BEFORE QUEBEC
True to the predictions of Tayoga, they struck the trail of St. Luc and
Tandakora far up in the province of New York and west of Lake Champlain.
Ever since the white man came, hostile forces had been going north or
south along well-defined passes in these regions, and, doubtless, bands
of Indians had been traveling the same course from time immemorial; so
it was not hard for them to come upon the traces of French and Indians
going to Quebec to make the great stand against Wolfe and his fleet.
"It is a broad trail because many Frenchmen and Indians make it," said
the Onondaga. "As I have said, Sharp Sword and Tandakora do not like
each other, but circumstances make them allies. They have rejoined and
they go together to Quebec. Here is the trail of at least three hundred
men, perhaps two hundred Frenchmen and a hundred warriors. The footsteps
of Sharp Sword are unmistakable, and so are those of Tandakora. Behold
their great size, Dagaeoga; and here are the prints of boots which
belong to De Courcelles and Jumonville. I have seen them often before,
Dagaeoga. How could you believe they might have been left by somebody
else?"
"I see nothing but some faint traces in the earth," said Robert. "If you
didn't tell me, I wouldn't be even sure that they were made by a man."
"But they are plain to us who were born in the woods, and whose
ancestors have lived in the woods since the beginning of the world. It
is where we are superior to the white man, much as the white man thinks
of his wisdom, though there be those, like the Great Bear, the Mountain
Wolf and Black Rifle, who know much. But the feet of the two Frenchmen
who love not Dagaeoga have passed here."
"It is true they do not love me, Tayoga. I wounded one of them last
year, shortly before Ticonderoga, as you know, and I fancy that I'd
receive short shrift from either if I fell into his hands."
"That is so. But Dagaeoga will not let himself be captured again. He has
been captured often enough now."
"I don't seem to be any the worse for it," said Robert, laughing.
"You're right, though, Tayoga. For me to be captured once more would be
once too much. As St. Luc doesn't like Tandakora, I imagine you don't
see him walking with them."
"I do not, Dagaeoga. Sharp Sword keeps by himself, and now De Courcelles
and Jumonville walk with the Ojibway chief. Here are their three trails,
that of Tandakora between the other two. Doubtless the two Frenchmen are
trying to make him their friend, and it is equally sure that they speak
ill to him of St. Luc. But Sharp Sword does not care. He expects little
from Tandakora and his warriors. He is thinking of Quebec and the great
fight that Montcalm must make there against Wolfe. He is eager to arrive
at Stadacona, which you call Quebec, and help Montcalm. He knows that it
is all over here on Andiatarocte and Oneadatote, that Ticonderoga is
lost forever, that Crown Point is lost forever, and that Isle-aux-Noix
must go in time, but he hopes for Stadacona. Yet Sharp Sword is
depressed. He does not walk with his usual spring and courage. His paces
are shorter, and they are shorter because his footsteps drag. Truly, it
was a dagger in the heart of Sharp Sword to give up Ticonderoga and
Crown Point."
"I can believe you, Tayoga," said Willet. "It's bitter to lose such
lakes and such a land, and the French have fought well for them. Do you
think there's any danger of our running into an ambush? It would be like
Tandakora to lie in wait for pursuers."
"I am not sure, Great Bear. He, like the Frenchman, is in a great hurry
to reach Stadacona."
An hour or two later they came to a dead campfire of St. Luc's force,
and, a little farther on, a new trail, coming from the west, joined the
Chevalier's. They surmised that it had been made by a band from Niagara
or some other fallen French fort in that direction, and that everywhere
along the border Montcalm was drawing in his lines that he might
concentrate his full strength at Quebec to meet the daring challenge of
Wolfe.
"But I take it that the drawing in of the French won't keep down
scalping parties of the warriors," said Willet. "If they can find
anything on the border to raid, they'll raid it."
"It is so," said Tayoga. "It may be that Tandakora and his warriors will
turn aside soon to see if they cannot ambush somebody."
"In that case it will be wise for us to watch out for ourselves. You
think Tandakora may leave St. Luc and lie in wait, perhaps, for us?"
