand.

Not long ago General Webb had visited the fort, and had given

certain orders and had spoken brave words about coming to command

in person should need arise; but he had returned to Fort Edward the

following day, and had then sent the reinforcements which were all

he was able to spare. It remained to be seen whether he would

fulfil his promise when he knew that the attack of the enemy might

be expected every hour.

Fritz rode in hot haste to the fort and asked for the General. He

brought news of urgency, he told them, and was instantly shown to

the General's quarters. He stood in silence whilst the letter which

Fritz brought was opened and read; then he abruptly asked the tall

young Ranger what it was he had seen.

Fritz told his tale in simple, graphic words, the General marching

up and down the room meantime, evidently in some perturbation of

spirit; but all he said at the close was:

"Go back and tell Colonel Monro that I have no troops here which I

can safely withdraw, but that I have sent, and will send, expresses

to the provinces for help."

Fritz was too much the soldier to make reply. He bowed and retired,

well knowing that no express sent to New England could be of the

smallest service now. It was with a bitter sense of failure that he

took the fresh horse provided for him and made all speed back to

the camp.

The road was still clear, but how long it would remain so there was

no knowing. Swarms of Indians were drawing around them. If succour

did not come quickly, it would arrive too late.

Monro received the message in silence, and continued to strengthen

his own defences as best he might. The next day brought the enemy

full in view, and the numbers of the hostile host astonished though

they did not dismay the brave little garrison.

Once more Monro sent forth Fritz with a letter to the General.

"The French are upon us," he wrote, "both by land and water. They

are well supplied with artillery, which will make sad havoc of our

defences, for these, you have seen for yourself, are none of the

strongest. Nevertheless the garrison are all in good spirits, and

eager to do their duty. I make no doubt that you will send us a

reinforcement, for we are very certain that a part of the enemy

will soon get possession of the road, and in that case our

condition would become very serious."

Again Fritz was entrusted with this letter; again he made the rapid

night journey over the familiar road.

This time he was not admitted to the General's presence, and after

he had remained at Fort Edward about an hour and had been

refreshed, a message came to say that General Webb had received the

letter and considered it, but could make no other reply than he had

done the previous day.

"Then God help us," said the Scotch veteran when this message was

brought him, "for vain is the help of man!"

And although he went about the fort with as calm and cheerful a

mien as before, he was certain in his own heart that Fort William

Henry was now doomed.

"They are surrounding us on all sides," cried Roche, as soon as

Fritz appeared upon the ramparts with his disheartening message,

which, however, he kept for the moment to himself. "See, they are

working their way through the forest to the rear, just beyond our

range. Soon we shall be hemmed in, and they will bring up their

guns. We have done what we can for these poor walls; but they will

not long stand the cannonade of all those guns we see lying yonder

on the platoons upon the lake."

"We must hope that the militia from the provinces will come up

before their preparations are complete," said Fritz. "They should

be on their way by now. But delay and procrastination have ever

marked our methods through this war. Nevertheless the men are in

good spirits; they are eager for the fight to begin. I marvel at

their courage, seeing how great are the odds. But even the sick

seemed fired by martial ardour!"

It was so. The long inaction of the winter and spring had been

wearisome and disheartening. It was impossible for the soldiers to

doubt that they would receive help from without now that it was

known that the enemy was actually upon them. Moreover, they all

knew, and some remembered, how the assault of a few months back had

been repulsed; and not realizing the different scale upon which

this one was to be conducted, were full of hopeful confidence and

emulation.

Before hostilities actually commenced, Colonel Monro summoned his

officers about him. Great excitement prevailed in the fort, for it

was known that a messenger had been admitted under a flag of truce,

and that he brought a letter from the Marquis de Montcalm. It was

to the reading of this letter that Monro invited his officers.

"We have to deal with an honourable foe, gentlemen," said the

veteran, looking at those about him, "as you will know when I read

to you his words. 'I owe it to humanity,' so writes M. de Montcalm,

'to summon you to surrender. At present I can restrain the savages,

and make them observe the terms of a capitulation, as I might not

have power to do under other circumstances; and the most obstinate

defence on your part can only retard the capture of the place a few

days, and endanger an unfortunate garrison which cannot be

relieved, in consequence of the dispositions I have made. I demand

a decisive answer within an hour.' That, gentlemen, is the message

brought to us. What answer shall we return to our high-minded

adversary?"

There was only one word in the mouths of all.

"No surrender! no surrender!" they called aloud, waving their

swords in the air; and the cry was taken up by those without, and

reached the soldiers upon the ramparts, and the welkin rang with

the enthusiastic shout:

"No surrender! no surrender!"

By this time the Indians were swarming about close outside the

ramparts, and hearing this cry and knowing its meaning, they looked

up and gesticulated fiercely.

"You won't surrender, eh?" bawled in broken French an old Indian

chief. "Fire away then and fight your best; for if we catch you

after this, you shall get no quarter!"

The response to this threat was the heavy boom of the cannon as

Fort William Henry discharged its first round of artillery.

For a moment it produced immense effect amongst the swarms of

painted savages, who scuttled away yelling with fear; for though

well used to the sound of musketry, and having considerable skill

with firearms themselves, they had never heard the roar of big guns

before, and the screaming of the shells as they whistled overhead

filled them with terror and amaze.

They were intensely eager for the French guns to be got into

position, and were a perfect nuisance to the regular soldiers, as

they worked with intrepid industry at their trenches and mounds.

But before long even the Indians were satisfied with the prolonged

roar of artillery, which lasted day after day, day after day;

whilst within their walls the brave but diminished garrison looked

vainly for succour, and examined with a sinking heart their

diminished store of ammunition and their cracked and overheated

guns.

"It cannot go on long like this," the officers said one to the

other. "What is the General doing over yonder? He must hear by the

heavy firing what straits we are in. He knows the condition of the

fort. He should risk and dare everything to come to our aid. If

this fort is lost, then our western frontier has lost its only

point of defence against the inroads of Indians and the

encroachments of France."

A few days later and a cry went up from the walls, "A white flag! a

white flag!" and for a moment a wild hope surged up in the hearts

of the soldiers that the enemy had grown tired of the game of war,

and had some proposal to make.

The messenger brought a letter. It was not from the French

commander himself, though it was delivered with a courteous message

from him. It had been found upon the body of a white man slain by

the Indians a few days before, and brought to the French camp. The

Marquis de Montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for

whom it was intended.

"Give my thanks," said Monro, "to the Marquis for his courtesy, and

tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a

foe."

But the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless

garrison. It came from General Webb, and repeated that, until

reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison

of Fort William Henry; and advised Colonel Monro to make the best

terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for

him to withstand.

It was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of

surrender. Men and officers stood in knots together gloomily

surveying the scene.

"We have done what men can do," said Captain Pringle to his friends

Fritz and Roche; "but where are we now? A third of our men are sick

and wounded. Almost all our big guns are burst. The enemy's

trenches are being pushed nearer and nearer, and there are still

more of their guns to be brought to bear. Our wall is breached; I

marvel they have not already made an assault. There is nothing for

it but surrender, if we can obtain honourable terms of capitulation."

"Nay, rather let us die sword in hand and face to foe!" cried

Roche, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Let us make a last

desperate sortie, and see if we cannot drive the enemy from their

position. Anything is better than dying here like rats in a hole! A

forlorn hope is better than none. Why should we not at least cut

our way out to the free forest, if we cannot rout the enemy and

drive them back whence they came?"

"The life of the free forest would mean death to those raw lads who

have come out from England or from the provinces," said Fritz

gravely. "It would be hardly more than a choice of deaths; and yet

I would sooner die sword in hand, hewing my way to freedom, than

cooped up between walls where every shot begins to tell, and where

the dead can scarce be buried for the peril to the living."

And indeed the position of affairs was so deplorable that a council

was held by Monro; and it was agreed that if any desired to make

this last sortie, either for life and liberty for themselves, or in

the last forlorn hope of driving the enemy from their position, it

might be attempted; but if it failed, there was nothing for it but

capitulation, if honourable terms could be had, or if not to die at

their posts, fighting to the very last.

A cheer went up from the men when they heard these words. If they

had well nigh lost hope, their courage was not quenched, and a

large band volunteered for the sortie. Fritz and Roche were amongst

these, but Pringle remained behind in the fort.

"I will stand by the Colonel and the sinking ship," he said. "It is

but a choice of evils. I doubt if any of us will see the light of

many more days. I prefer the chances of war to the unknown horrors

of the forest filled with savages."

He laid a hand upon Roche's arm and looked affectionately into the

boyish brave young face. Then he turned to Fritz.

"If you should get through, take care of the lad. You are a Ranger;

you know the forest well. If any can escape safely thither, it will

be you and such as you. But don't forsake the boy--don't let him

fall alive into the hands of the Indians; kill him yourself sooner.

And now fare well, and God bless you both: for I think that on this

earth we shall meet no more."

"Nay, why think that?" cried Roche eagerly; "stranger things have

happened before now than that we should all live to tell the tale

of these days."

Pringle shook his head; whilst Fritz wrung his hand and said:

"At least remember this: if you should wish to have news of us, ask

it of Rogers' Rangers, who are always to be heard of in these

parts. If we escape, it is to Rogers we shall find our way. He will

be glad enough to welcome us, and from any of his Rangers you will

hear news of us if we ever reach his ranks."

There was no sleep for the fort that night. Indeed the hot summer

nights were all too short for any enterprise to be undertaken then.

The glow in the western sky had scarcely paled before there might

have been seen creeping forth through the battered gateway file

after file of soldiers, as well equipped as their circumstances

allowed--silent, stealthy, eager for the signal which should launch

them against the intrenched foe so close at hand.

But alas for them, they had foes wily, watchful, lynx-eyed, ever on

the watch for some such movement. Hardly had they got clear of

their protecting walls and ditches, when, with a horrid yell,

hundreds and thousands of dusky Indians leaped up from the ground

and rushed frantically towards them. The next moment the boom of

guns overhead told that the French camp had been alarmed. The

regular soldiers would be upon them in a few minutes, driving them

back to the fort, killing and wounding, and leaving the Indians to

butcher and scalp at their leisure. The fearful war whoop was

ringing in their ears. The line wavered--broke; the men made a

frantic rush backwards towards their lines.

"Don't fly!" cried Roche suddenly to Fritz, at whose side he

marched; "let us cut our way through, or die doing it. It is death

whichever way we turn. Let us die like men, with our faces and not

our backs to the foe!"

"Come then!" cried Fritz, upon whom had fallen one of those strange

bursts of desperate fury which give a man whilst it lasts the

strength of ten.

With a wild bound he sprang forward, bursting through the ranks of

Indians like the track of a whirlwind, scattering them right and

left, hewing, hacking, cutting! Roche was just behind or at his

side; the two seemed invulnerable, irresistible, possessed of some

supernatural strength. The Indians in amaze gave way right and

left, and turned their attention to the flying men, who were easier

to deal with than this strange couple.

A shout went up that the devil was abroad, and the Indian, ever

superstitious, shrank away from these stalwart figures, believing

them to be denizens from some other world; whilst the French

soldiers, who might have felt very differently, had not yet so far

equipped themselves as to be ready to come out from their lines.

Fritz had marked his line with care. Only upon one small section

between lake and forest was there any possible passage without

peril from the French lines, and that was by skirting the head of

the lake just where their own intrenched camp, now almost in ruins,

gave them shelter.

The woodsman's and the Ranger's instinct kept true within him even

in the confusion and darkness. He never deflected from his line.

"This way! this way!" he called to Roche in smothered tones, as

they heard the sound of the fight growing fainter behind them. He

took the lad's hand, and plunged into the marshy hollow. He knew

that none would follow them there; the ground was too treacherous.

But there was a path known to himself which he could find blindfold

by day or night.

He pulled his comrade along with a fierce, wild haste, till at a

certain point he paused. There was a little cavernous shelter in

the midst of the morass, and here the pair sank down breathless and

exhausted.

"We are saved!" gasped Roche, clasping his comrade by the hand.

"For the moment--yes," answered Fritz; "but what of afterwards?"

Chapter 2: Escape.

