THROUGH STORM AND TEMPEST
Not till the beginning of March of the following year did the expectant
household at the Château of Candiac receive the order for Mercèdes and her
party to set out and join her father at Rennes. He wrote thus to his wife:--
“Dearest,--The delay has been painfully trying; the Ministers have
been hard to rouse. I have obtained money, men, and ammunition
with great difficulty; but now the worst is over. I arrived at
Rennes this morning, and shall remain here until my little
Mercèdes appears, which will not be long now. I hope we shall be
at Brest on the 21st of March, and everything will be on board by
the 26th.
“My son has been here since yesterday, for me to coach him and get
him a uniform made, in which he will give thanks for his regiment
at the same time as I take my leave in my embroidered coat.
Perhaps I shall leave debts behind; I wait impatiently for the
bills. You have my will; I wish you would get it copied, and send
it to me before I sail. I have much business on hand still. My
health is good, and the passage will be a time of rest. I shall
write up to the last moment. It is pleasant, I know, to hear
particulars of those we love, and my mother, and you, my dearest
and most beloved, will gladly read even the dullest details of my
life. I am much pleased with my second officer in command,
Chevalier Levis; he is brave and upright, full of expedients, and
a man to be trusted. I might say the same of Chevalier
Bougainville, the third in command. My greatest difficulty is
getting sufficient troops to face such a campaign. Only twelve
hundred men will embark with me. Now farewell; I embrace you, my
dearest, my mother, and my daughters. Love to all the family,
“Your devoted husband,
Louis de Montcalm.”
Poor Mercèdes! When she saw the sea and the great ships, the troops of
soldiers, and all the noise and bustle of the port, her heart sank for a
moment within her. But she soon recovered herself, and when her father looked
at her to see what impression the scene made upon her, she smiled and said
quite quietly,--
“I suppose one can get accustomed to everything, but it does seem strange
after our beautiful calm Candiac; I shall at least have seen something of the
world before I bid it farewell.”
“The idea of crossing the sea does not then alarm you, my daughter?” asked the
General.
“With God and with you, my father, what have I to fear?” she answered.
It was a bright spring day, the second of April, when they went on board. Six
large vessels--large for those days--were in the harbour; their names have
come down to us--the _Léopard_, _Héros_, _Illustre_, _Licorne_, _Sauvage_, and
_Sirène_. Very different were they from the transport ships of to-day--devoid
of every comfort, sailing vessels, subject to wind and weather. The General,
with his officers Levis and Bougainville, and of course Mercèdes and Marthe,
took passage in the _Licorne_; but they waited to see the troops go on board,
which they did with incredible gaiety, so much so that Chevalier Bougainville
exclaimed, “What a nation is ours; happy is he who commands it and commands it
worthily!” And so, bravely with strong hearts, officers and men sailed for the
first time across the Atlantic, at the command of a country which virtually
forsook them in their hour of need.
Poor Marthe Dervieu was very ill during the whole voyage, but Mercèdes after
the first few days recovered from the sea-sickness, and was so well and bright
that she put the men to shame. Whenever she could leave Marthe she came with
her father on deck, thankful to breathe the fresh sea-breeze in lieu of the
dark, stuffy cabin.
“We are sure to arrive safely; we have a saint on board,” said the sailors.
Nevertheless, when they were in mid-ocean a fearful gale overtook them, which
lasted ninety hours. Many deemed their end was near. Mercèdes, as she lay
lashed into her hammock, thought of the sunny plains of Provence, now bright
with flowers; of the dear mother and grandmother, brothers and sisters; and it
seemed to her that she could hear their prayers above the howling of the winds
and the sound of many waters. Truly they were terrible nights and days, never
forgotten by those who passed through them; but at last the winds and the
waves were calmed, and the travellers breathed freely once more. Mercèdes was
unlashed; but she was so stiff that, upon trying to stand, she would have
fallen had not her father upheld and carried her on to the deck, to see the
wonderful icebergs which, as they approached the St. Lawrence, threatened them
with destruction, and made navigation so difficult that the ships advanced but
slowly, those on board being in continual fear lest the floating masses should
crash down upon them.
General Montcalm was fast losing patience. But for Mercèdes he would have
landed, and made his way as best he could across country to Quebec; and one
day, as Mercèdes was standing behind him, he gave expression to this wish with
a certain amount of irritability.
“Father,” said she unhesitatingly, “I have not come to be a hindrance, but a
help and comfort to you; if you hold back because of me, your duty will
suffer. I am young and strong, and Marthe is well now and will be much better
off the ship than on it. Let us land with you and make our way to Quebec.”
The General looked down upon the brave little creature and smiled. “You do not
know what you are proposing, my child; it would be a difficult journey for
men, impossible for you: it is not to be thought of.”
