THE RECKONING
Robert's belief that the issue was at hand was so strong that it was not
shaken at all, while they hovered about the town for a while. He heard
through Charteris that Wolfe was again ill, that he had suffered a
terrible night, but that day had found him better, and, despite his
wasted frame and weakness, he was among the troops, kindling their
courage anew, and stimulating them to greater efforts.
"A soul of fire in an invalid's frame," said Charteris, and Robert
agreed with him.
Through Zeb Crane's amazing powers as a spy, he heard that the French
were in the greatest anxiety over Wolfe's movements. They had thought at
first that he was abandoning the siege, and then that he meditated an
attack at some new point. Montcalm below the town and Bougainville above
it were watching incessantly. Their doubts were increased by the fierce
bombardments of the British fleet, which poured heavy shot into the
Lower Town and the French camp. The French cannon replied, and the hills
echoed with the roar, while great clouds of smoke drifted along the
river.
Then an afternoon came when Robert felt that the next night and day
would tell a mighty tale. It was in the air. Everybody showed a tense
excitement. The army was being stripped for battle. He knew that the
troops on the Heights of Levis and at Orleans had been ordered to march
along the south shore of the St. Lawrence and join the others. The fleet
was ready, as always, and the army was to embark. This concentration
could not be for nothing. Before the twilight he saw Charteris and they
shook hands, which was both a salute and a farewell.
"We take ship after dark," said Charteris, "and I know as surely as I'm
standing here that we make some great attempt to-night. The omens and
presages are all about us."
"I feel that way, too," said Robert.
"Tododaho will soon appear on his star," said Tayoga, who was with
Robert, "but, though I cannot see him, I hear his whisper already."
"What does it say?" asked Robert.
"The whisper of Tododaho tells me that the time has come. We shall meet
the enemy in a great battle, but he does not say who will win."
"I believe that, if we can bring Montcalm to battle, we can gain the
victory," said Charteris. "I for one, Tayoga, thank you for the
prophecy."
"And I," said Robert. "But we'll be together to the end."
"Aye, Dagaeoga, and together we shall see what happens."
Robert also saw the Philadelphians and the Virginians, and he shook
hands with them in turn, every one of them giving a silent toast to
victory or death. He found Grosvenor with his own regiment, the
Grenadiers.
"We may meet somewhere to-morrow, Grosvenor," he said, "but neither of
us knows where, nor under what circumstances."
"Just so we meet after victory, that's enough," said Grosvenor.
"Aye, so it is."
The boom of a cannon came from down the river, it was followed by
another and another and then by many, singularly clear in the September
twilight. A powerful British fleet ranged up in front of the Beauport
shore and opened a fierce fire on the French redoubts. It seemed as if
Wolfe were trying to force a landing there, and the French guns replied.
In the distance, with the thunder of the cannonade and the flashes of
fire, it looked as if a great battle were raging.
"It is nothing," said Willet to Robert, "or rather it is only a feint.
It will make Montcalm below the town think he is going to be attacked,
and it will make Bougainville above it rest more easily. The French are
already worn down by their efforts in racing back and forth to meet us.
Our command over the water is a wonderful thing, and it alone makes
victory possible."
Robert, Willet and Tayoga with a dozen rangers went into a long boat,
whence they looked up at the tall ships that carried the army, and
waited as patiently as they could for the order to move.
"See the big fellow over there," said Willet, pointing to one of the
ships.
Robert nodded.
"That's the _Sutherland_, and she carries General Wolfe. Like the boat
of Cæsar, she bears our fortunes."
"Truly 'tis so," said Robert.
A good breeze was blowing down the river, and, at that moment, the stars
were out.
"I see Tododaho with the wise snakes in his hair," said Tayoga in an
awed whisper, "and he looks directly down at me. His eyes speak more
plainly than his whisper that I heard in the twilight. Now, I know that
some mighty event is going to happen, and that the dawn will be heavy
with the fate of men."
The sullen boom of a cannon came from a point far down the river, and
then the sullen boom of another replying. Quebec, on its rock, lay dark
and silent. Robert was shaken by a kind of shiver, and a thrill of
tremendous anticipation shot through him. He too knew instinctively that
they were upon the threshold of some mighty event. Whatever happened, he
could say, if he lived, that he was there, and, if he fell, he would at
least die a glorious death. His was the thrill of youth, and it was
wholly true.
It was two hours past midnight and the ebb tide set in. The good wind
was still blowing down the river. Two lanterns went aloft in the rigging
of the _Sutherland_, and the signal for one of the great adventures of
history was given. All the troops had gone into boats earlier in the
evening, and now they pulled silently down the stream, Wolfe in one of
the foremost.
Robert sat beside Tayoga, and Willet was just in front of them. Some of
the stars were still out, but there was no moon and the night was dark.
It seemed that all things had agreed finally to favor Wolfe's supreme
and last effort. The boats carrying the army were invisible from the
lofty cliffs and no spying canoes were on the stream to tell that they
were there. Robert gazed up at the black heights, and wondered where
were the French.
"Are we going directly against Quebec?" he whispered to Willet. "'Tis
impossible to storm it upon its heights."
"Nay, lad, nothing is impossible. As you see, we go toward Quebec and I
think we land in the rear of it. 'Tis young men who lead us, the boldest
of young men, and they will dare anything. But I tell you, Robert, our
coming to Quebec is very different from what it was when we came here
with a message from the Governor of the Province of New York."
"And our reception is like to be different, too. What was that? It
sounded like the splash of a paddle ahead of us."
"It was only a great fish leaping out of the water and then falling back
again," said Tayoga. "There is no enemy on the stream. Truly Manitou
to-night has blinded the French and the warriors, their allies. Montcalm
is a great leader, and so is St. Luc, but they do not know what is
coming. We shall meet them in the morning. Tododaho has said so to me."