Young Roche lay face downwards upon the rocky floor of the little

cavern, great sobs breaking from him which he was unable to

restrain. Fritz, with a stern, set face, sat beside another

prostrate figure--that of a man who looked more dead than alive,

and whose head and arm were wrapped in linen bandages soaked

through and through with blood.

It was Captain Pringle, their friend and comrade in Fort William

Henry, who had elected to remain with the garrison when the other

two took part in a sortie and cut themselves a path to the forest.

Had he remained with them, he might have fared better; he would at

least have been spared the horrors of a scene which would now be

branded forever upon his memory in characters of fire.

What had happened to that ill-fated fort Fritz and Roche knew

little as yet. They had heard the tremendous firing which had

followed whilst they remained in hiding during the day the dawn of

which had seen the last desperate sortie. They had at night seen

flames which spoke of Indian campfires all round the place, and

from the complete cessation of firing after two they concluded that

terms of surrender had been made. They had meant to wander deeper

and deeper into the forest, out of reach of possible peril from

prowling Indians; but they had been unable to tear themselves away

without learning more of the fate of the hapless fort and its

garrison.

At daybreak--or rather with the, first grey of dawn--they had

crept through the brushwood as stealthily as Indians themselves,

only to be made aware shortly that something horrible and terrible

was going on. Yells and war whoops and the screech of Indian voices

rose and clamoured through the silence of the forest, mingled with

the shrieks of victims brutally massacred, and the shouts and

entreaties of the French officers, who ran hither and thither

seeking to restrain the brutal and savage treachery of their

unworthy allies.

Roche had lost his head, and would have rushed madly upon the scene

of bloodshed and confusion; and Fritz must needs have followed, for

he was not one to let a comrade go to his death alone: but before

they had proceeded far, they met their comrade Pringle dashing

through the forest, covered with wounds, and pursued by half a

dozen screeching Indians, and in a moment they had sprung to his

rescue.

With a yell as fierce in its way as that of the Indians themselves

they sprang upon the painted savages, and taking them unawares,

they killed every one before the dusky and drunken sons of the

forest had recovered from their surprise at being thus met and

opposed.

But plainly there was no time to lose. The forest was ringing with

the awful war whoop. Their comrade was in no state for further

fighting; he was almost too far gone even for flight.

They seized him one by each arm; they dashed along through the

tangled forest by an unfrequented track known to Fritz, half

leading, half carrying him the while. The din and the horrid

clamour grew fainter in their ears. No pursuing footsteps gave them

cause to pause to defend themselves. The centre of excitement round

the fort drew the human wolves, as carrion draws vultures. The

forest was dim and silent and deserted as the fugitives pursued

their way through it.

From time to time the wounded man dropped some words full of horror

and despair. Young Roche, new to these fearful border wars, was

almost overcome by this broken narrative, realizing the fearful

fate which had overtaken so many of his brave comrades of the past

weeks.

When at last they reached the little cave for which Fritz was

heading, and where they felt that for the moment at least they were

safe, he could only throw himself along the ground in an agony of

grief and physical exhaustion: whilst the hardier Fritz bathed the

wounds of their unfortunate comrade, binding them up with no small

skill, and refreshing him with draughts of water from the pool hard

by, which was all the sick man desired at this moment.

All three comrades were exhausted to the uttermost, and for a long

while nothing broke the silence of the dim place save the

long-drawn, gasping sobs of the lad. Gradually these died away into

silence, and Fritz saw that both his companions slept--the fitful

sleep of overwrought nature. Yet he was thankful even for that.

Moving softly about he lighted a fire, and having captured one of

the wild turkeys which were plentiful in the forest at that season,

he proceeded to prepare a meal for them when they should awake.

Roche slept on and on, as the young will do when nature has been

tried to her extreme limits; but Pringle presently opened his eyes,

and looked feebly about him.

Fritz had a little weak broth to offer him by that time, and after

drinking it the Captain looked a little less wan and ghastly.

"Where are we?" he asked, in a weak voice; "and how many are there

of us?"

"We have only Roche with us. We have been in the forest since the

sortie when we cut our way out. We met you the next day with half a

dozen Indians at your heels. We know nothing save what you have

spoken of treachery and massacre. Can it be true that the French

permitted such abominations? The forest was ringing with the Indian

war whoops and the screams of their wretched victims!"

A shudder ran through Pringle's frame.

"It is too true," he said; "it is horrible--unspeakably horrible!

Yet we must not blame the French too much. They did what they could

to prevent it. Indeed, I heard the Marquis de Montcalm himself

bidding the Indians kill him, but spare the English garrison, which

had surrendered, and had been promised all the honours of war and a

safe escort to Fort Edward."

"If men will stoop to use fiends to do their work," said Fritz

sternly, "they must expect to be disgraced and defied by these

fiends, over whom they have no sort of influence. If men will use

unworthy instruments, they must take the consequences."

"Yes; but the consequences have been the massacre of our hapless

sick and wounded, and scenes of horror at thought of which my blood

curdles. They have fallen upon us, not upon them."

"For the moment, yes," said Fritz, still in the same stern tone;

"but, Pringle, there is a God above us who looks down upon these

things, and who will not suffer such deeds to pass unavenged. We

are His children; we bear His name. We look to Him in the dark

moments of despair and overthrow. I am sure that He will hear and

answer. He will not suffer these crimes against humanity and

civilization to go unpunished. He will provide the instrument for

the overthrow of the power which can deal thus treacherously, even

though the treachery may be that of their allies, and not their

own. It is they who employ such unworthy tools. They must bear the

responsibility when these things happen."

There was a long silence between the two men then, after which

Pringle said:

"If they had only sent us reinforcements! I know that we shall hear

later on that the reserves were on their way. Why do we do

everything a month or more too late? It has been the ruin of our

western frontier from first to last. We are never ready!"

"No; that has been the mistake so far, but I think it will not

always be so. There is an able man in England now whose hands are

on the helm; and though full power is not his as yet, he can and

will do much, they say. Even the more astute of the French begin to

dread the name of Pitt. I think that the tide will turn presently,

and we shall see our victorious foes flying before us like chaff

before the wind."

"You think that?"

"I do. I have seen and heard much of the methods of France in the

south--her ambition, her presumption, her weakness. Here in the

north she has a firmer grip, and Canada is her stronghold. But if

once we can shake her power there, all will be gone. They say that

Pitt knows this, and that his eyes are upon the Western world.

France has her hands full at home. A great war is raging in Europe.

A few well-planted blows, ably directed from beyond the sea by

England herself, might do untold harm to her western provinces. I

hope to live to see the day when those blows will be given."

Young Roche began to stir in his sleep, and presently sat up,

bewildered and perplexed; but soon recollection swept over him, and

he stumbled to his feet, and joined the other two by the fire.

"Tell us all," he said, as they began to think of supper; for he

and Fritz had scarcely broken their fast all day, and nature was

now asserting her needs. "I would learn all, horrible though it is.

Tell us--did Fort William Henry surrender?"

"Yes; there was nothing else for it. New batteries opened upon us,

as well as the old ones. There was a great breach in the wall which

could have been carried by assault at any moment, and our guns were

all burst, save a few of the smaller ones. They gave us lenient

terms. We were to march out with the honours of war, and keep one

of our guns; they were to give us safe escort to Fort Edward; we

were to take our baggage with us. The Marquis showed himself a

generous foe--of him we have reason to think well; but the Indians,

and even the Canadians--well. I will come to that in its turn.

Thank Heaven, I did not see too much; what I did see will haunt me

to my dying day!"

The lad's eyes dilated. It was terrible; but he wanted to hear all.

"All was arranged. The French soldiers marched in and took

possession. We marched out to the intrenched camp to join our

comrades there, who, of course, had been included in the

capitulation. In the charge of the French we left our sick, who

could not march. Hardly had we gone before the Indians swarmed in

in search of plunder, and finding little--for, as you know, there

was little to find--they instantly began to murder the sick,

rushing hither and thither, yelling wildly, waving scalps in their

hands!"

"And the French allowed it!" exclaimed Roche, setting his teeth

hard; for he had friends and comrades lying sick at the fort when

he left it.

"It was done so quickly they might not have known. One missionary

was there, and rushed hither and thither seeking to stay them; but

he might as well have spoken to the wild waves of the sea in a

storm. But that was not all. In an hour or so they were clamouring

and swarming all round the camp, and the French soldiers told off

for our protection either could not or would not keep them out.

Montcalm, in great anxiety, came over himself seeking to restore

order; but the Indians were drunk with blood, and would not listen

to him. He begged us to stave in our rum barrels, which was

instantly done; but the act provoked the savages, and they pounced

upon our baggage, which had been reserved to us by the terms of the

treaty. We appealed to the Marquis; but he advised us to give it

up.

"'I am doing all I can,' he said to Colonel Monro; 'but I shall be

only too happy if I can prevent a massacre!'"

"Horrible!" ejaculated the young lieutenant. "Oh, better, far

better, to have held the fort and perished in open fight than to be

set upon in cold blood by those fiends!"

"Yes," quoth Pringle sternly; "that is what we felt and said. But

it was too late then. The Indians were all amongst us. They were

here, there, and everywhere. They got hold of the long hair of the

women and the terrified children, and drew their scalping knives

and menaced them till they shrieked and cried aloud in abject

terror--"

Pringle paused; a spasm of horror shook him. After a brief pause he

recommenced in more rapid tones:

"Why prolong the tale? it has lasted already too long. No proper

guard was provided for us. Why I cannot tell, for the Marquis was

truly horrified at what was going on. Perhaps he thought the steps

he had taken were sufficient, or that the rage of the Indians was

appeased; but be that as it might, when we marched out towards Fort

Edward, we had no efficient protection, and the Indians were all

round us, snatching at caps and coats, and forcing the soldiers to

give them rum from their canteens, every drop of which seemed to

add fuel to the fire."

"And you had no escort?"

"None of any efficacy. Monro, our gallant Colonel, went back to the

French camp to protest and petition; but while he was gone the

spark kindled.

"It was the Anenaki chief who first raised the war whoop, and the

effect was instantaneous. They sprang upon us like fiends. They

seized the shrieking women and children and bore them off to the

woods, killing and scalping them as they ran. We had guns, but no

ammunition, and were almost exhausted with what we had been

through.

"In a moment all was a scene of indescribable horror and confusion.

I can only speak of what I saw myself. I was set upon by the

savages; but I could give blow for blow. They sprang after others

less able to defend themselves. I saw a little lad rush screaming

through the wood. I at once ran after him, and knocked down his

pursuer. He clung about me, begging me to save him. I took his

hand, and we dashed into the forest together.

"As we did so, I was aware that some French officers, with the

Marquis de Montcalm, were rushing up to try to appease the tumult;

but I doubt me if their words produced any effect. The boy and I

ran on together. Then out dashed a dozen or more warriors upon us,

with scalps in their hands--a sight horrible to behold. I set the

boy against a tree, and stood before him; but they were all round

us. I felt his despairing, clutching hands torn from round my waist

whilst I was hacking and hewing down the men in front. I heard the

shriek of agony and the gurgling cry as the tomahawk descended upon

his head.

"I knew that he was dead, and the rage which filled me drove me on

and on with the strength of madness. I had lost the sense of

direction. I only knew that I had burst through the ring of my

assailants, and that I was running my headlong course with the

whole pack of them yelling at my heels. Now and again a cry from

right or left would divert one or another of my pursuers, but some

of them held resolutely on, and I knew that my strength must

eventually give out, and that only a horrible death awaited me.

"Then it was that I heard shouts in the English tongue, and knew

that some person or persons had come to my rescue. But my eyes were

full of blood, and my senses were well nigh failing. It was only by

degrees I came to know who had saved my life. I shall never forget

it, though I cannot say what is in my heart."

He held out his hand first to one and then to the other of his

comrades, and they grasped it warmly. Roche lifted his right hand

and shook it upwards.

"May Heaven give me the chance to revenge this day's work upon the

foes of England! May the time come when France shall drink deep of

that cup of suffering and humiliation which she has caused us to

drink withal; and may I be there to see!"

And yet, before many months had passed, Roche and his companions

had reason to know that their foes could be chivalrous and generous

to an enemy in distress.

The comrades lay in close hiding for many days, until the work of

demolishing the hapless fort had been accomplished, and the French,

together with their savage allies, had withdrawn back to their own

lines at Ticonderoga.