"For any one who may come. He does not yet know that it is the Great
Bear, Dagaeoga and I who follow. Suppose we go on a while longer and see
if he leaves the main trail. Is it the wish of Great Bear and Dagaeoga?"
"It is," they replied together.
They advanced several hours, and then the great trail split, or rather
it threw off a stem that curved to the west.
"It is made by about twenty warriors," said Tayoga, "and here are the
huge footsteps of Tandakora in the very center of it. I think they will
go northwest a while, and then come back toward the main trail, hoping
to trap any one who may be rash enough to follow Sharp Sword. But, if
the Great Bear and Dagaeoga wish it, we will pursue Tandakora himself
and ambush him when he is expecting to ambush others."
The dark eyes of the Onondaga gleamed.
"I can see, Tayoga, that you're hoping for a chance to settle that score
between you and the Ojibway," said the hunter. "Maybe you'll get it this
time, and maybe you won't, but I'm willing to take the trail after him,
and so is Robert here. We may stop a lot of mischief."
It was then about two o'clock in the afternoon, and, as Tayoga said that
Tandakora's trail was not more than a few hours old, they pushed on
rapidly, hoping to stalk his camp that very night. The traces soon
curved back toward St. Luc's and they knew they were right in their
surmise that an ambush was being laid by the Ojibway. He and his
warriors would halt in the dense bush beside the great trail and shoot
down any who followed.
"We'll shatter his innocent little plan," said Willet, his spirits
mounting at the prospect.
"Tandakora will not build a fire to-night," said Tayoga. "He will wait
in the darkness beside Sharp Sword's path, hoping that some one will
come. He will lie in the forest like a panther waiting to spring on its
prey."
"And we'll just disturb that panther a little," said Robert,
appreciating the merit of their enterprise, which now seemed to all
three a kind of great game.
"Aye, we'll make Tandakora think all the spirits of earth and air are
after him," said Willet.
They now moved with great caution as the trail was growing quite fresh.
"We will soon be back to Sharp Sword's line of march," said Tayoga, "and
I think we will find Tandakora and his warriors lying in the bushes not
more than a mile ahead."
They redoubled their caution, and, when they approached a dense thicket,
Robert and Willet lay down and Tayoga went on, creeping on hands and
knees. In a half hour he came back and said that Tandakora and his band
were in the thicket watching the great trail left by St. Luc.
"The Ojibway does not dream that he himself is being watched," said the
Onondaga, "and now I think we would better eat a little food from our
knapsacks and wait until the dark night that is promised has fully
come."
Tayoga's report was wholly true. Tandakora and twenty fierce warriors
lay in the thicket, waiting to fall upon those who might follow the
trail of St. Luc. He had no doubt that a force of some kind would come.
The Bostonnais and the English always followed a retreating enemy, and
experience never kept them from walking into an ambush. Tandakora was
already counting the scalps he would take, and his savage heart was
filled with delight. He had been aghast when Bourlamaque abandoned
Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Throughout the region over which he had
been roaming for three or four years the Bostonnais would be triumphant.
Andiatarocte and Oneadatote would pass into their possession forever.
The Ojibway chief belonged far to the westward, to the west of the Great
Lakes, but the great war had called him, like so many others of the
savage tribes, into the east, and he had been there so long that he had
grown to look upon the country as his own, or at least held by him and
his like in partnership with the French, a belief confirmed by the great
victories at Duquesne and Oswego, William Henry and Ticonderoga.
Now Tandakora's whole world was overthrown. The French were withdrawing
into Canada. St. Luc, whom he did not like, but whom he knew to be a
great warrior, was retreating in haste, and the invincible Montcalm was
beleaguered in Quebec. He would have to go too, but he meant to take
scalps with him. Bostonnais were sure to appear on the trail, and they
would come in the night, pursuing St. Luc. It was a good night for such
work as his, heavy with clouds and very dark. He would creep close and
strike before his presence was even suspected.
Tandakora lay quiet with his warriors, while night came and its darkness
grew, and he listened for the sound of men on the trail. Instead he
heard the weird, desolate cry of an owl to his left, and then the
equally lone and desolate cry of another to his right. But the warriors
still lay quiet. They had heard owls often and were not afraid of them.