The boats passed on in their slow drifting with the tide. Once near to a
lofty headland, they were hailed by a French sentinel, who heard the
creaking of the boats, and who saw dim outlines in the dark, but a
Scotch officer, who spoke good French, made a satisfactory reply. The
boats drifted on, and the sentinel went back to his dreams, perhaps of
the girl that he had left in France.
"Did I not tell you that Manitou had blinded the French and the
warriors, their allies, to-night?" whispered Tayoga to Robert.
"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the sentinel would have asked more,
or he would have insisted upon seeing more in the dark, but Manitou
dulled his senses. The good spirits are abroad, and they work for us."
"Truly, I believe it is so, Tayoga," said Robert.
"The French don't lack in vigilance, but they must be worn out," said
Willet. "It's one thing to sail on ships up and down a river, but it's
quite another for an army racing along lofty, rough and curving shores
to keep pace with it."
They were challenged from another point of vantage by a sentinel and
they saw him running down to the St. Lawrence, pistol in hand, to make
good his question. But the same Scotch officer who had answered the
first placated him, telling him that theirs were boats loaded with
provisions, and not to make a noise or the English would hear him. Again
was French vigilance lulled, and they passed on around the headland
above Anse du Foulon.
"The omens are ours," whispered Tayoga, with deep conviction. "Now, I
know that we shall arrive at the place to which we want to go. Unless
Manitou wishes us to go there, he would not have twice dulled the senses
of French sentinels who could have brought a French army down upon us
while we are yet in the river. And, lo! here where we are going to land
there is no sentinel!"
"Under heaven, I believe you're right, Tayoga!" exclaimed Willet, with
intense earnestness.
The boats swung in to the narrow beach at the foot of the lofty cliff
and the men disembarked rapidly. Then, hanging to rocks and shrubs, they
began to climb. There was still no alarm, and Robert held his breath in
suspense, and in amazement too. He did not know just where they were,
but they could not be very far from Quebec, and General Wolfe was
literally putting his head in the lion's mouth. He knew, and every one
around him knew, that it was now victory or death. He felt again that
tremendous thrill. Whatever happened, he would be in it. He kept
repeating that fact to himself and the thought of death was not with
him.
"The dawn will soon be at hand," he said; "I feel it coming. If we can
have only a half hour more! Only a half hour!"
"It will come with clouds," said Tayoga. "Manitou still favors us. He
wills that we shall reach the top."
Robert made another pull and surmounted the crest. Everywhere the
soldiers were pouring over the top. A small body of French sentinels was
taken by surprise. Some of them were captured, and the others escaped in
the dusk to carry the alarm to the city, to Montcalm and to
Bougainville. But Wolfe was on the heights before Quebec. From points
farther up the river came the crash of cannon. It was the French
batteries firing upon the last of the boats, and upon the ships bringing
down the rest of the troops. But it was too late to stop the British
army, which included Americans, who were then British too.
"The dawn is here," said Tayoga.
The east was breaking slowly into dull light. Heavy clouds were floating
up from the west, and the air was damp with the promise of rain. The
British army was forming rapidly into line of battle, but no army was in
front of it. The daring enterprise of the night was a complete success,
and Montcalm had been surprised. He was yet to know that his enemy had
scaled the heights and was before Quebec.
"We've gained a field of battle for ourselves," said Willet, "and it's
now for us to win the battle itself."
The mind of Wolfe was at its supreme activity. A detachment, sent
swiftly, seized the battery at Samos that was firing upon the ships and
boats. Another battery, farther away at Sillery, was taken also, and the
landing of additional troops was covered. A party of Canadians who came
out of the town to see who these intrusive strangers might be, were
driven back in a hurry, and then Wolfe and his officers advanced to
choose their ground, the rangers hovering on the flanks of the regulars.
Where the plateau was only a mile wide and before Quebec, the general
took his stand with the lofty cliffs of the St. Lawrence on the south
and the meadows of the St. Charles on the north. The field, the famous
Plains of Abraham, was fairly level with corn fields and bushes here and
there. A battalion of the Royal Americans was placed to guard the ford
of the St. Charles, but Robert saw the others, his friends among them,
formed up in the front ranks, where the brunt of the battle would fall.
Another regiment was in reserve. The rangers, with Robert, Tayoga and
Willet, still hovered on the flanks.
Robert felt intense excitement. He always believed afterward that he
understood even at that instant the greatness of the cloudy dawn that
had come, and the momentous nature of the approaching conflict, holding
in its issue results far greater than those of many a battle in which
ten times the numbers were engaged.
"How far away is Quebec?" he asked.
"Over there about a mile," replied Willet. "We can't see it because the
ridge that the French call the Buttes-a-Neveu comes in between."
"But look!" exclaimed Robert. "See, what is on the ridge!"
The stretch of broken ground was suddenly covered with white uniforms.
They were French soldiers, the battalion of Guienne, aroused in their
camp near the St. Charles River by the firing, and come swiftly to see
what was the matter. There they stood, staring at the scarlet ranks,
drawn up in battle before them, unable to credit their eyes at first,
many of them believing for the moment that it was some vision of the
cloudy dawn.
"I think that Montcalm's army will soon come," said Willet to Robert.
"You see, we're literally between three fires. We're facing the garrison
of Quebec, while we have Montcalm on one side of us and Bougainville on
the other. The question is which will it be, Bougainville or Montcalm,
but I think it will be Montcalm."
"I know it will be Montcalm," said Robert, "and I know too that when he
comes St. Luc will be with him."
"Aye, St. Luc will be with him. That's sure."