There was no dash made upon Fort Edward, as might well have been

the case. Satisfied with what he had accomplished, and under orders

to permit the Canadian troops to return home in time to gather in

the harvest, the Marquis de Montcalm withdrew his forces when his

task was finished. Possibly he felt that victory was too dearly

purchased at the cost of such horrors as had followed the capture

of Fort William Henry.

Pringle recovered from his wounds, which, though numerous, were

none of them severe. The spell of rest was welcome to all after the

fatigues and privations of the siege. Fritz was an expert huntsman,

and kept their larder well stocked; and when they were ready to

travel, he was able to lead them safely through the forest, towards

the haunts where Rogers and his Rangers were likely to be met with.

It was upon a clear September afternoon that they first met white

men, or indeed human beings of any kind; for they had sedulously

avoided falling in with Indians, and the loneliness of the forest

had become a little oppressive to Pringle and Roche, although they

were eager to learn the arts of woodcraft, and were proving apt

pupils. They were both going to volunteer to join Rogers' bold band

of Rangers, for they had grown almost disheartened at the regular

army service, where one blunder and disaster was invariably capped

by another; and the life of the Rangers did at least give scope for

personal daring and adventure, and might enable them to strike a

blow now and again at the enemy who had wrought them such woe.

They heard themselves hailed one day out of the heart of the forest

by a cheery English voice.

"What ho! who goes there?"

"Friend to Rogers and his Rangers!" called back Fritz, in the

formula of the forest, and the next minute a bronzed and

bright-faced, handsome man had sprung lightly out of the thicket,

and stood before them.

He was a stranger to Fritz, but something in his dress and general

aspect proclaimed him to be a Ranger, and he grasped Fritz by the

hand warmly.

"You come in good time to give us news. We have been far

afield--almost as far as Niagara itself. We hear rumours of

disaster and treachery; but hitherto we have had no certain

tidings. Is it true that Fort William Henry has fallen?"

The tale was told once again, other Rangers crowding round to hear.

Pringle was naturally the spokesman, and Fritz, singling out from

the group a man whom he had known before, asked him who the

gallant-looking stranger was who seemed like the leader of a band.

"That is Lord Howe," was the answer. "He came out from England to

fight the French; but the expedition to Louisbourg came to nothing

through delay and mismanagement. He landed, and whilst waiting for

further orders from home he has joined the Rangers, in order to

learn their methods of fighting. Never was hardier or braver man,

or one more cheerful and blithe. Even the stern Rogers himself

unbends when he is near. He has been the very life of our party

since he has joined us."

Fritz soon found that this was no exaggeration. Howe was a splendid

comrade and Ranger, full of courage, the hardiest of the hardy,

never failing in spirits whatever were the hardships of the life,

and showing such aptitude for generalship and command that already

he had made his mark amongst the hardy Rangers, and was entrusted

with enterprises of difficulty and danger.

It was not much that could be done against the foe with the

inclement winter season approaching. The snow fell early. The

Canadians and regulars had gone into winter quarters; but there was

still a garrison in Ticonderoga, and to harass and despoil that

garrison was the pastime of the Rangers. They stole beneath the

walls upon the frozen lake. They carried off cattle, and made

banquets off their carcasses. If they could not do with all the

meat themselves, they would leave the carcasses at the foot of the

walls, sometimes with mocking letters attached to the horns.

Thus, after a more than usually successful raid, when they had

taken two prisoners and driven off a number of head of cattle, they

tied to the horns of one of the slain beasts the following words,

written large for all to read.

"I am obliged to you, sir, for the rest you have allowed me to

take, and for the fresh meat you have supplied me with. I shall

take good care of my prisoners. My compliments to the Marquis de

Montcalm.

"--(Signed)

"ROGERS."

But in spite of these successful raids, a misfortune was in store

for the gallant Rangers in the early spring which broke up and

scattered their band for that season, and spread throughout the

district the false report of Rogers' death.

Captain Hebecourt was commanding the French at Ticonderoga, and in

March he received large reinforcements of Canadians and Indians,

and the latter instantly detected recent marks of snowshoes in the

vicinity betraying the neighbourhood of white men. An attack was

therefore organized to try to rid the place of the pestilent

Rangers, as the French called them; whilst, as it so happened, the

Rangers had no knowledge of the reinforcements which had come in to

the fort.

Rogers' fault was ever a daring rashness, and when one day he and

his little band saw the advance of a party of Indians, he drew his

men under cover and greeted them with a hot and fatal fire.

But this was only the advance guard. Unknown and unguessed at by

Rogers, the large body behind was approaching, and the next moment

the whole place was echoing with triumphant yells, as the pursuing

Rangers were met by a compact force outnumbering them by four to

one, who sprang furiously upon them, trying to hack them to pieces.

Rogers, gallantly backed by Lord Howe, who had all the instinct of

the true general, recalled them hastily and formed them up on the

slope of a hill, where they made a gallant stand, and drove back

the enemy again and again. But outnumbered as they were, it was a

terrible struggle, and Ranger after Ranger dropped at his post;

whilst at last the cry was raised that the foe had surrounded them

upon the rear, and nothing was left them but to take to the forest

in flight.

"To the woods, men, to the woods!" shouted Rogers. "Leave me, and

every man for himself!"

Indeed it was soon impossible for any party to keep together. It

was just one dash from tree to tree for bare life, seeking to evade

the wily foe, and seeing brave comrades drop at every turn.

Rogers, Howe, and about twenty fine fellows were making a running

fight for it along the crest of the ridge. Pringle, Roche, and

Fritz were separated from these, but kept together, and by the use

of all their strength and sagacity succeeded in eluding the Indians

and hiding themselves in the snow-covered forest.

All was desolation around them. A heavy snowstorm gathered and

burst. They were hopelessly separated from their comrades, and

Fritz, who was their guide in woodcraft, was wounded in the head,

and in a strangely dazed condition.

"I can take you to Rogers' camp, nevertheless," he kept repeating.

"We must not lie down, or we shall die. But I can find the road--I

can find the road. I know the forest in all its aspects; I shall

not lose the way."

It was a terrible night. They had no food but a little ginger which

Pringle chanced to have in his pocket, and a bit of a sausage that

Roche had secreted about him. The snow drifted in their faces. They

were wearied to death, yet dared not lie down; and though always

hoping to reach the spot where Fritz declared that Rogers was

certain to be found, they discovered, when the grey light of

morning came, that they had only fetched a circle, and were at the

place they had started from, in perilous proximity to the French

fort.

Yet as they gazed at one another in mute despair a more terrible

thing happened. The Indian war whoop sounded loud in their ears,

and a band of savages dashed out upon them. Before they could

attempt resistance in their numbed state, they were surrounded and

carried off captive.

"We can die like men; that is all that is left to us!" said

Pringle, pressing up to Roche to whisper in his ear. "Heaven grant

they kill us quickly; it is the only grace we can hope for now."

Dizzy and faint and exhausted, they were hurried along by their

captors they knew not whither. They had come out from the forest,

and the sun was beginning to shine round them, when they suddenly

heard a voice shouting out something the meaning of which they

could not catch; and the next moment a body of white men came

running up wearing the familiar uniform of French soldiers and

officers.

"Uncle!" cried a lad's clear voice, speaking in French, a language

perfectly intelligible to Fritz, "that tall man there is the one

who saved Corinne and me in the forest that day when we were

surrounded and nearly taken by the Rangers. Get him away from the

Indians; they shall not have him! He saved us from peril once; we

must save him now."

"Assuredly, my son," came the response, in a full, sonorous voice;

and Fritz, rallying his failing powers, shook off for a moment the

mists which seemed to enwrap him, and saw that a fine-looking man

of benevolent aspect, wearing the habit of an ecclesiastic, was

speaking earnestly to the Indians who had them in their hands,

whilst several French officers and soldiers had formed up round

them.

There was some quick and rather excited talk between the Abbe and

the dusky savages; but he appeared to prevail with them at length,

and Fritz heard the order given:

"Take these men into the fort, and give them every care and

attention. I shall come later to see how my orders have been

carried out."

The men saluted. They cut the cords which bound the prisoners. They

led them away kindly enough.

The lad who had first spoken pressed up to the side of Fritz.

"I will take care of you, and my uncle will heal your wound. You

remember how Corinne promised some day to return the good favour

that you did us. You are our guests; you are not prisoners. My

uncle, the Abbe, has said so, and no one will dare to dispute his

word. He is the Abbe de Messonnier, whom all the world loves and

reveres."

Chapter 3: Albany.

"You are not our prisoner," said Colin; "you and your friends are

our guests, welcome to stay or go as you will. Only we hope and

desire that you will not go forth into the forest again until the

snow has melted, and you are sound and whole once more."

The bright-faced boy was seated beside the bed whereon lay Fritz,

who felt like a man awakening from a long, strange, and rather

frightful dream. He had become unconscious almost immediately after

their rescue three days before, and had only now recovered the use

of his faculties and the memory of recent events.

"You had a bad wound on the side of your head when we found you,"

explained Colin. "My uncle, the Abbe, says that had it been left

much longer untended you must have died. He is an excellent surgeon

himself, having learned much as to the treatment of wounds and

bruises and sicknesses of all kinds. He is well pleased with its

appearance now, and with your state of health. He says that you

Rangers are marvellous tough customers, whether as soldiers or as

patients. You take a great deal of killing!"

Fritz smiled in response to the boy's bright look, but there was

anxiety in his face too.

"Can you tell me aught of the Rangers?" he said. "You, doubtless,

know how we were set upon and dispersed a few days back."

"Yes; and our Captain of the fort is right glad at it," said the

boy, "for Rogers led him a dog's life with his raids and robberies.

But all is fair in love and war, and it is not for us to complain

of what we ourselves have provoked and should do in like

circumstances. Nevertheless there is rejoicing at Ticonderoga that

the Rangers are dispersed and broken for the present. We were

beginning to fear lest they should take away from us all our

provision and cut off our supplies."

"Do you know how many were slain?"

"No; but it must have been a considerable number. I am sorry

myself. I delight in all brave deeds of daring, and it is the

Rangers who have shown themselves the heroes of this campaign. At

first they said Rogers himself had been killed, but that has since

been contradicted. For myself I do not believe it. The dead were

carefully examined by one who knew Rogers well, and he declares

there is no corpse that in any way resembles him; and others

declare that he was seen escaping to the forest, fighting every

inch of the way, with a resolute little band around him whom none

cared to follow."

"I myself saw something of that," answered Fritz; "but it all seems

like a dream of long ago. Tell me now of those who were with

me--Captain Pringle and the lad Roche. Are they here, and unhurt of

the Indians?"

"They are sound and well, and though sorely exhausted by cold and

hunger and fatigue when they were brought in, are fully recovered

now. Captain Pringle is quite a hero with us, for he has told us

all the story of that disgraceful and dishonourable day of August

last when the laurels of France were sorely tarnished by the

treacherous villainy of her Indian allies! Believe me, friend

Fritz, we men of France deplore that massacre, and cry shame upon

ourselves and our countrymen for not taking sterner measures to

repress it. For that reason alone, as mine uncle says, we owe to

you and to your companions every honour and courtesy which we can

show. If we have sometimes to blush for the conduct of our allies,

we can show that we are capable of better things ourselves; and if

we can make reparation ever so little, you will not find us

backward in doing it."

This indeed seemed to be the feeling of those within the fort.

Although these men were Rangers, part of the band which had

harassed them so sorely through the winter months, the garrison

received them with open arms, ministered to their wants, and vied

with one another in making them at home.

The influence of the venerable Abbe might have had something to do

with this; but it was greatly due to the chivalry of the French

nature, and to the eager desire to show kindness to those who had

witnessed and suffered from that awful tragedy which had followed

upon the surrender of Fort William Henry, which they felt to be a

lasting disgrace to their cause.

Those of the officers who had been there averred that they could

never forget the horror of those two days; and the French surgeon

who had taken over the English sick and wounded, and yet saw them

butchered before his eyes ere he could even call for help, had

never been the same man since.

So when Fritz was able to rise from his bed and join his

companions, he found himself in pleasant enough quarters,

surrounded by friendly faces, and made much of by all in the fort.