Then the cry came from the north, and now it was repeated from the
south. There was a surfeit of owls, very much too many of them, and they
called to one another too much. Tandakora did not like it. It was almost
like a visitation of evil spirits. Those weird, long-drawn cries,
singularly piercing on a still night, were bad omens. Some of his
warriors stirred and became uneasy, but Tandakora quieted them sternly
and promised that the Bostonnais would soon be along. Hope aroused
again, the men plucked up courage and resumed their patient waiting.
Then the cry of the panther, long drawn, wailing like the shriek of a
woman, came from the east and the west, and presently from the north and
the south also, followed soon by the dreadful hooting of the owls, and
then by the fierce growls of the bear. Tandakora, in spite of himself,
in spite of his undoubted courage, in spite of his vast experience in
the forest, shuddered. The darkness was certainly full of wicked
spirits, and they were seeking prey. So many owls and bears and panthers
could not be abroad at once in a circle about him. But Tandakora shook
himself and resolved to stand fast. He encouraged his warriors, who were
already showing signs of fright, and refused to let any one go.
But the forest chorus grew. Tandakora heard the gobble of the wild
turkey as he used to hear it in his native west, only he was sure that
the gobble now was made by a spirit and not by a real turkey. Then the
owl hooted, the panther shrieked and the bear growled. The cry of a
moose, not any moose at all, as Tandakora well knew, but the foul
emanation of a wicked spirit, came, merely to be succeeded by the weird
cries of night birds which the Ojibway chief had never seen, and of
which he had never dreamed. He knew, though, that they must be hideous,
misshapen creatures. But he still stood fast, although all of his
warriors were eager to go, and the demon chorus came nearer and nearer,
multiplying its cries, and adding to the strange notes of birds the
equally strange notes of animals, worse even than the growl of bear or
shriek of panther.
Tandakora knew now that the wicked spirits of earth and air were abroad
in greater numbers than he had ever known before. They fairly swarmed
all about him and his warriors, continually coming closer and closer and
making dire threats. The night was particularly suited to them. The
heavy black clouds floating before the moon and stars were met by thick
mists and vapors that fairly oozed out of the damp earth. It was an evil
night, full of spells and magic, and the moment came when the chief
wished he was in his own hunting grounds far to the west by the greatest
of the Great Lakes.
The darkness was not too great for him to see several of his warriors
trembling and he rebuked them fiercely, though his own nerves, tough as
they were, were becoming frayed and uneasy. He forgot to watch the trail
and listen for the sound of footsteps. All his attention was centered
upon that horrible and circling chorus of sound. The Bostonnais might
come and pass and he would not see them. He went into the forest a
little way, trying to persuade himself that they were really persecuted
by animals. He would find one of these annoying panthers or bears and
shoot it, or he would not even hesitate to send a bullet through an owl
on a bough, but he saw nothing, and, as he went back to his warriors, a
hideous snapping and barking of wolves followed him.
The note of the wolf had not been present hitherto in the demon chorus,
but now it predominated. What it lacked in the earliness of coming it
made up in the vigor of arrival. It had in it all the human qualities,
that is, the wicked or menacing ones--hunger, derision, revenge, desire
for blood and threat of death. Tandakora, veteran of a hundred battles,
one of the fiercest warriors that ever ranged the woods, shook. His
blood turned to water, ice water at that, and the bones of his gigantic
frame seemed to crumble. He knew, as all the Indians knew, that the
souls of dead warriors, usually those who had been wicked in life,
dwelled for a while in the bodies of animals, preferably those of
wolves, and the wolves about him were certainly inhabited by the worst
warriors that had ever lived. In every growl and snap and bark there was
a threat. He could hear it, and he knew it was meant for him. But what
he feared most of all was the deadly whine with which growl, snap and
bark alike ended. Perspiration stood out on his face, but he could not
afford to show fear to his men, and, retreating slowly, he rejoined
them. He would make no more explorations in the haunted wood that lay
all about them.