It was even so. Montcalm was already on his way. The valiant general of
France, troubled by the hovering armies and fleets of Britain, uncertain
where they intended to strike or whether they meant to strike at all,
had passed a sleepless night. At dawn the distant boom of the cannon,
firing at the English ships above the town, had come to his ears. An
officer sent for news to the headquarters of the Marquis de Vaudreuil,
the Governor-General of New France, much nearer to the town, had not
returned, and, mounting, he galloped swiftly with one of his aides to
learn the cause of the firing. Near the Governor-General's house they
caught a distant gleam of the scarlet ranks of Wolfe's army, nearly two
miles away.
When Montcalm saw that red flash his agitation and excitement became
intense. It is likely that he understood at once the full danger, that
he knew the crisis for Canada and France was at hand. But he dispatched
immediately the orders that would bring his army upon the scene. The
Governor-General, already alarmed, came out of his house and they
exchanged a few words. Then Montcalm galloped over the bridge across the
St. Charles and toward the British army. It is stated of him that during
this ride his face was set and that he never spoke once to his aides.
Behind Montcalm came his army, hurrying to the battle-field, and, taking
the quickest course, it passed through Quebec, entering at the Palace
Gate and passing out through those of St. Louis and St. John, hastening,
always hastening, to join the battalion of Guienne, which already stood
in its white uniforms and beneath its banners on the Buttes-a-Neveu.
Montcalm's army included the veterans of many victories. Through long
years they had fought valiantly for France in North America. At
Ticonderoga they had shown how they could triumph over great odds, over
men as brave as themselves, and, as they pressed through the narrow
streets of the quaint old town, they did not doubt that they were going
to another victory. With them, too, were the swart Canadians fighting
for their homes, their flag and, as they believed then, for their
religion, animated, too, by confidence in their courage, and belief in
the skill of their leaders who had so seldom failed.
Behind the French and the Canadians were the Indians who had been drawn
so freely to Montcalm's banner by his success, thinking anew of
slaughter and untold spoil, such as they had known at William Henry and
such as they might have had at Ticonderoga. The gigantic Tandakora,
painted hideously, led them, and in all that motley array there was no
soul more eager than his for the battle.
On that eventful morning, which the vast numbers of later wars cannot
dim, the councils of France were divided. Vaudreuil, fearing an attack
on the Beauport shore, did not give the valiant Montcalm all the help
that he could spare, nor did De Ramesay, commanding the garrison of
Quebec, send the artillery that the Marquis asked.
But Montcalm was resolute. His soul was full of fire. He looked at the
ranks of Wolfe's army drawn up before him on the Plains of Abraham, and
he did not hesitate to attack. He would not wait for Bougainville, nor
would he hold back for the garrison of Quebec. He saw that the gauge of
battle had been flung down to him and he knew that he must march at once
upon the British--and the Americans. Mounted on a black horse, he rode
up and down the lines, waving or pointing his sword, his dark face alive
with energy.
Montcalm now formed his men in three divisions. M. de Senezergues led
the left wing made up of the regiments of Guienne and Royal Roussillon,
supported by Canadian militia. M. de Saint Ours took the right wing with
the battalion of La Sarre and more Canadian militia. Montcalm was in the
center with the regiment of Languedoc and the battalion of Béarn. On
both flanks were Canadians and numerous Indians.
Robert from his position on a little knoll with Willet and Tayoga
watched all these movements, and he was scarcely conscious of the
passage of time. There was a shifting in the British army also, as it
perfected its alignment, and the bagpipes of the Scotchmen were already
screaming defiance, but his eyes were mainly for the French before him.
He recognized Montcalm as he rode up and down the lines, raising his
sword, and presently he saw another gallant figure on horseback that he
knew. It was St. Luc, and the old thrill shot through him: St. Luc for
whom the ancient M. de Chatillard had taken him, St. Luc with whom he
must have some blood tie.
Though it was now far beyond the time for the rising of the sun, the day
was still dark, heavy with clouds, and now and then a puff of rain was
blown in the faces of the waiting men, though few took notice. The wait
and the preparations had to Robert all the aspects of a duel, and the
incessant shrill screaming of the Scotch bagpipes put a fever in his
blood, setting all the little pulses in his head and body to beating.
Ever after he maintained that the call of the bagpipes was the most
martial music in the world.
The crackle of firing broke out on the flanks. The Canadian and Indian
sharpshooters, from the shelter of houses, bushes and knolls, had opened
fire. Now and then a man in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe neither
moved nor replied, though some of the New England rangers, stealing
forward, began to send bullets at their targets.
"I see Tandakora," said Tayoga, "and, in an hour, the score between us
will be settled. Tododaho told me so last night, but it is still
uncertain which shall be the victor."
"Can't you get a shot at him?" asked Robert.
"It is not yet time, Dagaeoga. Tododaho will say when the moment comes
for me to pull trigger on the Ojibway."
Then Robert's gaze shifted back to the figure of St. Luc. The chevalier
rode a white horse, and he was helping Montcalm to form the lines in the
best order for the attack. He too held in his hand a sword, the small
sword that Robert had seen before, but he seldom waved it.
"Are they ever coming?" asked Robert, who felt as if he had been
standing on the field many hours.
"We've not long to wait now, lad," replied Willet. "Our own army is
ready and I think the fate of America will soon be decided here on this
cloudy morning."
Another light puff of rain struck Robert in the face, but as before he
did not notice it. The crackling fire of the sharpshooters increased.
They were stinging the British flanks and more men in scarlet fell, but
the army of Wolfe remained immovable, waiting, always waiting. It was
for Montcalm now to act. French field pieces added their roar to the
crackle of rifles and muskets, and now and then the fierce yell of the
Indians rose above both. Robert thought he saw a general movement in the
French lines, and his thought was Willet's also.
"The moment has come! Steady, lads! Steady!" said the hunter.