He, being able to speak French fluently, made himself a great

favorite with the men, and he enjoyed many long conversations with

the Abbe, who was a man of much acumen and discernment, and saw

more clearly the course which events were likely to take than did

those amongst whom he lived.

From him Fritz learned that affairs in Canada were looking very

grave. There were constant difficulties arising between the various

officials there, and the most gross corruption existed in financial

affairs, so that there was a rottenness that was eating like a

canker into the heart of the colony, despite its outward aspect of

prosperity. France was burdened by foreign wars and could do little

for her dependencies beyond the sea; whilst England was beginning

to awake from her apathy, and she had at her helm now a man who

understood as no statesman there had done before him the value to

her of these lands beyond the sea.

"I have always maintained," the Abbe would say, "that in spite of

all her blunders, which blunders and tardinesses are still

continuing, there is a spirit in your English colonies which will

one day rise triumphant, and make you a foe to be feared and

dreaded. You move with the times; we stand still. You teach and

learn independence and self government; we depend wholly upon a

King who cares little for us and a country that is engrossed in

other matters, and has little thought to spend upon our perils and

our troubles. You are growing, and, like a young horse or bullock,

you do not know yet how to use your strength. You are unbroken to

yoke and halter; you waste your energy in plunging and butting when

you should be utilizing it to some good end. Yet mark my words, the

day is coming when you will learn to answer to the rein; when you

will use your strength reasonably and for a great end and then

shall we have cause to tremble before you!"

Fritz listened and partly understood, and could admire the man who

spoke so boldly even when he depreciated the power of his own

people. He grew to love and revere the Abbe not a little, and when

the day came for them to say farewell, it was with real sorrow he

spoke his adieu.

"You have been very good to us, my father," he said. "I hope the

day may come when we may be able to show our gratitude."

"Like enough it will, my son," answered the Abbe gently; "I have

little doubt that it will. If not to me, yet to my children and

countrymen. For the moment the laurels of victory remain in our

hands; but the tide may some day turn. If so, then remember to be

merciful and gentle to those who will be in your power. I think

that the English have ever shown themselves generous foes; I think

they will continue to show themselves such in the hour of victory."

It was with hearts much cheered and strengthened that the comrades

went forth from Ticonderoga. Colin and a few French soldiers

accompanied them for some distance.

They did not propose to try to seek Rogers or his scattered

Rangers; there was no knowing where they would now be found. Fritz

had decided to push back to Fort Edward, and so to Albany, the

quaint Dutch settlement which had been the basis of recent

operations, being the town nearest to the western frontier at this

point. There they would be certain to get news of what was going on

in the country, and for a short time it would be pleasant to dwell

amid the haunts of men, instead of in these remote fastnesses of

the forest.

"I hope we shall meet again," said Colin, as he held Fritz's hand

in a last clasp. "I am not altogether French. I find that I can

love the English well. Quebec will be my home before long. Corinne

is there already, and my uncle and I will return there shortly. It

is a fine city, such as you have hardly seen in your wanderings so

far. I would I could show it you. Some say the English have an eye

upon it, as the key to Canada. In sooth I think they would find it

a hard nut to crack. We of the city call it impregnable. But come

you in peace there, and I will show it you with joy."

They parted with a smile and a warm clasp, little guessing how they

would meet next.

The journey to Albany was uneventful. The travellers met with no

misadventures, and upon a sunny April evening drew near to the

pleasant little town, smiling in the soft sunshine of a remarkably

warm evening.

It presented a singularly peaceful appearance. The fort was on the

hill behind, and seemed to stand sentinel for the little township

it was there to protect. The wide grassy road ran down towards the

river, its row of quaint Dutch houses broken by a group of finer

and more imposing buildings, including the market, the guard house,

the town hall, and two churches.

The houses were not built in rows, but each stood in its own

garden, possessing its well, its green paddock, and its own

overshadowing tree or trees. They were quaintly built, with

timbered fronts, and great projecting porches where the inhabitants

gathered at the close of the day, to discuss the news and to gossip

over local or provincial affairs.

As the travellers entered the long, wide street, their eyes looked

upon a pleasant, homely scene--the cows straying homeward, making

music with their bells, stopping each at her own gate to be milked;

the children hanging around, porringer in hand, waiting for the

evening meal; matrons and the elder men gathered in groups round

the doors and in the porches; young men wrestling or arguing in

eager groups; and the girls gathered together chatting and

laughing, throwing smiling glances towards their brothers and

lovers as they strove for victory in some feat of skill or

strength.

It was difficult to believe that so peaceful a scene could exist in

a country harassed by war, or that these settlers could carry on

their lives in so serene and untroubled a fashion with the dread

war cloud hovering in the sky above.

There was one house which stood a little apart from the others, and

wore a rather more imposing aspect, although, like all the rest, it

was of a quaint and home-like appearance. It stood a little back

from the main streets and its porch was wider and larger, whilst

the garden in front was laid out with a taste and care which

bespoke both skill and a love for nature's products.

The travellers were slowly wending their way past this house,

debating within themselves where to stop for the night, and just

beginning to attract the attention of the inhabitants, when a voice

hailed them eagerly from the wide porch.

"Fritz Neville, or I'm a Dutchman myself! And Pringle and Roche as

well! Why, man, we thought we had left you dead in the forest. We

saw you cut off from us and surrounded. We never had a hope of

seeing you alive again. This is a happy meeting, in truth!"

Fritz started at the sound of his name, and the next minute had

made a quick forward hound, his face shining all over.

It was Lord Howe who had hailed him--the bold, joyous young

Viscount beloved by all who knew him. The comrades shook hands

again and again as they eagerly exchanged greetings.

"Oh, we got away to the forest, Rogers and Stark and I, and a score

or more. Other stragglers kept dropping in and joining us, and many

more, as we found later, had made their way back to Fort Edward.

But nowhere could we learn news of you. Come in, come in; you will

be welcomed warmly by my kind hostess, Mrs. Schuyler. She has been

the friend and mother of all English fugitives in their destitution

and need. I have a home with her here for the present, till the

army from England and the levies from the provinces arrive. Come

in, good comrades, and do not fear; there will be a warm welcome

here for you."

They followed Howe to the house, and found that he had not deceived

them as to the welcome they would receive. Colonel Schuyler was a

great man in Albany, and his wife was deservedly respected and

beloved. Just now the Colonel was absent on duties connected with

the coming campaign, in which Albany was becoming keenly

interested. The neighbouring provinces, particularly that of

Massachusetts, had awakened at last from lethargy, and the

inhabitants were bestirring themselves with zeal, if not always

with discretion. The Colonel, who had warmly embraced the English

cause, was doing what he could there to raise arms and men, and his

wife at home was playing her part in caring for the fugitives who

kept passing through on their way from the forest, both after the

massacre at Fort William Henry, and after the rout of the Rangers.

Rogers himself was too restless a being to remain in the haunts of

civilization. He and a few picked men were again off to the forest.

But Stark, who had been wounded, and Lord Howe, who was awaiting

orders from England as to his position in command during the

approaching campaign, remained as guests with Mrs. Schuyler; and

she at once begged that Fritz and his companions would do the same,

since her house was roomy, and she desired to do all in her power

for those who were about to risk their lives in the endeavour to

suppress the terrible Indian raids, and to crush the aggressions of

those who used these raids as a means of obtaining their own

aggrandizement.

It was a pleasant house to stay in, and Mrs. Schuyler was like a

mother to them all. For Lord Howe she entertained a warm affection,

which he requited with a kindred feeling.

All was excitement in Albany now. General Abercromby was on the way

to take the command of the forces; but Lord Howe was to have a

position of considerable importance, and it was whispered by those

who knew what went on behind the scenes that it was to his skill

and courage and military prowess that Pitt really looked. He

received private dispatches by special messengers, and his bright

young face was full of purpose and lofty courage.

The Massachusetts levies began to assemble, and Howe took the raw

lads in hand, and began to drill them with a wonderful success. But

it was no play work to be under such a commander. They had come for

once rather well provided with clothing and baggage; but Howe

laughed aloud at the thought of soldiers encumbering themselves

with more impedimenta than was actually needful.

The long, heavy-skirted coats which the soldiers wore, both

regulars and provincials, excited his ridicule, as did also the

long hair plaited into a queue behind and tied with ribbons.

His own hair he had long since cut short to his head--a fashion

speedily imitated by officers and men alike, who all adored him. He

suggested that skirtless coats would be more easy to march in than

the heavy ones in vogue, and forthwith all the skirts were cut off,

and the coats became short jackets, scarcely reaching the waist.

The men laughed at their droll appearance, but felt the freedom and

increased marching power; and as Lord Howe wore just such a coat

himself, who could complain? He wore leggings of leather, such as

were absolutely needful to forest journeys, and soon his men did

the same. No women were to be allowed to follow his contingent; and

as for washing of clothes, why, Lord Howe was seen going down to

the river side to wash his own, and the fashion thus set was

followed enthusiastically by his men.

If their baggage was cut down to a minimum, they were each ordered

to carry thirty pounds of meal in a bag; so that it was soon seen

that Lord Rowe's contingent could not only walk further and faster

in march than any other, but that it would be independent of the

supply trains for pretty nearly a month. They carried their own

bread material, and the forest would always supply meat.

Fritz was ever forward to carry out the wishes and act as the right

hand of the hardy Brigadier; for that was Lord Howe's military

rank. Pringle and Roche served under him, too, and there was a warm

bond growing up betwixt officers and men, and a feeling of

enthusiasm which seemed to them like an augury of victory to come.

"Our business is to fight the foe--to do our duty whether we live

or die," Howe would say to his men. "We have failed before; we may

fail again. Never mind; we shall conquer at last. With results the

soldier has nothing to do. Remember that. He does his duty. He

sticks to his post. He obeys his commands. Do that, men; and

whether we conquer or die, we shall have done our duty, and that is

all our country asks of us."

And now the long days of June had come, and all were eager for the

opening campaign. Ticonderoga was to be attacked. To wrest from the

French some of their strong holds on the western English border--to

break their power in the sight of the Indians--was a thing that was

absolutely necessary to the life of the New England colonies and

the other provinces under English rule. Fort Edward still remained

to her, though Oswego and William Henry had fallen and were

demolished. The capture of Ticonderoga would be a blow to France

which would weaken her immensely, and lower her prestige with the

Indians, which was now a source of great danger to the English

colonists.

The story of the massacre after the surrender of Fort William Henry

had made a profound impression throughout the English-speaking

provinces, and had awakened a longing after vengeance which in

itself had seemed almost like an earnest of victory. And now the

regular troops began to muster and pour in, and Albany was all

excitement and enthusiasm; for the Dutch had by that time come to

have a thorough distrust of France, and to desire the victory of

the English arms only less ardently than the English themselves.

Mrs. Schuyler, as usual, opened her doors wide to receive as many

of the officers as she was able whilst the final preparations were

being made. And upon a soft midsummer evening Lord Howe appeared in

the supper room, bringing with him two fine-looking officers--one

grey headed, the other young and ardent--and introducing them to

his hostess and those assembled round the table as Major Duncan

Campbell, the Laird of Inverawe, in Scotland; with his son

Alexander, a Lieutenant of the Highland force.

Young Alexander was seated next to Fritz at table, and began an

eager conversation with him. Talk surged to and fro that night.

Excitement prevailed everywhere. But Fritz observed that Major

Campbell sat very grave and silent, and that even Lord Howe's

efforts to draw him into conversation proved unavailing.

Mrs. Schuyler also tried, but with little success, to make the

veteran talk. He answered with grave courtesy all remarks made to

him, but immediately lapsed into a sombre abstraction, from which

it seemed difficult to rouse him.

At the end of the supper Lord Howe rose to his feet, made a dashing

little speech to the company, full of fire and enthusiasm, and

proposed the toast:

"Success to the expedition against Ticonderoga!"

Fritz happened to be looking at the grave, still face of Major

Campbell, and as these words were spoken he saw a sudden spasm pass

across it. The soldier rose suddenly to his feet, took up his glass

for a moment, put it down untasted, and with a bow to his hostess

pushed aside his chair, and strode from the room in an access of

visible emotion.