As the chief went back to his men the snarling and snapping of the demon
wolves distinctly expressed laughter, derision of the most sinister
kind. They were not only threatening him, they were laughing at him, and
his bones continued to crumble through sheer weakness and fear. It was
not worth while for him to fire at any of the sounds. The bullet might
go through a wolf, but it would not hurt him, it would merely increase
his ferocity and make him all the more hungry for the blood of
Tandakora.
The band pressed close together as the wolves growled and snapped all
about them, but the warriors still saw nothing. How could they see
anything when such wolves had the power of making themselves invisible?
But their claws would tear and their teeth would rend just the same when
they sprang upon their victims, and now they were coming so close that
they might make a spring, the prodigious kind of spring that a demon
wolf could make.
It was more than Tandakora and his warriors could stand. Human beings,
white or red, they would fight, but not the wicked and powerful spirits
of earth and air which were now closing down upon them. The chief could
resist no longer. He uttered a great howl of fear, which was taken up
and repeated in a huge chorus by his warriors. Then, and by the same
impulse, they burst from the thicket, rushed into St. Luc's trail and
sped northward at an amazing pace.
Tayoga, Willet and Robert emerged from the woods, lay down in the trail
and panted for breath.
"Well, that's the easiest victory we ever gained," said Robert. "Even
easier than one somewhat like it that I won on the island."
"I don't know about that," gasped Willet. "It's hard work being an owl
and a bear and a panther and a wolf and trying, too, to be in three or
four places at the same time. I worked hardest as a wolf toward the
last; every muscle in me is tired, and I think my throat is the most
tired of all. I must lie by for a day."
"Great Bear is a splendid animal," said Tayoga in his precise, book
English, "nor is he wanting as a bird, either. I think he turned himself
into birds that were never seen in this world, and they were very
dreadful birds, too. But he excelled most as a wolf. His growling and
snapping and whining were better than that of ninety-nine out of a
hundred wolves, only a master wolf could have equaled it, and when I
stood beside him I was often in fear lest he turn and tear me to pieces
with tooth and claw."
"Tandakora was in mortal terror," said Robert, who was not as tired as
the others, who had done most of the work in the demon chorus. "I caught
a glimpse of his big back, and I don't think I ever saw anybody run
faster. He'll not stop this side of the St. Lawrence, and you'll have to
postpone your vengeance a while, Tayoga."
"I could have shot him down as he stood in the woods, shaking with
fear," said the Onondaga, "but that never would have done. That would
have spoiled our plan, and I must wait, as you say, Dagaeoga, to settle
the score with the Ojibway."
"I think we'd better go into the bushes and sleep," said the hunter.
"Being a demon is hard work, and there is no further danger from the
warriors."
But Robert, who was comparatively fresh, insisted on keeping the watch,
and the other two, lying down on their blankets, were soon in deep
slumber. The next day they shot a young bear, and had a feast in the
woods, a reward to which they thought themselves entitled after the
great and inspired effort they had made the night before. As they sat
around their cooking fire, eating the juicy steaks, they planned how
they should enter Canada and join Wolfe, still keeping their
independence as scouts and skirmishers.
"Most of the country around the city is held by the English, or at least
they overrun it from time to time," said Willet, "and we ought to get
past the French villages in a single night. Then we can join whatever
part of the force we wish. I think it likely that we can be of most use
with the New England rangers, who are doing a lot of the scouting and
skirmishing for Wolfe."
"But I want to see the Royal Americans first," said Robert. "I heard in
Boston that Colden, Wilton, Carson, Stuart and Cabell had gone on with
them, and I know that Grosvenor is there with his regiment. I should
like to see them all again."
"And so would I," said the hunter. "A lot of fine lads. I hope that all
of them will come through the campaign alive."
They traveled the whole of the following night and remained in the
forest through the day, and following this plan they arrived before
Quebec without adventure, finding the army of Wolfe posted along the St.
Lawrence, his fleet commanding the river, but the army of Montcalm
holding Quebec and all the French elated over the victory of the
Montmorency River. Robert went at once to the camp of the Royal
Americans, where Colden was the first of his friends whom he saw. The
Philadelphian, like all the others, was astounded and delighted.
"Lennox!" he exclaimed, grasping his hand. "I heard that you were dead,
killed by a spy named Garay, and your body thrown into the Hudson, where
it was lost! Now, I know that reports are generally lies! And you're no
ghost. 'Tis a solid hand that I hold in mine!"