The whole French army suddenly began to advance, the veterans and the
militia together, uttering great shouts, while the Indians on the flanks
gave forth the war whoop without ceasing. Robert remained motionless.
The steadfastness of soul that he had acquired on the island controlled
him now. Inwardly he was in a fever, but outwardly he showed no emotion.
He glanced at Montcalm on the black horse, and St. Luc on the white, and
then at the scarlet and silent ranks of Wolfe's army. But the French
were coming fast, and he knew that silence would soon burst into sudden
and terrible action.
"The French lines are being thrown into confusion by the unevenness of
the ground and the rapidity of their advance," said Willet. "Their
surprise at our being here is so great that it has unsteadied them. Now
they are about to open fire!"
The front of the charging French burst into flame and the bullets sang
in the scarlet ranks. Wolfe's army suddenly began to move forward, but
still it did not fire, although the battle of the skirmishers on the
flanks was rapidly increasing in ferocity. The rangers were busy now,
replying to the Indians and Canadians, but Robert still took rapid
glances and he looked oftenest toward the Americans, where his friends
stood. The advance of the French became almost a run, and he saw all the
muskets and rifles of his own army go up.
A tremendous volley burst from the scarlet ranks, so loud and so close
together that it sounded like one vast cannon shot. It was succeeded
presently by another, and then by an irregular but fierce fire, which
died in its turn to let the smoke lift.
Robert saw a terrible sight. The ground where the French army had stood
was literally covered with dead and wounded. The two volleys fired at
close range had mowed them down like grain. The French army, smitten
unto death, was reeling back, and the British, seizing the moment,
rushed forward with bayonet and drawn sword. The Highlanders, as they
charged with the broadsword, uttered a tremendous yell, and Robert saw
his own Americans in the front of the rush. He caught one glimpse of the
tall figure of Charteris and he saw Colden near him. Then they were all
lost in the smoke as they attacked.
But Wolfe had fallen. Struck by three bullets, the last time in the
breast, he staggered and sat down. Men rushed to his aid, but he lived
just long enough to know that he had won the victory. Before the firing
died away, he was dead. Montcalm, still on horseback, was shot through
the body, but he was taken into the city, where he died the night of the
next day. Senezergues, his second in command, was also mortally wounded,
and Monckton, who was second to Wolfe, fell badly wounded too.
But Robert did not yet know any of these facts. He was conscious only of
victory. He heard the triumphant cheers of Wolfe's army and he saw that
the French had stopped, then that they were breaking. He felt again that
powerful thrill, but now it was the thrill of victory.
"We win! We win!" he cried.
"Aye, so we do," said Willet, "but here are the Canadians and Indians
trying to wipe out us rangers."
The fire in front of them from the knolls and bushes redoubled, but the
rangers, adept at such combats, pressed forward, pouring in their
bullets. The Canadians and Indians gave ground and the rangers, circling
about, attacked them on the flank. Tayoga suddenly uttered a fierce
shout and, dropping his rifle, leaped into the open.
"Now, O Tandakora!" he cried. "The time has come and thou hast given me
the chance!"
The gigantic figure of Tandakora emerged from the smoke, and the two,
tomahawk in hand, faced each other.
"It is you, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of
the league of the Hodenosaunee," said the chief. "So you have come at
last that I may spit upon your dead body. I have long sought this
moment."
"Not longer than I, Ojibway savage!" replied Tayoga. "Now you shall know
what it is to strike an Onondaga in the mouth, when he is bound and
helpless."
The huge warrior threw back his head and laughed.
"Look your last at the skies, Onondaga," he said, "because you will soon
pass into silence and darkness. It is not for a great chief to be slain
by a mere boy."
Tayoga said no more, but gazed steadily into the eyes of the Ojibway.
Then the two circled slowly, each intently watching every movement of
the other. The great body of Tandakora was poised like that of a
panther, the huge muscles rippling under his bronze skin. But the
slender figure of Tayoga was instinct also with strength, and with an
incomparable grace and lightness. He seemed to move without effort, like
a beam of light.
Tandakora crouched as he moved slowly toward the right. Then his arm
suddenly shot back and he hurled his tomahawk with incredible force. The
Onondaga threw his head to one side and the glittering blade, flying on,
clove a ranger to the chin. Then Tayoga threw his own weapon, but
Tandakora, with a quick shift evading it, drew his knife and, rushing
in, cried:
"Now I have you, dog of an Onondaga!"
Not in vain was Tayoga as swift as a beam of light. Not in vain was that
light figure made of wrought steel. Leaping to one side, he drew his own
knife and struck with all his might at the heart of that huge, rushing
figure. The blade went true, and so tremendous was the blow that
Tandakora, falling in a heap, gave up his fierce and savage soul.
"They run! They run!" cried Robert. "The whole French army is running!"
It was true. The entire French force was pouring back toward the gates
of the city, their leaders vainly trying to rally the soldiers. The
skirmishers fell back with them. A figure, darting from a bush, turned
to pull trigger on Robert, and then uttered a cry of terror.
"A ghost! It is a ghost!" he exclaimed in French.
But a second look told Achille Garay that it was no ghost. It may have
been a miracle, but it was Robert Lennox come back in the flesh, and his
finger returned to the trigger. Another was quicker. The hunter saw him.
"That for you, Garay!" he cried, and sent a bullet through the spy's
heart. Then, drawing the two lads with him, he rushed forward in
pursuit.
The confusion in the French army was increasing. Its defeat was fast
becoming a rout, but some of the officers still strove to stay the
panic. Robert saw one on a white horse gallop before a huddle of fleeing
men. But the soldiers, swerving, ran on. A bullet struck the horse and
he fell. The man leaped clear, but looked around in a dazed manner. Then
a bullet struck him too, and he staggered. Robert with a cry rushed
forward, and received into his arms the falling figure of St. Luc.