Lord Howe looked after him a moment, and draining his glass, seemed

about to go after the guest; but young Alexander, from the other

side of the table, made him a sign, and he sat down again.

The incident, however, seemed to act like the breaking up of the

supper party, and the guests rose and left the table, dispersing

quickly to look after bag or baggage or some last duty, till only

Mrs. Schuyler, Lord Howe, Fritz, and Lieutenant Campbell were left

in the supper room.

It was then that young Alexander looked round and said, "It was the

name you spoke which affected my father so strangely--the fatal

name of Ticonderoga!"

"Fatal! how fatal?" asked Lord Howe quickly.

"You have not heard the strange story, then?"

"No; what story?"

"It concerns my father; it is the cause of his melancholy. When you

have heard it you will not perhaps wonder, though to you the

incident may seem incredible."

"I have learned that there are many things in this world which are

wonderful and mysterious, yet which it is folly to disbelieve,"

answered Howe. "Let us hear your story, Campbell. I would not have

spoken words to hurt your father could I have known."

"I am sure you would not; but hear the tale, and you will know why

that name sounds in his ears like a death knell.

"Long years ago it must have been when I was but a little child--my

father was sitting alone over the fire in our home at Inverawe; a

wild, strange place that I love as I love no other spot on earth.

He was in the great hall, and, suddenly there came a knocking at

the door, loud and imperative. He opened, and there stood a man

without, wild and dishevelled, who told how he had slain a man in a

fray, and was flying from his pursuers.

"'Give me help and shelter!' he implored; and my father drew him in

and closed the door, and promised to hide him. 'Swear on your dirk

not to give me up!' he implored; and my father swore, though with

him his word was ever his bond. He hid the fugitive in a secret

place, and hardly had he done so before there was another loud

knocking at the door.

"This time it was the pursuers, hot on the track of the murderer.

'He has slain your cousin Donald,' they told him. 'He cannot be far

away. We are hunting for him. Can you help us?' My father was in a

great strait; but he remembered his oath, and though he sent out

servants to help in the search, he would not give up to justice the

man who had trusted him."

"And he was right," said Lord Howe quickly; "I honour and respect

him for that."

"It may be so, yet it is against the traditions of our house and

race," answered Alexander gravely; "and that night my father woke

suddenly from a troubled dream to see the ghost of his murdered

kinsman standing at his bedside. The spectre spoke to him in urgent

tones:

"'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the

murderer!'

"Unable to sleep, my father rose, and went to the fugitive and told

him he could not shelter him longer. 'You swore on your dirk!'

replied the miserable man; and my father, admitting the oath not to

betray him, led him away in the darkness and hid him in a mountain

cave known to hardly any save himself.

"That night once more the spectre came and spoke the same words,

'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!'

The vision troubled my father greatly. At daybreak he went once

more to the cave; but the man was gone--whither he never knew. He

went home, and again upon the third night the ghostly figure stood

beside him; but this time he was less stern of voice and aspect.

"He spoke these words, 'Farewell, Inverawe; farewell, till we meet

at Ticonderoga.' Then it vanished, and he has never seen it since."

"Ticonderoga!" repeated Lord Howe, and looked steadily at

Alexander, who proceeded:

"That was the word. My father had never heard it before. The sound

of it was so strange that he wrote it down; and when I was a youth

of perhaps seventeen summers, and had become a companion to him, he

told me the whole story, and we pondered together as to what and

where Ticonderoga could be. Years had passed since he saw the

vision, and he had never heard the name from that day. I had not

heard it either--then."

The faces of the listeners were full of grave interest. The

strangeness of the coincidence struck them all.

"And then?" queried Howe, after a silence.

"Then came the news of this war, and some Highland regiments were

ordered off. My father and I were amongst those to go. We were long

in hearing what our destination was to be. We had landed upon these

shores before we heard that the expedition to which we were

attached was bound for Ticonderoga."

Again there was silence, which Mrs. Schuyler broke by asking

gently:

"And your father thinks that there is some doom connected with that

name?"

"He is convinced that be will meet his death there," replied

Alexander, "and I confess I fear the same myself."

Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Mrs. Schuyler said softly:

"It is a strange, weird story; yet it cannot but be true. No man

could guess at such a name. Ticonderoga, Ticonderoga. I wonder what

will be the end of that day!"

"And what matters the end if we do our duty to the last?" spoke

Lord Howe, lifting his bright young face and throwing back his head

with a gesture that his friends knew well. "A man can but die once.

For my part, I only ask to die sword in hand and face to the foe,

doing my duty to my country, my heart at peace with God. That is

the spirit with which we soldiers must go into battle. We are sent

there by our country; we fight for her. If need be we die for her.

Can we ask a nobler death? For myself I do not. Let it come to me

at Ticonderoga, or wherever Providence wills, I will not shrink or

fear. Give me only the power to die doing my duty, and I ask no

more."

There was a beautiful light in his great hazel eyes, a sweet smile

hovered round his lips. Fritz, looking at him, seemed to see

something in his face which he had scarcely noted before--a depth,

a serenity, a beauty quite apart from the dashing gallantry of look

and bearing which was his most salient characteristic.

Into the eyes of Mrs. Schuyler there had sprung sudden tears. She

went over to the young man and laid a hand upon his head.

"Thank God that our soldiers still go into battle in that spirit;

that they make their peace with Him before they draw sword upon

their fellow men. A soldier's life is a strange paradox; yet God,

who is the God of battles as well as Prince of Peace, knows and

understands. He will bless the righteous cause, though He may call

to rest many a gallant soldier, and still in death many an ardent

young heart. But however mysteriously He works, we are instruments

in His hands. Let us strive to be worthy of that honour, and then

we shall know that we are helping to bring nearer His kingdom upon

earth, which, when once set up, shall bring in a reign of peace,

where war shall be no more."

"Amen, with all my heart!" quoth Lord Howe, and there was a light

in his eyes which bespoke that, soldier though he was to his

fingertips, he was no stranger to the hope of the eternal peace

which the Lord alone can give.

Mrs. Schuyler was not a demonstrative woman in daily life; but when

her guest rose to say goodnight upon this last evening, she kissed

him as a mother might, and he kissed her back with words of tender

gratitude and affection.

And so the night fell upon the town of Albany--the night before the

march to Ticonderoga.

Chapter 4: Ticonderoga.

A joyous farewell to friends at Albany, with anticipation of a

speedy and victorious return thither; a rapid and well-arranged

march to Fort Edward and Lake George, where they were gladdened by

the sight of the hardy Rogers and the remnant of his gallant band,

embarked in whaleboats, and ready to lead the van or perform any

daring service asked of them; a cheerful embarking upon the lake in

the great multitude of boats and bateaux; bright sunshine overhead,

the sound of military music in their ears, flags waving, men

cheering and shouting--what expedition could have started under

happier and more joyous auspices?

There were regulars from England--the foremost being the

Fifty-fifth, commanded by Lord Howe. There were American and

Highland regiments, and the provincials from numbers of the

provinces, each in its own uniform and colours. The lake was alive

with above one thousand craft for the transport of this great army

with its heavy artillery, and Rogers declared that Ticonderoga was

as good as their own: for it had only provision to last eight or

nine days; and if not at once battered down by the enemy's guns, it

could easily be starved out by a judicious disposition of the

troops.

One night was spent camped halfway down the lake. Lord Howe, with

Stark and Rogers and Fritz for companions, lay upon his bearskin

overlooking Fritz's diagrams of the fort, taken in past days,

listening to what all the three men had to tell of the fortress,

both inside and out, and making many plans for the attack upon the

morrow.

General Abercromby was with the army; yet it was well known that

Lord Howe was the leading spirit, and to him it was that all the

men instinctively looked. It was he who upon the morrow, when they

had reached and passed the Narrows and were drawing near to the

fort, reconnoitred the landing place in whaleboats, drove off a

small party of French soldiers who were watching them, but were

unable to oppose them, and superintended the landing of the whole

army.

The lake here had narrowed down to the dimensions of a river, and

it made a considerable bend something like a horseshoe. If the

bridge had not been broken down, they could have marched to a point

much nearer to Ticonderoga upon a well-trodden road; but the bridge

being gone, it was necessary to march the army along the west bank

of this river-like waterway which connected Lake George with Lake

Champlain, for there were too many dangerous rapids for navigation

to be possible; and upon the tongue of land jutting out into Lake

Champlain, and washed by the waters of this river on its other

side, stood the fortress of Ticonderoga, their goal.

Rogers was their leader. He knew the forest well; yet even he found

it a somewhat difficult matter to pick his way through the dense

summer foliage. The columns following found the forest tracks

extraordinarily difficult to follow. They were many of them unused

to such rough walking, and fell into inevitable confusion.

Rogers, together with Lord Howe and some of his hardier soldiers

and the Rangers, pushed boldly on. Whilst they walked they talked

of what lay before them. Rogers told how Montcalm himself was

within the fort, and that his presence there inspired the soldiers

with great courage and confidence; because he was a fine soldier, a

very gallant gentleman, and had had considerable success in arms

ever since he arrived in Canada.

As the forest tracks grew more densely overgrown, Lord Howe paused

in his rapid walk beside Rogers.

"My men are growing puzzled by the forest," he said, "and indeed it

is small wonder, seeing that we ourselves scarce know where we are.

Go you on with the Rangers, Rogers, and I will return a short

distance and get my men into better order. I do not anticipate an

ambush; but there may be enemies lurking in the woods. We must not

be taken unawares. Push you on, and I will follow with my company

at a short distance."

"I will take a handful of men with me," answered Rogers, "and push

on to reconnoitre. Let the rest remain with you. They will

encourage and hearten up the regulars, who are new to this sort of

thing; and when I know more clearly our exact position, I will fall

back and report."

Fritz remained with Howe, whose men came marching up in a rather

confused and straggling fashion, but were only perplexed, not in

any wise disheartened, by the roughness of the road. When the

column had regained something like marching order, the word was

given to start, and Lord Howe with a bodyguard of Rangers marched

at the head.

They had proceeded like this for perhaps a mile or more, when there

was a quick stir in the thicket. Next moment the challenge rang

out:

"Qui vive?"

"Francais!" shouted back a Ranger, who had learned Rogers' trick of

puzzling his opponents by the use of French words.

But this time they were not deceived. A stern word of command was

given. A crack of rifles sounded out from the bushes; puffs of

smoke and flashes of fire were seen.

"Steady, men; load and fire!"

The command was given by Lord Howe. It was the last he ever spoke.

The wood rang with the crossfire of the foes who could not see each

other. Fritz had discharged his piece, and was loading again when

he saw Lord Howe suddenly throw up his hands and fall helplessly

forward.

He sprang to his side with a cry of dismay. He strove to hold him

up and support him to some place of safety, but could only lay him

down beneath a tree hard by, where a ring of Rangers instantly

formed around him, whilst the skirmish in the forest was hotly

maintained on both sides.

"He is shot through the heart!" cried Stark, in a lamentable voice,

as he hastily examined the wound; and indeed the shadow of death

had fallen upon the brave, bright, noble face of the young officer.

Just once the heavy lids lifted themselves. Lord Howe looked into

the faces of the two men bending over him, and a faint smile curved

his lips.

"Keep them steady," he just managed to whisper, and the next moment

his head fell back against Fritz's shoulder. He had passed into the

unknown land where the clamour of battle is no more heard.

It was a terrible blow, and consternation spread through the ranks

as it became known. Indeed, but for the Rangers, a panic and flight

would probably have followed. But Rogers, Stark, and Fritz were of

sterner stuff than the levies, and more seasoned than the bulk of

regular soldiers.

Rogers had returned instantly upon hearing the firing, and had

discharged a brisk volley upon the French as he dashed through

their ranks to regain his companions. Caught between two fires,

they were in no small peril, and made a dash for the riverbed; the

Rangers standing steady and driving them to their destruction,

whilst the ranks had time to recover themselves and maintain their

ground.

The rout of this body of French soldiers was complete, whilst the

English loss was small numerically; but the loss of Howe was

irreparable, and all heart and hope seemed taken out of the gallant

army which had started forth so full of hope. There was nothing now

to be done but to fall back upon the main army, with the sorrowful

tidings of their leader's death, and await the order of General

Abercromby as to the next move.