"I'm no ghost, though I did vanish from the world for a while," said
Robert. "But, as you see, I've come back and I mean to have a part in
the taking of Quebec."
Wilton and Carson, Stuart and Cabell soon came, and then Grosvenor, and
every one in his turn welcomed Robert back from the dead, after which he
gave to them collectively a rapid outline of his story.
"'Tis a strange tale, a romance," said Grosvenor. "It's evident that
it's not intended you shall lose your life in this war, Lennox. What has
become of that wonderful Onondaga Indian, Tayoga, and the great hunter,
Willet?"
"They're both here. You shall see them before the day is over. But what
is the feeling in the army?"
"We're depressed and the French are elated. It's because we lost the
Montmorency battle. The Royal Americans and the Grenadiers were too
impulsive. We tried to rush slopes damp and slippery from rain, and we
were cut up. I received a wound there, and so did Wilton, but neither
amounts to anything, and I want to tell you, Lennox, that, although
we're depressed, we're not withdrawing. Our general is sick a good deal,
but the sicker he grows the braver he grows. We hang on. The French say
we can continue hanging on, and then the winter will drive us away. You
know what the Quebec winter is. But we'll see. Maybe something will
happen before winter comes."
As Robert turned away from the little group he came face to face with a
tall young officer dressed with scrupulousness and very careful of his
dignity.
"Charteris!"[A] he exclaimed.
"Lennox!"
They shook hands with the greatest surprise and pleasure.
"When I last saw you at Ticonderoga you were a prisoner of the French,"
said Robert.
"And so were you."
"But I escaped in a day or two."
"I escaped also, though not in a day or two. I was held a prisoner in
Quebec all through the winter and spring and much befell me, but at last
I escaped to General Wolfe and rejoined my old command, the Royal
Americans."
"And he took part in the battle of Montmorency, a brave part too," said
Colden.
"No braver than the others. No more than you yourself, Colden,"
protested Charteris.
"And 'tis said that, though he left Quebec in the night, he left his
heart there in the possession of a very lovely lady who speaks French
better than she speaks English," said Colden.
"'Tis not a subject of which you have definite information," rejoined
Charteris, flushing very red and then laughing.
But Colden, suspecting that his jest was truth rather, had too much
delicacy to pursue the subject. Later in the day Robert returned with
Willet and Tayoga and they had a reunion.
"When we take Quebec," said Tayoga to Grosvenor, "Red Coat must go back
with us into the wilderness and learn to become a great warrior. We can
go beyond the Great Lakes and stay two or three years."
"I wish I could," laughed Grosvenor, "but that is one of the things I
must deny myself. If the war should be finished, I shall have to return
to England."
"St. Luc is in Quebec," said Willet. "We followed his trail a long
distance."
"Which means that our task here will be the harder," said Colden.
Robert went with Willet, Charteris and Tayoga the next day to Monckton's
camp at Point Levis, whence the English batteries had poured destruction
upon the lower town of Quebec, firing across the St. Lawrence, that most
magnificent of all rivers, where its channel was narrow. He could see
the houses lying in ashes or ruins, but above them the French flag
floated defiantly over the upper city.
"Montcalm and his lieutenants made great preparations to receive General
Wolfe," said Charteris. "As I was in Quebec then, I know something
about them, and I've learned more since I escaped. They threw up
earthworks, bastions and redoubts almost all the way from Quebec to
Montcalm's camp at Beauport. Over there at Beauport the Marquis' first
headquarters were located in a big stone house. Across the mouth of the
St. Charles they put a great boom of logs, fastened together by chains,
and strengthened further by two cut-down ships on which they mounted
batteries. Forces passing between the city and the Beauport camp crossed
the St. Charles on a bridge of boats, and each entrance of the bridge
was guarded by earthworks. In the city they closed and fortified every
gate, except the Palace Gate, through which they passed to the bridge or
from it. They had more than a hundred cannon on the walls, a floating
battery carried twelve more guns, and big ones too, and they had a lot
of gun-boats and fire ships and fire rafts. They gathered about fifteen
thousand men in the Beauport camp, besides Indians, with the regulars in
the center, and the militia on the flank. In addition to these there
were a couple of thousand in the city itself under De Ramesay, and I
think Montcalm had, all told, near to twenty thousand men, about double
our force, though 'tis true many of theirs are militia and we have a
powerful fleet. I suppose their numbers have not decreased, and it's a
great task we've undertaken, though I think we'll achieve it."