He eased the Chevalier to the ground and rested his head upon his knee.
"He isn't dead!" he exclaimed. "He's only shot through the shoulder!"
"Now, this is in truth the hand of Providence," said Willet gravely,
"when you are here in the height of a great battle to break the fall of
your own uncle!"
"My uncle!" exclaimed Robert.
The Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc smiled wanly.
"Yes, my nephew," he said, "your own uncle, though wounded grievously,
on this the saddest of all days for France, son of my dear, dead sister,
Gabrielle."
Then he fainted dead away from loss of blood, and the Canadian, Dubois,
appearing suddenly, helped them to revive him. Robert hung over him with
irrepressible anxiety.
"The brother of my mother!" he exclaimed. "I always felt there was a
powerful tie, a blood tie, uniting us! That was why he spared me so
often! That was why he told me how to escape at Ticonderoga! He will not
die, Dave? He will not die?"
"No, he will not die," replied Willet. "The Marquis de Clermont can
receive a greater wound than that, and yet live and flourish."
"The Marquis de Clermont!"
"Aye, the Chevalier de St. Luc is head of one of the greatest families
of France and you're his next of kin."
"And so I'm half a Frenchman!"
"Aye, half a Frenchman, half an Englishman, and all an American."
"And so I am!" said Robert.
"Truly it is a great morning," said Tayoga gravely. "Tododaho has given
to me the triumph, and Tandakora has gone to his hereafter, wherever it
may be; the soul of Garay is sped too, France has lost Canada, and
Dagaeoga has found the brother of his mother."
"It's true," said Willet in a whimsical tone. "When things begin to
happen they happen fast. The battle is almost over."
But the victorious army, as it advanced, was subjected to a severe fire
on the flank from ambushed Canadians. Many of the French threw
themselves into the thickets on the Coté Ste.-Genevieve, and poured a
hail of bullets into the ranks of the advancing Highlanders. Vaudreuil
came up from Beauport and was all in terror, but Bougainville and
others, arriving, showed a firmer spirit. The gates of Quebec were shut,
and it seemed to show defiance, while the English and Americans, still
in the presence of forces greater than their own, intrenched on the
field where they had won the victory, a victory that remains one of the
decisive battles of the world, mighty and far-reaching in its
consequences.
A night of mixed triumph and grief came, grief for the loss of Wolfe and
so many brave men, triumph that a daring chance had brought such a
brilliant success. Robert found Charteris, Grosvenor, Colden and the
Virginians unharmed. Wilton was wounded severely, but ultimately
recovered his full strength. Carson was wounded also, but was as well as
ever in a month, while Robert himself, Tayoga, Willet and Zeb Crane were
not touched.
But his greatest interest that night was in the Chevalier de St. Luc,
Marquis de Clermont. They had made him a pallet in a tent and one of the
best army surgeons was attending so famous and gallant an enemy. But he
seemed easiest when Robert was by.
"My boy," he said, "I always tried to save you. Whenever I looked upon
you I saw in your face my sister Gabrielle."
"But why did you not tell me?" asked Robert. "Why did not some one of
the others who seemed to know tell me?"
"There were excellent reasons," replied the wounded man. "Gabrielle
loved one of the Bostonnais, a young man whom she met in Paris. He was
brave, gallant and true, was your father, Richard Lennox. I have nothing
to say against him, but our family did not consider it wise for her to
marry a foreigner, a member of another race. They eloped and were
married in a little hamlet on the wild coast of Brittany. Then they fled
to America, where you were born, and when you were a year old they
undertook to return to France, seeking forgiveness. But it was only a
start. The ship was driven on the rocks of Maine and they were lost,
your brave, handsome father and my beautiful sister--but you were saved.
Willet came and took you into the wilderness with him. He has stood in
the place of your own father."
"But why did not they tell me?" repeated Robert. "Why was I left so long
in ignorance?"
"There was a flaw. The priest who performed the marriage was dead. The
records were lost. The evil said there had been no marriage, and that
you were no rightful member of the great family of De Clermont. We could
not prove the marriage then and so you were left for the time with
Willet."
"Why did Willet take me?"
Raymond Louis de St. Luc turned to Willet, who sat on the other side of
the pallet, and smiled.
"I will answer you, Robert," said the hunter. "I was one of those who
loved your mother. How could any one help loving her? As beautiful as a
dream, and a soul of pure gold. She married another, but when she was
lost at sea something went out of my life that could never be replaced
in this world. You have replaced it partly, Robert, but not wholly. It
seemed fitting to the others that, being what I was, and loving
Gabrielle de Clermont as I had, I should take you. I should have taken
you anyhow."
Robert's head swam, and there was a mist before his eyes. He was
thinking of the beautiful young mother whom he could not remember.
"Then I am by blood a De Clermont, and yet not a De Clermont," he said.
"You're a De Clermont by blood, by right, and before all the world,"
said Willet. "I've a letter from Benjamin Hardy in New York, stating
that the records have been found in the ruins of the burned church on
the coast of Brittany, where the marriage was performed. Their
authenticity has been acknowledged by the French government and all the
members of the De Clermont family who are in France. Copies of them have
been smuggled through from France."
"Thanks to the good God!" murmured St. Luc.
"And Adrian Van Zoon? Why has he made such war against me?" asked
Robert.
"Because of money," replied Willet. "Your father was a great owner of
shipping, inherited, as Richard Lennox was a young man under thirty when
he was lost at sea. At his death the control of it passed into the hands
of his father's partner, Adrian Van Zoon. Van Zoon wanted it all, and,
since you had no relatives, he probably would have secured it if you had
been put out of the way. That is why you were safer with me at Albany
and in the woods, until your rightful claims could be established.