This was done, and the men were kept under arms all night, waiting

for orders which never came. Indecision and procrastination again

prevailed, and were again the undoing of the English enterprise.

Still there was no question but that the fort must be attacked, and

as the Rangers came in with the news that the French had broken up

and deserted a camp they had hitherto held at some sawmills on the

river, a little way from the fort, a detachment of soldiers was

sent to take possession of this place. This having been done, and a

bridge thrown over the river by an able officer of the name of

Bradstreet, the army was moved up, and encamped at this place prior

to the assault of the fort. Rogers and his Rangers had reconnoitred

the whole place, and were eager to tell their tale.

Fort Ticonderoga occupied a triangular promontory, washed upon two

sides by the waters of Lake Champlain and the river-like extremity

of Lake George. The landward approach was guarded by a strong

rampart of felled trees, which the soldiers had formed into a

breastwork and abattis which might almost be called musket-proof.

So at least Rogers and his men had judged. They had watched the

French at their task, and had good reason to know the solid

protection given to the men behind by a rampart of this sort.

He was therefore all eagerness for the cannon to be brought up from

the lake.

"The artillery will make short work of it, General," he said, in

his bluff, abrupt fashion. "It will come rattling about their

heads, and they must take to the walls behind, and these will soon

give way before a steady cannonade. Or if we take the cannon up to

yonder heights of Rattlesnake Hill, we can fling our round shot

within their breastwork from end to end, and drive the men back

like rabbits to their burrow; or we can plant a battery at the

narrow mouth of Lake Champlain, and cut off their supplies. With

the big guns we can beat them in half a dozen ways; but let our

first act be to bring them up, for muskets and rifles are of little

use against such a rampart as they have made, bristling with spikes

and living twigs and branches, which baffle assault as you might

scarce believe without a trial."

Rogers spoke with the assurance and freedom of a man used to

command and certain of his subject. He and Lord Howe had been on

terms of most friendly intimacy, and the young Brigadier had

learned much from the veteran Ranger, whose services had been of so

much value to the English. He would never have taken umbrage at

advice given by a subordinate. But General Abercromby was of a

different order, and he little liked Rogers' assured manner and

brusque, independent tone. He heard him to the end, but gave an

evasive reply, and sent out an engineer on his own account to

survey the French position, and bring him word what was his

opinion.

This worthy made his survey, and came back full of confidence.

"The rampart is but a hastily-constructed breastwork of felled

trees; it should be easily carried by assault," he reported, full

of careless confidence. "A good bayonet charge, resolutely

conducted, is all that is needed, and we shall be in the fort

before night."

The soldiers cheered aloud when they heard the news. They were

filled with valour and eagerness, in spite of the death of their

beloved leader. It seemed as though his spirit inspired them with

ardent desire to show what they could do; although generalship,

alas! had perished with the young Brigadier, who had fallen at such

an untimely moment.

The Rangers looked at one another with grim faces. They would not

speak a word to dishearten the troops; but they knew, far better

than the raw levies or the English regulars could do, the nature of

the obstruction to be encountered.

"A bayonet charge by soldiers full of valour is no light thing,"

said Pringle to the Ranger, as they stood in the evening light

talking together. "Resolute men have done wonders before now in

such a charge, and why not we tomorrow?"

"Have you seen the abattis?" asked Rogers, in his grim and brusque

fashion.

"No," answered Pringle; "I have only heard it described by those

who have."

"Come, then, and look at it before it be dark," was Rogers' reply;

and he, together with Stark, led Fritz and Pringle and Roche along

a narrow forest pathway which the Rangers were engaged in widening

and improving, ready for the morrow's march, until he was able to

show them, from a knoll of rising ground, the nature of the

fortification they were to attack upon the morrow.

The French had shown no small skill in the building of this

breastwork, which ran along a ridge of high ground behind the fort

itself, and commanded the approach towards it from the land side.

The whole forest in the immediate vicinity had been felled. It bore

the appearance of a tract of ground through which a cyclone has

whirled its way. Great numbers of the trees had been dragged up to

form the rampart, but there were hundreds of others, as well as

innumerable roots and stumps, lugs and heads, lying in confusion

all around; and Rogers, pointing towards the encumbered tract just

beneath and around the rampart, looked at Pringle and said:

"How do you think a bayonet charge is to be rushed over such ground

as that? And what good will our musketry fire be against those

tough wooden walls, directed upon a foe we cannot see, but who can

pick us off in security from behind their breastwork? For let me

tell you that there is great skill shown in its construction. On

the inside, I doubt not, they can approach close to their

loopholes, which you can detect all along, and take easy aim at us;

but on this side it is bristling with pointed stakes, twisted

boughs, and treetops so arranged as to baffle and hinder any

attempt at assault. As I told your General, his cannon could

shatter it in a few hours, if he would but bring them to bear. But

a rampart like that is practically bayonet and musket proof. It

will prove impregnable to assault."

Pringle and Roche exchanged glances. They had seen something of

fighting before this, but never warfare so strange.

"Would that Lord Howe were living!" exclaimed the younger officer.

"He would have heard reason; he would have been advised. But the

General--"

He paused, and a meaning gesture concluded the sentence. It was not

for them to speak against their commander; but he inspired no

confidence in his men, and it was plainly seen that he was about to

take a very ill-judged step.

It is the soldier's fate that he must not rebel or remonstrate or

argue; his duty is to obey orders and leave the rest. But that

night, as the army slept in the camp round the deserted sawmills,

there were many whose eyes never closed in slumber. Fritz saw the

veteran Campbell sitting in the moonlight, looking straight before

him with wide, unseeing eyes; and when the grey light of day broke

over the forest, his face was shadowed, as it seemed, by the

approach of death.

"I shall never see another sunrise," he said to Fritz, as the

latter walked up to him; "my span of life will be cut through here

at Ticonderoga."

Fritz made no reply. It seemed to him that many lives would be cut

short upon this fateful day. He wondered whether he should live to

see the shades of evening fall. He had no thought of quailing or

drawing back. He had cast in his lot with the army, and he meant to

fight his very best that day; but he realized the hopelessness of

the contest before them, and although, if the General could only be

aroused in time to a sense of his own blunder, and would at the

eleventh hour order up the cannon, and take those steps which might

ensure success, the tide of battle might soon be turned. Yet no man

felt any confidence in him as a leader, and it was only the

ignorant soldiers, unaware of what lay before them, who rose to

greet the coming day with hope and confidence in their hearts.

But it was something that they should start forth with so high a

courage. Even if they were going to their death, it was better they

should believe that they were marching forth to victory. They

cheered lustily as they received the order, which was to carry the

breastwork by a bayonet charge; and only the Rangers saw the grim

smile which crossed the face of Rogers as he heard that word given.

Yet he and his gallant band of Rangers were in the van. They did

not shrink from the task before them, although they knew better

than others the perils and difficulties by which it was beset. They

had widened the path; they led the way. There was no more confusion

in the line of march.

The General remained behind at the sawmills, to direct the

operations of the whole army, as there were other slighter

enterprises to be undertaken upon the same day, though the assault

of the protecting rampart was the chief one. News was to be brought

to him at short intervals of the course the fight was taking. It

was Rogers' great hope that he would soon be made aware of the

impossibility of the task he had set his soldiers, and would send

instant and urgent orders for the cannon to be brought up to the

aid of his foot soldiers.

Full of hope and confidence the columns pressed forward, till

shortly after midday they emerged from the shelter of the forest,

and saw before them the broken space of open ground, with its

encumbering mass of stumps and fallen timber, and behind that the

grim rampart, where all looked still as death. They formed into

line quickly and without confusion and then, with an enthusiastic

cheer, made a dash for the barrier.

The Rangers and light infantry in front began to fire as they

advanced; but the main body of soldiers held their bayonets in

position, and strove after an orderly advance. But over such ground

order was impossible. They had to clamber, to scramble, to cut

their way as best they could. The twigs and branches blinded them;

they fell over the knotted roots; they became disordered and

scattered, though their confidence remained unshaken.

Then suddenly, when they were half across the open space, came the

long crack and blaze from end to end of the rampart; smoke seemed

to gush and flash out from one extremity to the other. Sharp cries

of agony and dismay, shouts and curses, filled the air. The English

fell in dozens amid the fallen trees, and those behind rushed

forward over the bodies of their doomed companions.

It was in vain to try to carry the rampart by the bayonet. The

soldiers drew up and fired all along their line; but of what avail

was it to fire upon an enemy they could not see, whilst they

themselves were a target for the grapeshot and musketballs which

swept in a deadly cross fire through their ranks? But they would

not fall back. Headed by the Rangers, who made rapid way over the

rough and encumbered ground, they pressed on, undaunted by the hail

of iron about them, and inflamed to fury by the fall of their

comrades around them.

It was an awful scene. It was branded upon the memory of the

survivors in characters of fire.

Fritz kept in the foremost rank, unable to understand why he was

not shot down. He reached the rampart, and was halfway up, when he

was clutched by the hands of a man in front, who in his death agony

knew not what he did, and the two rolled into the ditch together.

For a moment all was suffocation and horror. Unwounded, but buried

and battered, with his musket torn from his grasp, Fritz struggled

out through the writhing heap of humanity, and saw that the head of

the column had fallen back for a breathing space, though with the

evident intention of re-forming and dashing again to the charge.

The firing from the rampart still continued; but Fritz made a

successful dash back to the lines, and reached them in safety. He

was known by this time as an experienced Ranger, and was taken

aside by Bradstreet, the officer in command of the light infantry

that with the Rangers headed the charge.

The gallant officer was wounded and breathless, and was seated upon

a fallen trunk.

"Neville," he said, "I know that you are fleet of foot and stout of

heart. I would have you return to the camp on the instant, with a

message for the General. Tell him how things are here, and that

this rampart is to the utmost as impregnable as Rogers warned us.

Our men are falling thick and fast, and although full of courage,

cannot do the impossible. Beg him to order the guns to be brought

up, for without them we are helpless against the enemy."

Fritz knew this right well, and took the message.

"We shall make another charge immediately," Bradstreet said in

conclusion. "We shall not fail to carry out our orders; but I have

little hope of success. We can do almost nothing against the

French, whilst they mow us down by hundreds. No men can hold on at

such odds for long. Go quickly, and bring us word again, for we are

like to be cut to pieces.

"You are not wounded yourself?"

"No; I have escaped as by a miracle. I will run the whole distance

and take the message. Would that the General had listened to

counsel before!"

Bradstreet made a gesture of assent, but said nothing. Fritz sped

through the forest, hot and breathless, yet straining every nerve

to reach his goal.

It was a blazing day where the shade of the forest was not found,

and this made the fighting all the harder. Fritz's heart was heavy

within him for the lives thrown away so needlessly. When he reached

the tent of the General, and was ushered into his presence, burning

words rushed to his lips, and it was only with an effort that he

commanded himself to speak calmly of the fight and deliver the

message with which he was charged.

General Abercromby listened and frowned, and looked about him as

though to take counsel with his officers. But the best of these

were away at the fight, and those with him were few and

insignificant and inexperienced.

"Surely a little resolution and vigour would suffice to carry an

insignificant breastwork, hastily thrown up only a few days ago,"

he said, unwilling to confess himself in the wrong. "I will order

up the Highland regiments to your aid. With their assistance you

can make another charge, and it will be strange if you cannot carry

all before you."

Fritz compressed his lips, and his heart sank.

"I will give you a line to Colonel Bradstreet. Tell him that

reinforcements are coming, and that another concerted attack must

be made. It will be time enough to talk of sending for the

artillery when we see the result of that."

A few lines were penned by the General and entrusted to Fritz, who

dashed back with burning heart to where the fight still raged so

fiercely. He heard the bagpipes of the Highlanders skirling behind

as he reached the opening in the forest. He knew that these brave

men could fight like tigers; but to what avail, he thought, were so

many gallant soldiers to be sent to their death?

The fighting in his absence had been hot and furious, but nothing

had been done to change the aspect of affairs. Intrepid men had

assaulted the rampart, and even leaped upon and over it, only to

meet their death upon the other side.

