A TERRIBLE DISASTER
It did not take the English officers and William Parkmann long to settle down
in their new home; the life was so free and easy. Before they had been a week
at Marshwood they knew and were known of the whole colony, and were immense
favourites. The dangers which surrounded the colonists were becoming daily
more and more evident. Scarcely a week passed but what news came of villages
burnt and sacked, and of the atrocious cruelties perpetrated by the Indians.
So far Marshwood had been unmolested, owing, it was generally supposed, to
Roger’s renown and the number of scouts or Rangers always about. Roger began
at once to put the new recruits into training, taking them out into the
forests, and organising mimic fights. Brigadier Howe, as he chose to be
called, though Roger knew full well that his real title and rank were
Brigadier-General Lord Howe, was in right good earnest, and applied himself
thoroughly to the study of forest warfare. His companions followed his
example; they had their hair cut close like the Rangers, dressed themselves
after the same fashion, wearing leggings to protect them from the briers. As
soon as Roger considered them sufficiently trained, they accompanied him on
expeditions to the frontier; upon which occasions each man had to carry in his
knapsack thirty pounds of meat,--this being the only food they had to depend
upon, and which they cooked themselves,--one blanket, and a bearskin.
Before the middle of November the snow lay thick upon the ground, and the
rivers were icebound. A great stillness seemed to descend upon the land, and
the Rangers dispersed to their homes, with the exception of a certain number
of scouts, who remained on guard. Roger was mostly with them, and Brigadier
Howe was always in his company. A great feeling of sympathy grew up between
the two men. Different as their characters were, yet they understood each
other, Howe’s gentle, energetic nature tending to soften and hold in check the
violence and strong-headedness of his companion. Roger learned to admire the
indomitable will which enabled this delicate nobleman, accustomed to all the
luxury and refinement of civilised life, to face the greatest hardships
willingly, and without a murmur. Nothing held him back; where Roger went he
went, always bright and cheery, seeming to have no thought of self. There was
an undercurrent running through his life which Roger was slow to recognise,
because he was unwilling to do so--namely, an unobtrusive piety.
He made no religious boast, he was seldom heard to speak of those things which
were in very truth nearest his heart, but his daily life bore testimony to his
faith. A small pocket Bible was his never-failing companion, and often by the
camp fire, when his comrades lay sleeping, wrapped in their blankets and
bearskins, Roger watched him draw it forth, and by the flickering flame peruse
the sacred volume.
Whenever it was possible, he coaxed Roger to cease warfare on the Sabbath Day,
and to return to Marshwood, often accomplishing the homeward journey under
very adverse circumstances and with great fatigue; but nevertheless he was
sure to be in his place in chapel, an attentive listener to John Cleveland’s
exhortations. The minister was his most devoted admirer, and declared to
Nathaniel that the Englishman’s example had worked a wonderful change on the
young men in the colony. Only Roger held aloof in sombre pride. Yet,
notwithstanding the coming danger which threatened them all, and which at any
moment might overtake them, it was impossible to check the natural enjoyment
which sprang up, the result of youth and health. The clear atmosphere was so
exhilarating that the young people could not remain within doors. Sleighing
parties, tobogganing, skating on the lakes and rivers, occupied every spare
minute of the short winter day. Shouts of merry laughter rang out on the
frosty air. All the inhabitants of the village would turn out on fine
afternoons, making their way in snowshoes down to the icebound river, and
there disporting themselves, sometimes till the moon and stars shone out; and
then back home to the warm kitchens and the hospitable boards.
“We are having a fine time of it. I never had a finer in my life,” said young
William Parkmann, as he flew over the ice side by side with Marie Langlade.
“Yes, we always have a good time in winter,” she answered; “but this year it
seems better than usual,” and she looked shyly at her companion.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” he answered. “I shall never forget how happy
I have been; and perhaps, Marie, when this war is over, if God spare my life,
I may come back and ask something of you!” and as he skated close up to her,
he slipped his arm into hers, and so bore her on even more rapidly than
before. There was joy for both of them at that moment in the mere fact of
living. The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, which covered alike the
hills and plains, weighing down the branches of the forest trees; but to
William Parkmann Marie’s eyes shone brighter than the rays of the sun, and her
voice was very sweet, though somewhat serious, as she answered,--
“When the war is over, William Parkmann--not till then--must you ask or I
answer you aught.”