Benjamin Hardy, who had been a schoolmate and great friend of your
father, knew of this and kept watch on Van Zoon. Your estate has not
suffered in the man's hands, because, expecting it to be his own, he has
made it increase. Jonathan Pillsbury knew your history too. So did
Jacobus Huysman, in whose house we placed you when you went to school,
and so did your teacher, Master Alexander McLean."
"I had powerful friends. I felt it all the time," said Robert.
"So you had, lad, and it was largely because they saw you grow up worthy
of such friendship. You're a very rich man, Robert. There are ships
belonging to you on nearly every sea, or at least there would be if we
had no war."
"And a Marquis of France--when I die," said St. Luc.
"No! No!" exclaimed Robert. "You'll live as long as I will! Why, you're
only a young man!"
"Twenty-nine," said St. Luc. "Gabrielle was twelve years older than I
am. You are more a younger brother than a nephew to me, Robert."
"But I will never become a Marquis of France," said Robert. "I am
American, English to the core. I have fought against France, though I do
not hate her. I cannot go to France, nor even to England. I must stay in
the country in which I was born, and in which my father was born."
"Spoken well," said Willet. "It was what I wanted to hear you say. The
Chevalier will return to France. He will marry and have children of his
own. Haven't we heard him sing often about the girl he left on the
bridge of Avignon? The next Marquis of Clermont will be his son and not
his nephew."
Which came to pass, as Willet predicted.
Robert stayed long that night by the pallet of his uncle, to whom the
English gave the best of attention, respecting the worth of a wounded
prisoner so well known for his bravery, skill and lofty character. St.
Luc finally fell asleep, and, going outside, Robert found Tayoga
awaiting him. When he told him all the strange and wonderful story that
he had heard inside the tent, the Onondaga said:
"I suppose that Dagaeoga, being a great man, will go to Europe and
forget us here."
"Never!" exclaimed Robert. "My home is in America. All I know is
America, and I'd be out of place in any other country."
And then he added whimsically:
"I couldn't go so far away from the Hodenosaunee."
"Dagaeoga might go far and yet never come to a nation greater than the
great League," said Tayoga, with deep conviction.
"That's true, Tayoga. How stands the battle? I had almost forgotten it
in the amazing tide of my own fortunes."
"General Wolfe is dead, but his spirit lives after him. We are
victorious at all points. The French have fled into Quebec, and they yet
have an army much more numerous than ours, if they get it all together.
But Montcalm was wounded and they say he is dying. The soul has gone out
of them. I think Quebec will be yielded very soon."
And surrendered it was a few days later, but the victors soon found that
the city they had won with so much daring would have to be defended with
the utmost courage and pertinacity. St. Luc, fast recovering from his
wound, was sent a prisoner to New York, together with De Galissonnière,
who had been taken unhurt, but Robert did not get away as soon as he had
expected. Quebec was in peril again, but now from the French. De Levis,
who succeeded Montcalm as the military leader of New France, gathering
together at Montreal all the fragments of the French power in Canada,
swore to retake Quebec.
Robert, Tayoga and Willet, with the rangers, served in the garrison of
Quebec throughout the long and bitter winter that followed. In the
spring they moved out with the army to meet De Levis, who was advancing
from Montreal to keep his oath. Robert received a slight wound in the
battle of Ste. Foy that followed, in which the English and Americans
were defeated, and were compelled to retreat into Quebec.
This battle of Ste. Foy, in which Robert distinguished himself again
with the New England rangers, was long and fierce, one of the most
sanguinary ever fought on Canadian soil. De Levis, the French commander,
showed all the courage and skill of Montcalm, proving himself a worthy
successor to the leader who had fallen with Wolfe, and his men displayed
the usual French fire and courage.
Hazen, the chief of the rangers, was badly wounded in the height of the
action, but Robert and Willet succeeded in bringing him off the field,
while Tayoga protected their retreat. A bullet from the Onondaga's rifle
here slew Colonel de Courcelles, and Robert, on the whole, was glad that
the man's death had been a valiant one. He had learned not to cherish
rancor against any one, and the Onondaga and the hunter agreed with him.
"There is some good in everybody," said Willet. "We'll remember that and
forget the rest."
But Robert's friends in the Royal Americans had a hard time of it in the
battle of Ste. Foy, even harder than in Wolfe's battle on the Plains of
Abraham. They were conspicuous for their valor and suffered many
casualties. Colden, Cabell and Stuart were wounded, but took no
permanent hurt. Charteris also received a slight wound, but he recovered
entirely before his marriage in the summer with the lovely Louise de St.
Maur, the daughter of the Seigneur Raymond de St. Maur, in whose house
he had been a prisoner a long time in Quebec.
It was Robert's own personal contact and his great friendship for
Charteris, continuing throughout their long lives in New York, that
caused him to take such a strong and permanent interest in this
particular regiment which had been raised wholly in the colonies and
which fought so valiantly at Duquesne, Louisbourg, Ticonderoga, Quebec,
Ste. Foy, and in truth in nearly all the great North American battles of
the Seven Years' War.
It was at first the Sixty-Second Regular Regiment of the British Army,
"Royal American Provincials," but through the lapsing of two other
regiments it soon became the Sixtieth. Its valor and distinction were so
high when composed wholly of Americans, except the superior officers,
that nearly seventy years subsequent to the fall of Quebec the
Englishmen, who after the great quarrel had replaced the Americans in
it, asked that they be allowed to use as their motto the Latin phrase,
_Celer et audax_, "Swift and Bold," "Quick and Ready," which Wolfe
himself was said to have conferred upon it shortly before his fall upon
the Plains of Abraham. And in memory of the great deeds of their
American predecessors, the gallant Englishmen who succeeded them were
permitted by the British government to use that motto.