“General, do you see that canoe paddling towards us? I have been watching it
for some time; it is bearing down upon us, and, if I mistake not, is full of
Indians,” said Chevalier Levis, and he handed the General his long glass.
“You are right; they are coming straight up the river. I wonder whether it
means peace or war. If I only knew the temper of the tribes towards us!” said
Montcalm.
“That remains for us to find out in the future,” answered the Chevalier; “but
they are decidedly gaining upon us, and if I mistake not there is a white man
amongst them. Do you see that fellow standing up with the skin round his
shoulders toga fashion, and the fur cap on his head?”
He had hardly finished speaking when the canoe glided up alongside the
_Licorne_, and the man they had been observing called out in French:
“We are friends.”
“It is well,” said Montcalm, stooping over the bulwarks; “you are welcome.
Will you come on board?”
“Willingly,” answered Charles Langlade, for it was he; and easily, without the
slightest apparent effort, he swung himself up the sides of the great ship and
stood in their midst, such a noble specimen of humanity that the General,
stepping forward, held out his hand, saying,--
“Who are you? and what are you doing amongst those savages?”
A ringing, joyous laugh responded to this question. “I am Charles Langlade,”
he said, “descended from the first French colonists, and now an Indian chief.
They are my people, and I belong to them,” and then he rapidly told such
portions of his story as he deemed advisable.
“But if you so desired to serve France, why did you not join the regular
Canadian government and army?” asked the Chevalier Levis.
“When you have been in Quebec six weeks, and have made acquaintance with those
who at present govern Canada, you will have no need to ask me that question,”
answered Charles. “For months I have been waiting for your coming. If Canada
is to be saved, it will be by you and not by them. And now I am on my way to
Quebec with some six hundred men of my tribe; and when I saw your ships coming
up the St. Lawrence, I knew that at last the old country had remembered us,
and so I put off to see if I could be of any service to you.”
“Indeed you can,” said Montcalm eagerly. “I am very anxious to get to Quebec
myself as quickly as possible; but being utterly ignorant of the country and
the mode of travelling, I am at a loss how to proceed.”
“If you are willing to entrust yourself to me, I think the journey can be
accomplished without great difficulty. Alone you would find it almost
impossible. It is the season of the year when we take our furs up to Quebec
for sale: if you will accompany us, I will ensure your reaching the city in
safety, and as rapidly as may be.”
“I should be very grateful,” said the General, “but I am not alone. I cannot
well leave my daughter and her servant to land with the troops.”
“Your daughter!” exclaimed Charles; for wrapped in a great cloak, with the
hood drawn down over her face to protect it from the wind, Mercèdes, standing
behind the officers, had escaped observation. Now she stepped forward, threw
back her hood, and showed a small white face, whiter and thinner than when she
left France, and with eyes which looked preternaturally large and brilliant.
“I can travel,” she said; “I am not afraid either of the cold or of the
fatigue. I am very strong.” The pure intonation of the gentle voice, the
delicate refinement of the high-bred girl, were evident, even in these few
simple words, and came home to Charles Langlade with peculiar force,
unaccustomed as he was to civilised life.
“Mademoiselle wishes to travel by land to Quebec?” he said, looking at her and
instinctively baring his head before her.
“Yes,” she answered. “If my father goes I must go too; I cannot be a hindrance
to him.”
“It will be difficult,” he said. “The snow and ice are only partially melted;
there are still large fields of ice. You do not know our Canada; it is a rude
country. If it were mid-winter it would be better than now; then the rivers
are frozen over and the land is covered with snow, and with skates, sleighs,
and snowshoes we can travel easily and rapidly; but now the thaw has set in,
and the rivers are no longer safe, the floods are rising, and the land is
inundated.”
“You said you could take my father by land to Quebec,” she answered, speaking
imperatively; “therefore you must do it, and I and Marthe must go likewise.
You know you can if you will to do so.”
He could not help smiling; she appeared such a child to him, so utterly
fearless because so utterly ignorant of danger.
Take her! Of course he could take her, if, as she said, he so willed it; and
it seemed suddenly as if he had no will but hers.
“It can be done, General,” he said, turning to the Marquis. “If you will trust
me, I will conduct your party to Quebec.”
“Will it be safe?” said Chevalier Levis. “You do not know this man,” he added
in a low voice to the General.
“If I say it is safe, who will dare gainsay me?” said Charles Langlade
haughtily.
“We will go, father,” said Mercèdes, laying her hand on the General’s arm.
He hesitated one moment; then he looked up at the Canadian hunter, saying, “I
will trust you. Go I must, for my duty calls me. When shall we start?”
“It is too late to-day; to-morrow at dawn I will be here to fetch you.”
“It is well; we will await you,” said the General.