That night, at nine o’clock, the Terror of France, catching the flow of
the tide, with one sail set and a gentle wind, left the fleet, and came
slowly up the river, under the batteries of the town. In the gloom we
passed lazily on with the flow of the tide, unquestioned, soon leaving
the citadel behind, and ere long came softly to that point called
Anse du Foulon, above which Sillery stood. The shore could not be seen
distinctly, but I knew by a perfect instinct the cleft in the hillside
where was the path leading up the mountain. I bade Clark come up the
river again two nights hence to watch for my signal, which was there
agreed upon. If I did not come, then, with General Wolfe’s consent,
he must show the General this path up the mountain. He swore that all
should be as I wished; and indeed you would have thought that he and his
Terror of France were to level Quebec to the water’s edge.
I stole softly to the shore in a boat, which I drew up among the bushes,
hiding it as well as I could in the dark, and then, feeling for my
pistols and my knife, I crept upwards, coming presently to the passage
in the mountain. I toiled on to the summit without a sound of alarm from
above. Pushing forward, a light flashed from the windmill, and a man,
and then two men, appeared in the open door. One of them was Captain
Lancy, whom I had very good reason to remember. The last time I saw
him was that famous morning when he would have had me shot five minutes
before the appointed hour, rather than endure the cold and be kept from
his breakfast. I itched to call him to account then and there, but that
would have been foolish play. I was outside of the belt of light falling
from the door, and stealing round I came near to the windmill on the
town side. I was not surprised to see such poor watch kept. Above the
town, up to this time, the guard was of a perfunctory sort, for the
great cliffs were thought impregnable; and even if surmounted, there was
still the walled town to take, surrounded by the St. Lawrence, the St.
Charles, and these massive bulwarks.
Presently Lancy stepped out into the light, and said, with a hoarse
laugh, “Blood of Peter, it was a sight to-day! She has a constant fancy
for the English filibuster. ‘Robert! my husband!’ she bleated like a
pretty lamb, and Doltaire grinned at her.”
“But Doltaire will have her yet.”
“He has her pinched like a mouse in a weasel’s teeth.”
“My faith, mademoiselle has no sweet road to travel since her mother
died,” was the careless reply.