Despite their defeat at Ste. Foy, the English and Americans held the
capital against De Levis until another British fleet arrived and
compelled the retreat of the brave Frenchmen. More reënforcements came
from England, the powerful army of Amherst advanced from the south,
Montreal was taken, and it was soon all over with New France.
Canada passed to England, and after its fall English and American
troops, men of the same blood, language and institutions, did not stand
together again in a great battle for more than a century and a half, and
then, strangely enough, it was in defense of that France which under one
flag they had fought at Duquesne and Ticonderoga, at Quebec and Ste.
Foy.
Robert, Tayoga and Willet went back to the colonies by land, and after a
long journey stopped at Albany, where they received the warmest of
welcomes from Master Jacobus Huysman, Master Alexander McLean and
Caterina.
"I knew Robert that some time you would come into your own. I hold some
of the papers about you in my great chest here," said Jacobus Huysman.
"Now it iss for you to show that you understand how to use great fortune
well."
"And never forget your dates," said Master Alexander. "It is well to
know history. All the more so, because you have had a part in the making
of it."
Warm as was their welcome in Albany, it was no warmer than that given
them in New York by Benjamin Hardy and Jonathan Pillsbury. The very next
day they went to the house of Adrian Van Zoon for a reckoning, only to
find him dead in his bed. He had heard the night before of Robert's
arrival; in truth, it was his first intimation that young Lennox was
alive, and that all his wicked schemes against him had failed.
"It may have been a stroke of heart disease," said Benjamin Hardy, as
they turned away, "or----"
"He has gone and his crimes have gone with him," said Robert. "I don't
wish ever to know how he went."
A little later the Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc, Marquis de
Clermont, the war now being over, sailed with his faithful Canadian
attendant, Dubois, from New York for France. The parting between him and
his nephew was not demonstrative, but it was marked by the deepest
affection on either side.
"France has been defeated, but she is the eternal nation," said St. Luc.
"She will be greater than ever. She will be more splendid than before."
The De Clermonts were a powerful stock, with their roots deep in the
soil. A son of St. Luc's became a famous general under Napoleon, a great
cavalry leader of singular courage and capacity, and a lineal descendant
of his, a general also, fought with the same courage and ability under
Joffre and Foch in the World War, being especially conspicuous for his
services at both the First and Second Marne. At the Second Marne he gave
a heartfelt greeting to two young American officers named Lennox,
calling them his cousins and brothers-in-arms, in blood as well as in
spirit. They were together in the immortal counter-stroke on the morning
of July 18, 1918, when Americans and French turned the tide of the World
War, and sealed anew an old friendship. They were also together
throughout those blazing one hundred and nineteen days when British,
French and Americans together, old enemies and old friends who had
mingled their blood on innumerable battle-fields, destroyed the greatest
menace of modern times and hurled the pretender to divine honors from
his throne.
Robert found his fortune to be one of the largest in the New World, but
he kept it in the hands of Benjamin Hardy and David Willet, who
increased it, and he became the lawyer, orator and statesman for which
his talents fitted him so eminently. A marked characteristic in the life
of Robert Lennox, noted by all who knew him, was his liberality of
opinion. He had his share in public life, but the bitterness of
politics, then so common in this country as well as others, seemed never
to touch him. He was always willing to give his opponent credit for
sincerity, and even to admit that his cause had justice. In his opinion
the other man's point of view could always be considered.
This broadness of mind often caused him to incur criticism, but it had
become so much his nature, and his courage was so great, that he would
not depart from it. He had been through the terrible war with the
French, and, even before he knew that he was half a Frenchman by blood,
he had gladly acknowledged the splendid qualities of the French, their
bravery and patience, and their logical minds. He always said during the
worst throes of their revolution that the French would emerge from it
greater than ever.
His position was similar in the Revolutionary War with the English.
While he cast in his lot with his own people, and suffered with them, he
invariably maintained that the English nation was sound at the core. He
had fought beside them in a great struggle and he knew how strong and
true they were, and when our own strife was over he was most eager for a
renewal of good relations with the English, always saying that the fact
that they had quarreled and parted did not keep them from being of the
same blood and family, and hence natural allies.
He consistently refused to hate an individual. He always insisted that
life was too busy to cherish a grudge or seek revenge. Bad acts
invariably punished themselves in the course of time. He was able to see
some good, a little at least, in everybody. Searching his mind in after
years, he could even find excuses for Adrian Van Zoon. He would say to
Willet that the man loved nothing but money, that perhaps he had been
born that way and could not help it, that he had made his attempts upon
him under the influence of what was the greatest of all temptations to
him, and that while he paid the slaver to carry him away he had not paid
him to kill him. As for Garay, he would say that he might have exceeded
orders. He would say the same about the shots the slaver had fired at
him at Albany.
This tolerance came partly from his own character, and partly from an
enormous experience of life in the raw in his young and formative years.
He knew how men were to a large extent the creatures of circumstances,
and on the individual in particular his judgments were always mild. He
had two favorite sayings:
"No man is as bad as he seems to his worst enemy."
"No man is as good as he seems to his best friend."
His own faults he knew perfectly well to be quickness of temper and a
proneness to hasty action. Throughout his life he fought against them
and he took as his models Willet and Tayoga, who always appeared to him
to have a more thorough command over their own minds and impulses than
any other men he ever knew.
Aside from his brilliancy and power in public life, Lennox had other
qualities that distinguished him as a man. He was noted for his
cosmopolitan views concerning human affairs. He had an uncommon
largeness and breadth of vision, all the more notable then, as America
was, in many respects, outside the greater world of Europe. People in
speaking of him, however, recalled the extraordinary variety and
intensity of his experiences. Much of his story was known and it was not
diminished in the telling. He was always at home in the woods. He had an
uncommon sympathy for hunters, borderers, pathfinders and all kinds of
wilderness rovers. He understood them and they instinctively understood
him, invariably finding in him a redoubtable champion. He was also
closely in touch with the Indian soul, and his friends used to say
laughingly that he had something of the Indian in his own nature. At all
events, the Great League of the Hodenosaunee found in him a defender and
he was more than once an honored guest in the Vale of Onondaga.