Once a white flag had been seen waving over the rampart, and for a

moment hope had sprung up that the enemy was about to surrender. The

firing for that brief space had been suspended, the English raising

their muskets over their heads and crying "Quarter!"--meaning that

they would show mercy to the foe; the French thinking that they were

coming to give themselves up as prisoners of war. The signal had

merely been waved by a young captain in defiance to the foe. He had

tied his handkerchief to his musket in his excitement, without any

intention to deceive. But the incident aroused a bitter feeling. The

English shouted out that the French were seeking to betray them, and

the fight was resumed with such fury that for a brief while the

rampart was in real danger of being taken, and the French General

was in considerable anxiety.

But the odds were too great. The gallant assailants were driven

back, and when Fritz arrived with his news there was again a slight

cessation in the vehemence of the attack.

Bradstreet eagerly snatched at the letter and opened it. Fritz's

face had told him something; the written words made assurance

doubly sure.

He tore the paper across, and set his foot upon it.

"We can die but once," he said briefly; "but it goes to my heart to

see these brave fellows led like sheep to the slaughter. England

will want to know the reason why when this story is told at home."

The Highlanders were soon upon the scene of action filled to the

brim with the stubborn fury with which they were wont to fight. At

their head marched their Major, the dark-faced Inverawe, his son

only a little behind.

The arrival of reinforcements put new heart into the gallant but

exhausted regiments which had led the attack; and now the

Highlanders were swarming about the foot of the rampart, seeking to

scale its bristling sides, often gaining the top, by using the

bodies of their slain countrymen as ladders, but only to be cut

down upon the other side.

The Major cheered on his men. The shadow was gone from his face

now. In the heat of the battle he had no thought left for himself.

His kinsmen and clansmen were about him. He was ever in the van.

One young chieftain with some twenty followers was on the top of

the rampart, hacking and hewing at those behind, as if possessed of

superhuman strength. The Highlanders, with their strange cries and

yells, pressed ever on and on. But the raking fire from behind the

abattis swept their ranks, mowed them down, and strewed the ground

with dying and dead.

Like a rock stood Campbell of Inverawe, his eyes everywhere,

directing, encouraging, cheering on his men, who needed not his

words to inspire them with unquenchable fury.

Suddenly his tall figure swayed forward. Without so much as a cry

he fell. There was a rush towards him of his own clansmen. They

lifted him, and bore him from the scene of action. It was the end

of the assault. The Highlanders who had scaled the rampart had all

been bayoneted within. Nearly two thousand men, wounded or dead,

lay in that terrible clearing. It was hopeless to fight longer. All

that man could do had been done. The recall was sounded, and the

brave troops, given over to death and disaster by the incompetence

of one man, were led back to the camp exhausted and despairing; the

Rangers still doing good service in carrying off the wounded, and

keeping up a steady fire whilst this task was being proceeded with.

General Abercromby's terror at the result of the day's work was as

pitiful as his mismanagement had been. There was no talk now of

retrieving past blunders; there was nothing but a general rout--a

retreat upon Fort Edward as fast as boats could take them. One

blunder was capped by another. Ticonderoga was left to the French,

when it might have been an easy prey to the English. The day of

disaster was not yet ended, though away in the east the star of

hope was rising.

It was at Fort Edward that the wounded laird of Inverawe breathed

his last. His wound had been mortal, and he was barely living when

they landed him on the banks of Lake George.

"Donald, you are avenged!" he said once, a few minutes before his

death. "We have met at Ticonderoga!"

Book 4: Wolfe.

Chapter 1: A Soldier At Home.

He lay upon a couch beneath the shade of a drooping lime tree,

where flickering lights and shadows played upon his tall, slight

figure and pale, quaint face. There was nothing martial in the

aspect of this young man, invalided home from active service on the

Continent, where the war was fiercely raging between the European

powers. He had a very white skin, and his hair was fair, with a

distinct shade of red in it. It was cut short in front, and lightly

powdered when the young man was in full dress, and behind it was

tied in the queue so universally worn.

He was quite young still, barely thirty years old; yet he had seen

years of active service in the army, and had achieved no small

distinction for intrepidity and cool daring. He had won the notice

already of the man now at the helm of state, whose eyes were

anxiously fixed upon any rising soldier of promise, ready to avail

himself of the services of such to sustain England's honour and

prestige both on land and sea.

James Wolfe was the son of a soldier, and had been brought up to

the profession of arms almost as a matter of course. Yet he seemed

a man little cut out for the life of the camp; for he suffered from

almost chronic ill-health, and was often in sore pain of body even

though the indomitable spirit was never quenched within him. His

face bore the look of resolution and self mastery which is often to

be seen in those who have been through keen physical suffering.

There were lines there which told of weary days and nights of pain;

but there was an unquenchable light in the eyes that invariably

struck those who came into contact with the young officer. He had

already learned the secret of imparting to his men the enthusiasm

which was kindled in his own breast; and there was not a man in his

company but would gladly have laid down his life in his service, if

he had been called upon to do so.

Today, however, there was nothing of the soldier and leader of

forlorn hope in his aspect. He lay back upon his couch with a

dreamy abstraction in his gaze. The gambols of his canine

favourites passed unnoticed by him. He had been reading news that

stirred him deeply, and he had fallen into a meditation.

The news sheet contained a brief and hasty account of the loss of

Fort William Henry, with a hint respecting the massacre which had

followed. No particulars were as yet forthcoming. This was but the

voice of rumour. But the paragraph, vague as it was, had been

sufficient to arouse strange feelings within the young officer. He

had let the paper fall now, and was turning things over in his own

mind.

One of the articles had said how needful it was becoming for

England to awake from her lethargy, and send substantial aid to her

colonies, unless she desired to see them annihilated by the

aggressions of France. National feeling against that proud foe was

beginning to rise high. The Continental war had quickened it, and

Wolfe, who had served against the armies of France in many a

closely-contested battle, felt his pulses tingling at the recital

of her successes against England's infant colonies.

Men were wanted for the service, the paper had said--men of courage

and proved valour. We had had too many bunglers already out there;

it was now time that men of a different stamp should be

forthcoming.

In his ears there seemed beaten the sound of a question and its

reply. Where had he heard those words, and when?

"Who will go up to battle against this proud foe?"

"Here am I; send me."

The light leaped into his eyes; his long, thin hands clasped and

unclasped themselves as stirring thoughts swept over him. He knew

that there was a great struggle impending between England and her

French rival upon the other side of the world. Hitherto his

battlefields had been in Europe, but a voice from far away seemed

to be calling to him in urgent accents. Away in the West, English

subjects were being harried and killed, driven like helpless sheep

to slaughter. How long was it to continue? Would the mother country

be content that her provinces should be first contracted and then

slowly strangled by the chains imposed by the boundless ambition of

France? Never, never, never! The young officer spoke the words

aloud, half raising himself from his couch as he did so.

There was a rising man now at the helm of the state; he had not the

full powers that many desired to see. He had to work hand in hand

with a colleague of known incapacity. Yet the voice of the nation

was beginning to make itself heard. England was growing enraged

against a minister under whose rule so many grievous blunders had

been committed. Newcastle still retained his position of foremost

of the King's advisers, but Pitt now stood at his side; and it was

understood that the younger statesman was to take the real command

of the ship of state, whilst his elder associate confined himself

to those matters in which he could not well do harm.

"If only it had come three years earlier," breathed Wolfe--"before

we had suffered such loss and disgrace!"

The young soldier knew that an expedition had been fitted out a few

months ago for Louisbourg in Acadia--that French fortress of Cape

Breton which alone had been able to resist the English arms. The

capture of Louisbourg had been the one thing determined upon by the

tardy government for the relief of their colonies in the Western

world. It had been surmised that this action on their part would

draw away the French troops from the frontier, and thus relieve the

colonists from any pressing anxiety; but although there had been

little definite news from the fleet so far, it began to be reared

that the Admirals had mismanaged matters, and that no blow would be

struck this season.

September had come--a hot, sunny, summer-like month in England. But

Wolfe had heard something of the rock-bound coasts of Cape Breton,

and he was well aware that if the furious equinoctial gales should

once threaten the English fleet, no Admiral would be able to

attempt an action by sea, or even the landing of the troops.

Young Wolfe had one friend out With the expedition, and from him he

had received a letter only a short time ago, telling him of all the

delays and procrastinations which were already beginning to render

abortive a well-planned scheme. It made his blood boil in his veins

to think how the incapacity of those in command doomed the hopes of

so many to such bitter disappointment, and lowered the prestige of

England in the eyes of the whole civilized world.

"If Pitt could but have a free hand, things would be different!"

exclaimed Wolfe again, speaking aloud, as is the fashion of lonely

men. "But the King is beginning to value and appreciate him, and

the nation is learning confidence. The time will come--yes, the

time will come! Heaven send that I live to see the day, and have a

hand in the glorious work!"

As he spoke these words he observed a certain excitement amongst

the dogs playing around him, and guessed that their quick ears had

caught sounds of an arrival of some sort. In a few minutes' time

his servant approached him, bearing a letter which he handed to his

master, who opened it and cast his eyes over its contents.

"Are the two gentlemen here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; they asked that the letter might be given to you, and

that they might wait until you had read it."

"Then show them out to me here, and bring us coffee," said Wolfe,

whose face had put on a look of considerable eagerness and

animation; and as the servant retired towards the house, the

soldier remained looking after him, as though wistful to catch the

first glimpse of the expected guests.

In a few minutes they appeared in the wake of the servant. Both

were quietly dressed in sober riding suits; but there the

resemblance ended. One of the pair was a very tall man, with fair

hair cut short all round his head, and a pair of large blue-grey

eyes that had a trick of seeming to look through and beyond the

objects upon which they were bent, and a thoroughly English type of

feature; whilst his companion was more slightly built, albeit a man

of fine proportions, too, with a darker face, more chiselled

features, and hair dressed according to the prevailing mode,

lightly powdered in front, and tied in a queue behind.

Wolfe rose slowly to his feet, his brow slightly contracting with

the effort. Upon his face there was a very attractive smile, and he

held out his hand in turn to the two newcomers.

"You are very welcome, gentlemen--more welcome than I can say. I am

grateful to my friend Sir Charles for giving me this opportunity of

making your acquaintance. It has been my great wish to speak face

to face with men who have lived in that great land whither all eyes

are now turning. Be seated, I pray you, gentlemen, and tell me

which of you is Mr. Julia Dautray, and which Mr. Humphrey Angell."

"My name is Dautray," answered the dark-eyed man. "We have

travelled to England together, my friend and I, but have also been

in France, to visit some of those there still bearing my name,

although my immediate forefathers have lived and died in the lands

of the far West. We have met with much kindness in this country,

and have some time since accomplished the mission on which we were

dispatched. Our thoughts are turning once more towards the land of

our birth. Had we not been in France at the time, we would gladly

have accompanied the expedition which set sail for Louisbourg not

long since."

"I cannot regret that you failed to do so," answered Wolfe, in his

winning way, "since it has brought me the pleasure of this visit. I

trust, gentlemen, that you will honour me by being my guests for a

few days at least. There is very much that I desire to learn about

the lands from which you come. My friend Sir Charles speaks as

though you were wanderers upon the face of the earth. If that be

so, I may hope that you will stay your wanderings meantime, and

make my home yours for a while."

"You are very kind, Captain Wolfe," said Julian gratefully; "if it

be not trespassing too far upon your hospitality, we should be glad

and grateful to accept it."

"The honour will be mine," said Wolfe; "I have long desired to know

more of that world beyond the seas. Hitherto I have seen nothing

save my own country, and a few of those which lie nearest to it.

But I have the feeling within me that the time is coming when I

shall be sent farther afield. Men will be needed for the strife

which must soon be waged on the far side of the Atlantic, and it

may be that I shall be chosen as one of those who will go thither."

"That is what Sir Charles said when he gave us this letter for

you," said Julian. "He said that Mr. Pitt had named you once or

twice as a rising officer, likely to be chosen for service there.

That is why Sir Charles thought that a visit from us would be

welcome. I do not know whether we can give you any news which you

have not heard already; but we can at least answer such questions

as to the country and its life as may be interesting to you, though

it is now two years since we sailed from its shores."

Into Wolfe's eyes there had leaped a bright light.

"Spoke Sir Charles such words of me?" he said eagerly. "Has Mr.