Robert looked again and with great emotion upon Quebec, that heart and
soul of the French power in North America. Truly much water had flowed
down the St. Lawrence since he was there before. He could not forget the
thrill with which he had first approached it, nor could he forget those
gallant young Frenchmen who had given him a welcome, although he was
already, in effect, an official enemy. And then, too, he had seen Bigot,
Péan, Cadet and their corrupt group who were doing so much to wreck the
fortunes of New France. Not all the valor of Montcalm, De Levis,
Bourlamaque, St. Luc and the others could stay the work of their
destructive hands.
The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. It was
true! The years had passed. The French victories in North America had
been numerous. Again and again they had hurled back the English and
Americans, and year after year they had dammed the flood. They had
struck terrible blows at Duquesne and Oswego, at William Henry and at
Ticonderoga. But the mills of God ground on, and here at last was the
might of Britain before Quebec, and Robert's heart, loyal as he was to
the mother country, always throbbed with pride when he recalled that his
own Americans were there too, the New England rangers and the staunch
regiment of Royal Americans, the bravest of the brave, who had already
given so much of their blood at Montmorency. In these world-shaking
events the Americans played their splendid part beside their English
kin, as they were destined to do one hundred and fifty-nine years later
upon the soil of Europe itself, closing up forever, as most of us hope,
the cleavage between nations of the same language and same ideals.
Robert looked long at Quebec on its heights, gleaming now in the sun
which turned it into a magic city, increasing its size, heightening the
splendor of the buildings and heightening, too, the formidable obstacles
over which Wolfe must prevail. Nature here had done wonders for the
defense. With its mighty river and mighty cliffs it seemed that a
capable general and a capable army could hold the city forever.
"Aye, it's strong, Lennox," said Charteris, who read his thoughts.
"General Wolfe, as I know, has written back to England that it's the
strongest place in the world, and he may be right, but we've had some
successes here, mingled with some failures. Aside from the Battle of
Montmorency most of the land fighting has been in our favor, and our
command of the river through our fleet is a powerful factor in our
favor. Yet, the short Quebec summer draws to a close, and if we take the
city we must take it soon. General Wolfe is lying ill again in a farm
house, but his spirit is not quenched and all our operations are
directed from his sick bed."
As Charteris spoke, the batteries on the Heights of Levis opened again,
pouring round shot, grape and canister upon the Lower Town. Fragments of
buildings crashed to the earth, and other fragments burst into flames.
Cannon on the frigates in the river also fired upon the devoted city and
from the great rock cannon replied. Coils of smoke arose, and, uniting
into a huge cloud, floated westward on the wind. It was a great
spectacle and Robert's heart throbbed. But he was sad too. He had much
pity for the people of Quebec, exposed to that terrible siege and the
rain of death.
"We've ravaged a good deal of the country around Quebec," continued
Charteris. "It's hard, but we're trying to cut off the subsistence of
the French army, and, on the other hand, bands of their Indian allies
raid our outposts and take scalps. It's the New England rangers mostly
that deal with these war parties, in which the French and Canadians
themselves take a part."
"Then Tandakora will find plenty of employment here," said Willet.
"Nothing will give him more joy than to steal upon a sentinel in the
dark and cut him down."
"And while Tandakora hunts our people," said Tayoga, "we will hunt him.
What better work can we do, Great Bear, than to meet these raiding
parties?"
"That's our task, Tayoga," replied the hunter.
As they turned away from the Heights of Levis the batteries were still
thundering, pouring their terrible flood of destruction upon the Lower
Town, and far up on the cliffs cannon were firing at the ships in the
river. Robert looked back and his heart leaped as before. The eyes of
the world he knew were on Quebec, and well it deserved the gaze of the
nations. It was fitting that the mighty drama should be played out
there, on that incomparable stage, where earth rose up to make a fitting
channel for its most magnificent river.
