It was in the saffron light of early morning that I saw it, the Tall
Calvary of the Valdoche Hills.
The night before I had come up through a long valley, overhung with
pines on one side and crimsoning maples on the other, and, travelling
till nearly midnight, had lain down in the hollow of a bank, and
listened to a little river leap over cascades, and, far below, go
prattling on to the greater river in the south. My eyes closed, but for
long I did not sleep. I heard a night-hawk go by on a lonely mission, a
beaver slide from a log into the water, and the delicate humming of
the pine needles was a drowsy music, through which broke by-and-bye the
strange crying of a loon from the water below. I was neither asleep nor
awake, but steeped in this wide awe of night, the sweet smell of earth
and running water in my nostrils. Once, too, in a slight breeze, the
scent of some wild animal’s nest near by came past, and I found it good.
I lifted up a handful of loose earth and powdered leaves, and held it to
my nose--a good, brave smell--all in a sort of drowsing.
While I mused, Doltaire’s face passed before me as it was in life, and
I heard him say again of the peasants, “These shall save the earth some
day, for they are of it, and live close to it, and are kin to it.”
Suddenly there rushed before me that scene in the convent, when all
the devil in him broke loose upon the woman I loved. But, turning on my
homely bed, I looked up and saw the deep quiet of the skies, the stable
peace of the stars, and I was a son of the good Earth again, a sojourner
in the tents of Home. I did not doubt that Alixe was alive or that I
should find her. There was assurance in this benignant night. In that
thought, dreaming that her cheek lay close to mine, her arm around
my neck, I fell asleep. I waked to bear the squirrels stirring in the
trees, the whir of the partridge, and the first unvarying note of the
oriole. Turning on my dry, leafy bed, I looked down, and saw in the dark
haze of dawn the beavers at their house-building.
I was at the beginning of a deep gorge or valley, on one side of which
was a steep sloping hill of grass and trees, and on the other a huge
escarpment of mossed and jagged rocks. Then, farther up, the valley
seemed to end in a huge promontory. On this great wedge grim shapes
loomed in the mist, uncouth and shadowy and unnatural--a lonely,
mysterious Brocken, impossible to human tenantry. Yet as I watched the
mist slowly rise, there grew in me the feeling that there lay the end
of my quest. I came down to the brook, bathed my face and hands, ate my
frugal breakfast of bread, with berries picked from the hillside, and,
as the yellow light of the rising sun broke over the promontory, I saw
the Tall Calvary upon a knoll, strange comrade to the huge rocks and
monoliths--as it were vast playthings of the Mighty Men, the fabled
ancestors of the Indian races of the land.
I started up the valley, and presently all the earth grew blithe, and
the birds filled the woods and valleys with jocund noise.
It was near noon before I knew that my pilgrimage was over.
Coming round a point of rock, I saw the Gray Monk, of whom strange
legends had lately travelled to the city. I took off my hat to him
reverently; but all at once he threw back his cowl, and I saw--no monk,
but, much altered, the good chaplain who had married me to Alixe in the
Chateau St. Louis. He had been hurt when he was fired upon in the water;
had escaped, however, got to shore, and made his way into the woods.
There he had met Mathilde, who led him to her lonely home in this hill.
Seeing the Tall Calvary, he had conceived the idea of this disguise, and
Mathilde had brought him the robe for the purpose.
In a secluded cave I found Alixe with her father, caring for him, for
he was not yet wholly recovered from his injuries. There was no waiting
now. The ban of Church did not hold my dear girl back, nor did her
father do aught but smile when she came laughing and weeping into my
arms.
“Robert, O Robert, Robert!” she cried, and at first that was all she
could say.
The good Seigneur put out his hand to me beseechingly. I took it,
clasped it.
“The city?” he asked.
“Is ours,” I answered.
“And my son--my son?”
I told him how, the night that the city was taken, the Chevalier de la
Darante and I had gone a sad journey in a boat to the Isle of Orleans,
and there, in the chapel yard, near to his father’s chateau, we had laid
a brave and honest gentleman who died fighting for his country.
By-and-bye, when their grief had a little abated, I took them out into
the sunshine. A pleasant green valley lay to the north, and to the
south, far off, was the wall of rosy hills that hid the captured town.
Peace was upon it all, and upon us.
As we stood there, a scarlet figure came winding in and out among the
giant stones, crosses hanging at her girdle. She approached us, and,
seeing me, she said: “Hush! I know a place where all the lovers can
hide.”
And she put a little wooden cross into my hands.
APPENDIX.
The following is an excerpt from ‘The Scot in New France’ (1880) by J.M.
Lemoine. It is an account of Robert Stobo, the man whose life this text
is loosely based upon.
Five years previous to the battle of the Plains of Abraham, one comes
across three genuine Scots in the streets of Quebec--all however
prisoners of war, taken in the border raids--as such under close
surveillance. One, a youthful and handsome officer of Virginia riflemen,
aged 27 years, a friend of Governor Dinwiddie, had been allowed the
range of the fortress, on parole. His good looks, education, smartness
(we use the word advisedly) and misfortunes seem to have created much
sympathy for the captive, but canny Scot. He has a warm welcome in many
houses--the French ladies even plead his cause; le beau capitaine is
asked out; no entertainment at last is considered complete, without
Captain--later on Major Robert Stobo. The other two are: Lieutenant
Stevenson of Rogers’ Rangers, another Virginia corps, and a Leith
carpenter of the name of Clarke. Stobo, after more attempts than one,
eluded the French sentries, and still more dangerous foes to the peace
of mind of a handsome bachelor--the ladies of Quebec. He will re-appear
on the scene, the advisor of General Wolfe, as to the best landing place
round Quebec. Doubtless you wish to hear more about the adventurous
Scot.