Pitt named me as likely for this service?"

"So it was told us," answered Julian. "We came to England in the

early spring of last year, with letters and urgent appeals to

friends in England from their kinfolk beyond the sea. We went from

place to place, as our directions were, and saw many men and heard

much hot discussion; but it seemed hard to get a hearing in high

places, and for a while we thought we had had our journey in vain.

Nevertheless they would not let us go. One and another would keep

us, hoping to gain introduction to some influential man, in whose

ears we could tell our tale. And so matters went on, and we were

passed from place to place, always well treated and well cared for.

In the spring we went to France, though we were warned of danger,

because of the war. But we met with no hurt. Humphrey passed as my

servant, and I have French blood in my veins, and can speak the

language as one born there. Nor did we go to any large centres, but

contented ourselves with the remote spots, where I found kinsfolk

of mine own name living still. And we reached England again only

two months ago."

"And then?"

"There was more excitement then. The fleet had sailed for

Louisbourg; men's hearts were stirred within them. Tales of fresh

atrocities along the border had reached home. Anger against France

was stirred up by the war. It was then we were brought before Sir

Charles Graham, and told our tale to him. He is the friend of Mr.

Pitt, and he came back to us many times to learn more of what we

had to tell of the difficulties of the provinces, and of the apathy

that prevailed there, even though terrible things Were passing

daily close by.

"It was he who at last bid us go to you. He said you were his

friend, and would make us welcome for his sake and ours. And when

he gave us this letter, he told us the words of Mr. Pitt respecting

you."

"And have you other news besides?" asked Wolfe eagerly. "When left

you London? And is it yet known there whether this rumour of fresh

disaster is true? See, there is the Western news sheet; it speaks

of a disquieting rumour as to the fall of Fort William Henry, our

outpost on Lake George. Have fresh tidings been received? for if

that place fall, we are in evil case indeed."

Julian gravely shook his head.

"The rumour is all too true. Had you not heard? A fast-sailing

vessel has brought it to Southampton--the evil tidings of disaster

and death. The fort held out bravely through a terrible cannonade;

but no relief was sent, and the walls were battered down. There was

nothing for it but surrender. The garrison obtained honourable

terms; but the French either could not or would not restrain their

Indian allies. Surrender was followed by a brutal massacre of the

hapless soldiers and their wives and children. It is horrible to

read the story of the atrocities committed. We have seen Indians at

their hideous work. We know, as you in this land never can do, what

it is like."

Wolfe's eyes flashed fire.

"A surrendered garrison massacred! and the French stood by and

suffered it!"

"The account is confused. Some say they did try without avail; some

that they were callous and indifferent; some that they did much to

avert the horrors, and saved large numbers of victims out of their

clutches. But they did not succeed in stopping an awful loss of

life. The pages of history will be stained dark when the story of

that day is written!"

"Ay, truly!" cried Humphrey, in his deep, resonant voice, speaking

for the first time; "the page of history should be written in

characters of blood and fire. I have seen the work of those savage

fiends. I have seen, and I shall remember to the last day of my

life!"

"Tell me," said Wolfe, looking straight at the stalwart youth,

whose lips had slightly drawn themselves back, showing the firm

line of the white teeth beneath.

Humphrey had told his tale many times during the past months. He

told it to Wolfe that day--told it with a curious graphic power,

considering that his words were few, and that his manner was

perfectly quiet.

A red flush mounted into Wolfe's face, and died away again. He drew

his breath through, his teeth with a slightly whistling sound. With

him this was a sign of keen emotion.

"You saw all that?"

"With my own eyes. I am telling no tale of hearsay. And men have

tales yet more horrid to tell--tales to which a man may scarce

listen for the horror and the shame. This is the way the Indians

serve the subjects of the English crown at the bidding of the

servants of France!"

Wolfe raised his right hand, and let it slowly drop again.

"May Heaven give to me the grace," he said, in a voice that

vibrated with tense feeling, "to go forth to the succour of my

countrymen there--to fight and to avenge!"

After that there was silence for a while, and the servant came and

brought coffee, and took orders for the entertainment and lodging

of the guests. When he had gone Wolfe was calm again, and listened

with keen interest to the story they had to tell of their arrival

in Pennsylvania, and of the extraordinary apathy of the colonists

in the eastern towns, and the difficulty of arousing them to any

concerted action with their own countrymen in the neighbouring

provinces, even for the common defence.

Wolfe knew something of that, and of the causes at work to bring

about such a result. He talked with more comprehension and insight

as to the state of infant colonies, partially self-governed and

self-dependent, struggling out of leading strings, and intent upon

growing to man's estate, than anybody had hitherto done.

"We shall never have a second Canada out there such as France has

won--a country wholly dependent upon the one at home, looking

always to her for government, help, care, money. No, no; the spirit

of those who went forth from England was utterly different. They

are English subjects still, but they want to rule themselves after

their own way. They will never be helpless and dependent; they will

be more like to shake our yoke from off their necks when they

arrive at man's estate. But what matter if they do? We shall be

brothers, even though the sea roll between them. The parent country

has sent them forth, and must protect them till they are able to

protect themselves, even as the birds and the beasts of the fields

defend their young. After that we shall see. But for my part I

prefer that struggling spirit of independence and desire after

self-government. It can be carried too far; but it shows life,

energy, youth, and strength. If Canada were not bound hand and foot

to the throne of the French tyrant, she would be a more formidable

foe to tackle than she can show herself now."

"Yet she has done us grievous hurt. We seem able to make no headway

against her, in spite of our best efforts."

"Let us see what better efforts we can make then," cried Wolfe,

with eager eyes. "Best! why, man, we have done nothing but

procrastinate and blunder, till my ears tingle with shame as I read

the story! But we are awakening at last, and we have a man to look

to who is no blunderer. The tide will turn ere long, you will see;

and when it does, may I be there to see and to bear my share!"

Julian looked at the gaunt, prostrate form of the soldier, and said

gravely:

"But you are surely in no fit state for military service?"

Wolfe threw back his head with a little gesture of impatience, and

then smiled brightly.

"This carcass of mine has been a source of trouble and pain to me

from my boyhood, and there come moments when I must needs give it a

little rest. But yet I have found that it can carry me through the

necessary fatigues with a vigour I had scarcely expected of it. It

is being patched up again after a hard campaign; and now that the

summer has closed, nothing can be set afoot till the spring comes.

By that time I shall be fit for service once more, you will see. I

am taking the waters of Bath with sedulous care. They have done

much for me as it is. Soon I trust to be hale and sound once more."

"Have you been wounded, sir?"

"Many times, but not seriously; only that everything tells when one

is afflicted by such a rickety body as this," and the young officer

smiled his peculiarly brilliant smile, which made the chief charm

of his pale, unusual face. "I got both a wound and a severe strain

in my last campaign, which has bothered me ever since, and still

keeps me to my couch the greater part of the day. But rheumatism is

my chronic foe; it follows me wherever I go, lying in wait to

pounce upon me, and hold me a cripple in its red-hot iron hand.

That is the trouble of my life on the march. It is so often all but

impossible to get through the day's work, and yet it is wonderful

how the foe can be held at bay when some task has to be done

whether or not.

"But a truce to such talk! A soldier has other things to think of

than aching joints and weary bones. A man can but once die for his

country, and that is all I ask to do. That mine will not he a long

life I feel a certain assurance. All I ask is the power to serve my

country as long as I am able, and to die for her, sword in hand,

when the hour has come."

The eyes kindled and the smile flashed forth. Julian and Humphrey

looked into the face of the man whom they had heard described as

one of the most promising and intrepid young officers of the

English army, and felt a thrill of admiration run through them. The

frame was so frail and weak and helpless; but the indomitable

spirit seemed as though it would be able to bear its master through

any and every peril which duty might bid him face.

They had consented to be his guests for a few days; but it had not

occurred to them that this visit would be prolonged to any great

length, and yet thus it came about.

Colonel Wolfe and his wife, the mother of whom the young soldier

often spoke in tender and loving terms, were detained from

rejoining their son, as they had purposed doing before the winter

came. Colonel Wolfe had a property of his own in Kent, and his

presence was wanted there. The son was compelled to remain in the

neighbourhood of Bath for the sake of his shattered health. They

had intended all spending the winter there together in the pleasant

house they had taken; but this soon became impossible, and it was

then that Wolfe said to his new friends, with that quaint look of

appeal in his eyes which they had come to know by this time:

"Could you two be persuaded to take pity upon a capricious and

whimsical sick man, and be his companions through the winter

months? Then with the spring, when we know what is to be done for

the succour of our comrades in the West, we will make shift to go

forth to their assistance. If you will stay with me till then, I

will promise you shall not lack fitting equipment to follow the

army when it sails hence."

There was nothing the two companions desired more by that time than

to remain with Wolfe, the charm of whose personality had by that

time quite fascinated them. They felt almost like brothers already.

It was upon Humphrey's strong arm that Wolfe would take his daily

walk into the town for the needful baths or water drinkings. It was

Julian who read to him the news of the day, and they all discussed

it eagerly together. Moreover, he saw to the drilling and training

of these two fine men with the keenest interest and enthusiasm.

They had the making in them of excellent soldiers, and showed an

aptitude which delighted him for all sorts of exercises and feats

of arms.

The war fever permeated the whole country by that time, and

training and drilling were going on all around. It was easy for the

travellers to pick up all that was needful to them of comprehension

as to military terms and commands. Hours were spent by themselves

and Wolfe over books and maps in the library, whilst he fought over

again with them campaign after campaign--those where he had served,

and those before his time with which he had close acquaintance; and

they entered more and more into the spirit of martial exercise,

learning to comprehend military tactics and the art of war as they

had never done before.

Meantime the news from the Western world was all bad. The attempt

upon Louisbourg had been abortive, owing to the tardiness of the

English Admiral, of London the Governor out there, and the early

storms which had obliged the fleet to retire even when it had

mustered for the attack.

"It is shameful!" cried Wolfe with flashing eyes, as the news was

made known; "England will become the laughingstock of the whole

world! Fort Oswego lost, William Henry lost, and its garrison

massacred! Louisbourg left to the French, without a blow being

struck! Shame upon us! shame upon us! We should blush for our tardy

procrastination. But mark my word, this will be the last such

blunder! Pitt will take the reins in his own grasp. We shall see a

change now."

"I trust so," said Humphrey grimly; "it is time indeed. I know what

these attacks against Louisbourg will mean for those along the

frontier--death, disaster, more Indian raids, less power of

protection. The Governor will draw off the levies which might come

to their assistance for the work at Louisbourg. The French will

hound on the Indians to ravage more and more. We shall hear fresh

tales of horror there before the end comes."

"Which we will avenge!" spoke Wolfe, between his shut teeth. "It

shall not always be said of England that she slept whilst her

subjects died!"

With the turn of the year active preparations began to be

discussed, and Wolfe to receive letters from headquarters. All was

now excitement in that household, for there was no doubt that

England's great minister was going to take active measures, and

that the day of tardy blundering was to be brought to an end.

Wolfe was found one day in a state of keen excitement.

"I have heard from Mr. Pitt myself!" he cried, waving the paper

over his head. "He has taken the great resolve, not only to check

the aggressions of France upon the border, but to sweep her out

from the Western world, till she can find no place for herself

there! That is the spirit I delight in; that is the task I long to

aid in; that is the one and only thing to do. Leave her neither

root nor branch in the world of the West! If we do, she will be a

thorn in our side, a upas tree poisoning the air. Let Canada be

ours once for all, and we have no more to fear!"

Humphrey and Julian exchanged glances of amaze. Such a scheme as

this seemed to smack of madness.

"You think it cannot be done, my friends? England has done greater

feats before."

"But there is Quebec," said Julian gravely; "I have heard that it

is a fortress absolutely impregnable. And Quebec is the key of

Canada."

"I know it," answered Wolfe, with a light in his eyes, "I know it

well. I have seen drawings; I have heard descriptions of it. That

it will be a nut hard to crack I do not doubt. But yet--but

yet--ah, well, we may not boast of what we will do in the future.

Let it suffice us first to take Louisbourg from the foe. But that

once done, I shall know no rest, day or night, till I stand as

victor at the walls of Quebec!"