"It's all that you think it is," said Charteris, again reading his
thoughts; "a prize worth the efforts of the most warlike nations."
"The Quebec of the English and French," said Tayoga, "but the lost
Stadacona of the Mohawks, lost to them forever. Whatever the issue of
the war the Mohawks will not regain their own."
The others were silent, not knowing what to say. A little later a tall,
lank youth to whom Charteris gave a warm welcome met them.
"Been taking a look at the town, Leftenant?" he said.
"Aye, Zeb," replied Charteris. "I've been showing it to some friends of
mine who, however, have seen it before, though not under the same
conditions. These gentlemen are David Willet, Robert Lennox and Tayoga,
the Onondaga, and this is Zebedee Crane,[B] a wonderful scout to whom I
owe my escape from Quebec."
Willet seized the lank lad's hand and gave it a warm grasp.
"I've heard of you, Zeb Crane," he said. "You're from the Mohawk Valley
and you're one of the best scouts and trailers in the whole Province of
New York, or anywhere, for that matter."
"And I've heard uv all three uv you," said the boy, looking at them
appreciatively. "I wuz at Ticonderogy, an' two uv you at least wuz thar.
I didn't git to see you, but I heard uv you. You're a great hunter, Mr.
Willet, whom the Iroquois call the Great Bear, an' ez fur Tayoga I know
that he belongs to the Clan of the Bear uv the nation Onondaga, an' that
he's the grandest trailer the world hez ever seed."
Tayoga actually blushed under his bronze.
"The flattery of my friends should be received at a heavy discount," he
said in his prim, precise English.
"It ain't no flattery," said Zebedee. "It's the squar' an' solid truth.
I've heard tales uv you that are plum' impossible, but I know that they
hev happened all the same. Ef they wuz to tell me that you had tracked
the wild goose through the air or the leapin' salmon through the water
I'd believe 'em."
"It would be very little exaggeration," said Robert, earnestly. "Be
quiet, Tayoga! If we want to sing your praises we'll sing 'em and you
can't help it."
The five recrossed the river together, and went to Wolfe's camp below
the town facing the Montmorency, Charteris going back into camp with the
Royal Americans to whom he belonged, and the others going as free lances
with the New England rangers. Robert also resumed his acquaintance with
Captain Whyte and Lieutenant Lanhan of the _Hawk_, who were delighted to
meet him again.
Soon they found that there was much for them to do. Robert's heart bled
at the sight of the devastated country. Houses and farms were in ruins
and their people fled. Everywhere war had blazed a red path. Nor was it
safe for the rangers unless they were in strong parties. Ferocious
Indians roamed about and cut off all stragglers, sometimes those of
their own French or Canadian allies. Once they came upon the trail of
Tandakora. They found the dead bodies of four English soldiers lying
beside an abandoned farm house, and Tayoga, looking at the traces in the
earth, told the tale as truly as if he had been there.
"Tandakora and his warriors stood behind these vines," he said, going to
a little arbor. "See their traces and in the center of them the prints
left by the gigantic footsteps of the Ojibway chief. The house had been
plundered by some one, maybe by the warriors themselves, before the
soldiers came. Then the Ojibway and his band hid here and waited. It was
easy for them. The soldiers knew nothing of wilderness war, and they
came up to the house, unsuspecting. They were at the front door, when
Tandakora and his men fired. Three of them fell dead where they lie. The
fourth was wounded and tried to escape. Tandakora ran from behind the
vines. Here goes his trail and here he stopped, balanced himself and
threw his tomahawk."
"And it clove the wounded soldier's head," said Robert. "Here he lies,
telling the rest of the tale."
They buried the four, but they found new tragedies. Thus the month of
August with its successes and failures, its attacks and counter-attacks
dragged on, as the great siege of Quebec waged by Phipps and the New
Englanders nearly three-quarters of a century before had dragged.
[A] The story of Edward Charteris is told in the author's novel, "A
Soldier of Manhattan."
[B] The story of Zeb Crane and his remarkable achievements is
contained in the author's novel, "A Soldier of Manhattan."