A plan of escape between him, Stevenson and Clarke, was carried out on
1st May, 1759. Major Stobo met the fugitives under a wind-mill, probably
the old wind-mill on the grounds of the General Hospital Convent.
Having stolen a birch canoe, the party paddled it all night, and, after
incredible fatigue and danger, they passed Isle-aux-Coudres, Kamouraska,
and landed below this spot, shooting two Indians in self-defence, whom
Clarke buried after having scalped them, saying to the Major: “Good sir,
by your permission, these same two scalps, when I come to New York, will
sell for twenty-four good pounds: with this I’ll be right merry, and my
wife right beau.” They then murdered the Indians’ faithful dog, because
he howled, and buried him with his masters. It was shortly after this
that they met the laird of the Kamouraska Isles, le Chevalier de la
Durantaye, who said that the best Canadian blood ran in his veins, and
that he was of kin with the mighty Duc de Mirapoix. Had the mighty Duke,
however, at that moment seen his Canadian cousin steering the four-oared
boat, loaded with wheat, he might have felt but a very qualified
admiration for the majesty of his stately demeanor and his nautical
savoir faire. Stobo took possession of the Chevalier’s pinnace, and made
the haughty laird, nolens volens, row him with the rest of the crew,
telling him to row away, and that, had the Great Louis himself been in
the boat at that moment, it would be his fate to row a British
subject thus. “At these last mighty words,” says the Memoirs, “a stern
resolution sat upon his countenance, which the Canadian beheld and with
reluctance temporized.” After a series of adventures, and dangers of
every kind, the fugitives succeeded in capturing a French boat. Next,
they surprised a French sloop, and, after a most hazardous voyage, they
finally, in their prize, landed at Louisbourg, to the general amazement.
Stobo missed the English fleet; but took passage two days after in
a vessel leaving for Quebec, where he safely arrived to tender his
services to the immortal Wolfe, who gladly availed himself of them.
According to the Memoirs, Stobo used daily to set out to reconnoitre
with Wolfe on the deck of a frigate, opposite the Falls of Montmorency,
some French shots were nigh carrying away his “decorated” and gartered
legs.
We next find the Major, on the 21st July, 1759, piloting the expedition
sent to Deschambault to seize, as prisoners, the Quebec ladies who
had taken refuge there during the bombardment--“Mesdames Duchesnay and
Decharnay; Mlle. Couillard; the Joly, Malhiot and Magnan families.”
“Next day, in the afternoon, les belles captives, who had been treated
with every species of respect, were put on shore and released at Diamond
Harbour. The English admiral, full of gallantry, ordered the bombardment
of the city to be suspended, in order to afford the Quebec ladies time
to seek places of safety.” The incident is thus referred to in a letter
communicated to the Literary and Historical Society by Capt. Colin
McKenzie.
Stobo next points out the spot, at Sillery, where Wolfe landed, and
soon after was sent with despatches, via the St. Lawrence, to General
Amherst; but, during the trip, the vessel was overhauled and taken by a
French privateer, the despatches having been previously consigned to the
deep. Stobo might have swung at the yard-arm in this new predicament,
had his French valet divulged his identity with the spy of Fort du
Quesne; but fortune again stepped in to preserve the adventurous Scot.
There were already too many prisoners on board of the French privateer.
A day’s provision is allowed the English vessel, which soon landed Stobo
at Halifax, from whence he joined General Amherst, “many a league across
the country.” He served under Amherst on his Lake Champlain expedition,
and there he finished the campaign; which ended, he begs to go to
Williamsburg, the then capital of Virginia.
It seems singular that no command of any importance appears to have been
given to the brave Scot; but, possibly, the part played by the Major
when under parole at Fort du Quesne, was weighed by the Imperial
authorities. There certainly seems to be a dash of the Benedict Arnold
in this transaction. However, Stobo was publicly thanked by a committee
of the Assembly of Virginia, and was allowed his arrears of pay for
the time of his captivity. On the 30th April, 1756, he had also been
presented by the Assembly of Virginia with 300 pounds, in consideration
of his services to the country and his sufferings in his confinement as
a hostage in Quebec. On the 19th November, 1759, he was presented with
1,000 pounds as “a reward for his zeal to his country and the recompense
for the great hardships he has suffered during his confinement in the
enemy’s country.” On the 18th February, 1760, Major Stobo embarked from
New York for England, on board the packet with Colonel West and
several other gentlemen. One would imagine that he had exhausted the
vicissitudes of fortune. But no. A French privateer boards them in the
midst of the English channel. The Major again consigns to the deep all
his letters, all except one which he forgot, in the pocket of his coat,
under the arm pit. This escaped the general catastrophe; and will again
restore him to notoriety; it is from General A. Monckton to Mr. Pitt.
The passengers of the packet were assessed 2,500 pounds to be allowed
their liberty, and Stobo had to pay 125 pounds towards the relief fund.
The despatch forgotten in his coat on delivery to the great Pitt brought
back a letter from Pitt to Amherst. With this testimonial, Stobo sailed
for New York, 24th April, 1760, to rejoin the army engaged in the
invasion of Canada; here end the Memoirs.
Though Stobo’s conduct at Fort du Quesne and at Quebec can never be
defended or palliated, all will agree that he exhibited, during his
eventful career, most indomitable fortitude, a boundless ingenuity, and
great devotion to his country--the whole crowned with final success.