On the other hand, his interest in European affairs was always keen and
intelligent, especially in those of England and France, with whose sons
he had come into contact so much during the great war. He maintained a
lifelong correspondence with his friend, Alfred Grosvenor, who
ultimately became a nobleman and who sat for more than forty years in
the House of Lords. Lennox visited him several times in England, both
before and after the quarrel between the colonies and the mother
country, which, however, did not diminish their friendship a particle.
In truth, during those troubled times Grosvenor, who was noted for the
liberality of his sentiments and for an affection for Americans,
conceived during his service as a soldier on their continent in the
Seven Years' War, often defended them against the criticism of his
countrymen, while Lennox, on his side, very boldly told the people that
nothing could alter the fact that England was their mother country, and
that no one should even wish to alter it.
But his correspondence with his uncle, Raymond Louis de St. Luc, Marquis
de Clermont, not so many years older than himself, covered a period of
nearly sixty years filled with world-shaking events, and, though it has
been printed for private circulation only, it is a perfect mine of fact,
comment and illumination. St. Luc was one of the few French noblemen to
foresee the great Revolution in his country, and, while he mourned its
excesses, he knew that much of it was justified. His patriotism and
courage were so high and so obvious that neither Danton, Marat nor
Robespierre dared to attack him. As an old man he supported Napoleon
ardently until the empire and the ambitions of the emperor became too
swollen, and, while he mourned Waterloo, he told his son, General Robert
Lennox de St. Luc, who distinguished himself so greatly there and who
almost took the château of Hougoumont from the English, that it was for
the best, and that it was inevitable. It was the comment of St. Luc,
then eighty-five years old and full of experience and wisdom, that a
very great man may become too great.
Lennox was noted for his great geniality and his extraordinary capacity
for making friends. Yet there was a strain of remarkable gravity, even
austerity, in his character. There came times when he wished to be
alone, to hear no human voices about him. It was then perhaps that he
thought his best thoughts and took, too, his best resolutions. In the
great silences he seemed to see more clearly, and the path lay straight
before him. Many of his friends thought it an eccentricity, but he knew
it was an inheritance from his long stay alone upon the island, a period
in his life that had so much effect in molding his character.
It was this ripeness of mind, based upon fullness of information and
deep meditation, that made him such a great man in the true sense of the
word. As a speaker he was without a rival either in form or substance in
the New World. It was said everywhere in New York that the famous
Alexander Hamilton and the equally skillful Aaron Burr went to the
courtroom regularly to study his methods. Both admitted quite freely in
private that they copied his style, though neither was ever able to
acquire the wonderful golden voice, the genuine phenomenon that made
Lennox so notable.
On one of these occasions, after making a thrilling speech, when he
filled the souls of both Hamilton and Burr with despair, a great
Onondaga sachem, in the full costume of his nation, said to his friend
Willet, once a renowned hunter:
"I always knew Dagaeoga could use more words than any one else could
find in the biggest dictionary."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
Page numbers in the table of contents and in the transcriber's notes
below refer to the original printed version.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of their respective chapters.
The following typographical errors in the original printed version have
been noted below and corrected only where indicated.
CHARACTERS IN THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES
The character Louis de Galissonnière appears here as "GALISONNIÈRE."
Although he appears only at one other point in this book, the correct
spelling comes from his more frequent appearances in another novel of
the series, _The Masters of The Peaks_.
The captain of the _Hawk_, Stuart Whyte, is listed here as "WHITE."
The lieutenant of the _Hawk_, John Lanham, is listed here as "LATHAM."
CHAPTER I
(Page 2) The character of Jacobus Huysman has a very noticeable dialect.
The spelling of "iss," "wass," and "hass," plus various other words in
his dialogue, is preserved as in the original text.
(Page 17) Alfred Grosvenor is referred as "Grovenor's."
CHAPTER III
(Page 53) "hiden" instead of "hidden." Corrected in this text.
CHAPTER IV
(Page 71) A missing closing quote at "... and so I decided against
him." Corrected in this text.
CHAPTER V
(Page 92) "probabilty" instead of "probability." Corrected in this text.
(Page 93) "She's going almost due south ..." opens with a single quote.
Corrected in this text.
CHAPTER VIII
(Page 144) "firce" instead of "fierce." Corrected in this text.
CHAPTER XI
(Page 203) Once again, Captain Stuart Whyte is referred to as "White."
(Page 214) A missing closing quote at "... for the term of the war, at
least." Corrected in this text.
CHAPTER XII
(Page 221) "You" instead of "your" in "your look iss changed!" Corrected
in this text.
CHAPTER XIII
(Pages 245, 246). The name "Todohado" appears twice in quick succession
on these pages. Presumably the spirit Tododaho was intended.
(Page 247). Tayoga uses "Degaeoga," presumably meaning Dagaeoga, his
name for Lennox.
(Page 248) "atack" instead of "attack." Corrected in this text.
(Page 255) The location of Isle-aux-Noix appears here as
"Isle-aux-noix."
CHAPTER XIV
(Page 266) A comma appeared to terminate the sentence "... laid by the
Ojibway." Corrected in this text.
(Page 282) The lieutenant of the _Hawk_, John Lanham, is referred to as
"Lanhan."
CHAPTER XV
(Page 293) David Willet is referred to as "Willett."
End of Project Gutenberg's The Sun Of Quebec, by Joseph A. Altsheler