An hour after getting this good letter Gabord came again, and with him
breakfast--a word which I had almost dropped from my language. True, it
was only in a dungeon, on a pair of stools, by the light of a torch, but
how I relished it!--a bottle of good wine, a piece of broiled fish, the
half of a fowl, and some tender vegetables.
When Gabord came for me with two soldiers, an hour later--I say an hour,
but I only guess so, for I had no way of noting time--I was ready for
new cares, and to see the world again. Before the others Gabord was the
rough, almost brutal soldier, and soon I knew that I was to be driven
out upon the St. Foye Road and on into the town. My arms were well
fastened down, and I was tied about till I must have looked like a bale
of living goods of no great value. Indeed, my clothes were by no means
handsome, and save for my well-shaven face and clean handkerchief I was
an ill-favoured spectacle; but I tried to bear my shoulders up as we
marched through dark reeking corridors, and presently came suddenly into
well-lighted passages.
I had to pause, for the light blinded my eyes, and they hurt me
horribly, so delicate were the nerves. For some minutes I stood there,
my guards stolidly waiting, Gabord muttering a little and stamping upon
the floor as if in anger, though I knew he was merely playing a small
part to deceive his comrades. The pain in my eyes grew less, and, though
they kept filling with moisture from the violence of the light, I soon
could see without distress.
I was led into the yard of the citadel, where was drawn up a company of
soldiers. Gabord bade me stand still, and advanced towards the officers’
quarters. I asked him if I might not walk to the ramparts and view the
scene. He gruffly assented, bidding the men watch me closely, and I
walked over to a point where, standing three hundred feet above the
noble river, I could look out upon its sweet expanse, across to the
Levis shore, with its serried legions of trees behind, and its
bold settlement in front upon the Heights. There, eastward lay the
well-wooded Island of Orleans, and over all the clear sun and sky,
enlivened by a crisp and cheering air. Snow had fallen, but none now lay
upon the ground, and I saw a rare and winning earth. I stood absorbed. I
was recalling that first day that I remember in my life, when at Balmore
my grandfather made prophecies upon me, and for the first time I was
conscious of the world.
As I stood lost to everything about me, I heard Doltaire’s voice
behind, and presently he said over my shoulder, “To wish Captain Moray a
good-morning were superfluous!”
I smiled at him: the pleasure of that scene had given me an impulse
towards good nature even with my enemies.
“The best I ever had,” I answered quietly.
“Contrasts are life’s delights,” he said. “You should thank us. You have
your best day because of our worst dungeon.”
“But my thanks shall not be in words; you shall have the same courtesy
at our hands one day.”
“I had the Bastile for a year,” he rejoined, calling up a squad of
men with his finger as he spoke. “I have had my best day. Two would be
monotony. You think your English will take this some time?” he asked,
waving a finger towards the citadel. “It will need good play to pluck
that ribbon from its place.” He glanced up, as he spoke, at the white
flag with its golden lilies.
“So much the better sport,” I answered. “We will have the ribbon and its
heritage.”
“You yourself shall furnish evidence to-day. Gabord here will see you
temptingly disposed--the wild bull led peaceably by the nose!”
“But one day I will twist your nose, Monsieur Doltaire.”
“That is fair enough, if rude,” he responded. “When your turn comes,
you twist and I endure. You shall be nourished well like me, and I shall
look a battered hulk like you. But I shall never be the fool that you
are. If I had a way to slip the leash, I’d slip it. You are a dolt.” He
was touching upon the letters again.
“I weigh it all,” said I. “I am no fool--anything else you will.”
“You’ll be nothing soon, I fear--which is a pity.”
What more he might have said I do not know, but there now appeared in
the yard a tall, reverend old gentleman, in the costume of the coureur
de bois, though his belt was richly chased, and he wore an order on
his breast. There was something more refined than powerful in his
appearance, but he had a keen, kindly eye, and a manner unmistakably
superior. His dress was a little barbarous, unlike Doltaire’s splendid
white uniform, set off with violet and gold, the lace of a fine
handkerchief sticking from his belt, and a gold-handled sword at his
side; but the manner of both was distinguished.
Seeing Doltaire, he came forward and they embraced. Then he turned
towards me, and as they walked off a little distance I could see that
he was curious concerning me. Presently he raised his hand, and, as if
something had excited him, said, “No, no, no; hang him and have done
with it, but I’ll have nothing to do with it--not a thing. ‘Tis enough
for me to rule at--”
I could hear no further, but I was now sure that he was some one of note
who had retired from any share in state affairs. He and Doltaire then
moved on to the doors of the citadel, and, pausing there, Doltaire
turned round and made a motion of his hand to Gabord. I was at once
surrounded by the squad of men, and the order to march was given. A drum
in front of me began to play a well-known derisive air of the French
army, The Fox and the Wolf.
We came out on the St. Foye Road and down towards the Chateau St. Louis,
between crowds of shouting people who beat drums, kettles, pans, and
made all manner of mocking noises. It was meant not only against myself,
but against the British people. The women were not behind the men in
violence; from them at first came handfuls of gravel and dust which
struck me in the face; but Gabord put a stop to that.