“Let it be so,” he replied; and they skated on in happy silence, dreams of a
bright future dancing before their eyes. They were so young--
“Hope at the helm
And pleasure at the prow”--
they could not realise the possibility of a great disaster coming upon them;
but their elders both could and did.
The head members of the settlement met every evening, and took counsel for the
general safety. To these meetings Howe was readily admitted; they were
generally held in the great kitchen of Omega Marsh, and Father Nathaniel
presided. He knew the ways of the Indians as well as his son, and patrols were
organised, and everything done to prevent a sudden surprise of the enemy. He
and John Cleveland and Marcus took the command of the home brigade, as they
called it, which consisted chiefly of youths, and of men past their prime; all
the really able-bodied men were enrolled in Roger’s corps of Rangers, and were
liable at any moment to be called into action.
When the meeting dispersed, Father Nat and Brigadier Howe would open the
latchet gate which separated the two homesteads, and go over to Alpha Marsh
and sit with Martha and Loïs, who were always busy making and mending for the
two households. Howe watched Loïs as she went and came day after day, caring
for everybody, the young and the old, without apparently one selfish thought;
and he felt inclined to be angry with Roger for visiting upon this
inoffensive, brave-hearted woman the sorrow which had entered into his own
soul. She did not resent his conduct; to all outward appearance she was
indifferent to his comings or his goings, doing her daily work methodically,
interested in every one and in everything, from a sick baby in the village to
the last bit of news from Quebec or from the New England States.
But news did not travel quickly in those days or in those parts, and the
winter was far advanced when they first heard of the taking of Fort William
Henry by the French. Some scouts of Roger’s arrived one night, with an account
of the frightful massacre by the Indians which had followed the surrender of
the fort. Montcalm and the French officers had been powerless to restrain
them. The English officer, Colonel Monro, who was in command of the fort, held
out as long as there was any hope of relief; but when General Webb from Fort
Edward failed to come to his assistance, and he found himself on all sides
surrounded by a French army commanded by Montcalm in person, hoping to avoid
unnecessary bloodshed, he hoisted the white flag.
Montcalm thereupon summoned the Indian chiefs, and explained to them the
honourable terms of capitulation which he had agreed to, requesting their
adhesion to the same. They gave their consent, promising to restrain their
men; but no sooner had the garrison evacuated the fort than the Indians, drunk
with rum, rushed in a surging rabble, which, even if the French guards had
exerted themselves to their utmost--which they did not, owing either to fear
of the Indians or indifference--it would have been impossible to restrain. A
terrible scene of murder and rapine ensued. Montcalm tried to restore
tranquillity, and by evening some sort of order reigned in the terrified
fortress, and the Canadians, under their general, De la Corne, agreed to
conduct the English the following morning to Fort Edward. But a panic came
over the unfortunate inhabitants, and in their terror they started without
waiting for the escort. Instantly the Indians rushed down upon them, and an
indescribable scene of plunder followed. The savages carried off upwards of
two hundred prisoners, men and women, tomahawking and scalping hundreds more,
before the very eyes of De la Corne and his Canadians.
Montcalm, Levis, and the French officers rushed down into the midst of the
fight, and, throwing themselves upon the English, positively tore them out of
the hands of the Indians.
“Kill me, but spare the English, who are under my protection!” shouted
Montcalm, snatching a young officer away from a savage who had just seized
him, and covering him with his own body.
Montcalm has been severely blamed for not ordering up the regular French army
to save the English; but being very inferior in number to the Indians and
Canadians, doubtless he considered that if he turned his arms against his
allies, the massacre would be even more sanguinary.
This is partly proved by the fact that the column of the English army offered
no resistance: true, they had no ammunition; only a few of the colonial troops
had bayonets. Had they shown fight they would probably all have been
massacred; as it was, they were carried off alive by the savages, and later
Montcalm was able to recover five or six hundred. Some of the fugitives found
their way back to the fort; and all these were sent by Montcalm under a strong
escort to Fort Edward. The remnant of the column dispersed into the woods, and
found their way, after many days and great perils, to Fort Edward.
“I am dishonoured,” said Montcalm that night, pacing up and down his tent,
brushing away the tears from his eyes. “The sights I have seen, the sounds I
have heard this day, will haunt me all my life long!” Nothing Chevalier Levis
or his other officers could say consoled him. He refused to see De la Corne or
any of the Canadian officers; only once he exclaimed, “If Charles Langlade had
been here, this dishonour would not have fallen upon me!”
Such was the news which reached Marshwood.