It was a shameful ordeal, which might have vexed me sorely if I had not
had greater trials and expected worse. Now and again appeared a face I
knew--some lady who turned her head away, or some gentleman who watched
me curiously, but made no sign.
When we came to the Chateau, I looked up as if casually, and there
in the little round window I saw Alixe’s face--for an instant only. I
stopped in my tracks, was prodded by a soldier from behind, and I then
stepped on. Entering, we were taken to the rear of the building, where,
in an open courtyard, were a company of soldiers, some seats, and a
table. On my right was the St. Lawrence swelling on its course, hundreds
of feet beneath, little boats passing hither and thither on its flood.
We were waiting about half an hour, the noises of the clamoring crowd
coming to us, as they carried me aloft in effigy, and, burning me at the
cliff edge, fired guns and threw stones at me, till, rags, ashes, and
flame, I was tumbled into the river far below. At last, from the Chateau
came the Marquis de Vaudreuil, Bigot, and a number of officers. The
Governor looked gravely at me, but did not bow; Bigot gave me a sneering
smile, eying me curiously the while, and (I could feel) remarking on my
poor appearance to Cournal beside him--Cournal, who winked at his wife’s
dishonour for the favour of her lover, who gave him means for public
robbery.
Presently the Governor was seated, and he said, looking round, “Monsieur
Doltaire--he is not here?”
Bigot shook his head, and answered, “No doubt he is detained at the
citadel.”
“And the Seigneur Duvarney?” the Governor added.
At that moment the Governor’s secretary handed him a letter. The
Governor opened it. “Listen,” said he. He read to the effect that the
Seigneur Duvarney felt he was hardly fitted to be a just judge in this
case, remembering the conflict between his son and the notorious Captain
Moray. And from another standpoint, though the prisoner merited any fate
reserved for him, if guilty of spying, he could not forget that his
life had been saved by this British captain--an obligation which,
unfortunately, he could neither repay nor wipe out. After much
thought, he must disobey the Governor’s summons, and he prayed that his
Excellency would grant his consideration thereupon.
I saw the Governor frown, but he made no remark, while Bigot said
something in his ear which did not improve his humour, for he replied
curtly, and turned to his secretary. “We must have two gentlemen more,”
he said.
At that moment Doltaire entered with the old gentleman of whom I have
written. The Governor instantly brightened, and gave the stranger a warm
greeting, calling him his “dear Chevalier;” and, after a deal of urging,
the Chevalier de la Darante was seated as one of my judges: which did
not at all displease me, for I liked his face.
I do not need to dwell upon the trial here. I have set down the facts
before. I had no counsel and no witnesses. There seemed no reason why
the trial should have dragged on all day, for I soon saw it was intended
to find me guilty. Yet I was surprised to see how Doltaire brought up a
point here and a question there in my favour, which served to lengthen
out the trial; and all the time he sat near the Chevalier de la Darante,
now and again talking with him.
It was late evening before the trial came to a close. The one point to
be established was that the letters taken from General Braddock were
mine, and that I had made the plans while a hostage. I acknowledged
nothing, and would not do so unless I was allowed to speak freely. This
was not permitted until just before I was sentenced.
Then Doltaire’s look was fixed on me, and I knew he waited to see if
I would divulge the matter private between us. However, I stood by my
compact with him. Besides, it could not serve me to speak of it here, or
use it as an argument, and it would only hasten an end which I felt he
could prevent if he chose.
So when I was asked if I had aught to say, I pleaded only that they had
not kept the Articles of War signed at Fort Necessity, which provided I
should be free within two months and a half--that is, when prisoners in
our hands should be delivered up to them, as they were. They had broken
their bond, though we had fulfilled ours, and I held myself justified in
doing what I had done for our cause and for my own life.
I was not heard patiently, though I could see that the Governor and
the Chevalier were impressed; but Bigot instantly urged the case hotly
against me, and the end came very soon. It was now dark; a single light
had been brought and placed beside the Governor, while a soldier held a
torch at a distance. Suddenly there was a silence; then, in response to
a signal, the sharp ringing of a hundred bayonets as they were drawn
and fastened to the muskets, and I could see them gleaming in the feeble
torchlight. Presently, out of the stillness, the Governor’s voice was
heard condemning me to death by hanging, thirty days hence, at sunrise.
Silence fell again instantly, and then a thing occurred which sent a
thrill through us all. From the dark balcony above us came a voice,
weird, high, and wailing:
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! He is guilty, and shall die! Francois Bigot
shall die!”
The voice was Mathilde’s, and I saw Doltaire shrug a shoulder and look
with malicious amusement at the Intendant. Bigot himself sat pale and
furious. “Discover the intruder,” he said to Gabord, who was standing
near, “and have--him--jailed.”
But the Governor interfered. “It is some drunken creature,” he urged
quietly. “Take no account of it.”