Chapter 24

The month of July was drawing to an end, and the hot sun was glaring down on the parched earth with an almost tropical heat. Even in the dark recesses of the woods, where only here and there a ray could penetrate the thick foliage, there was a sultry closeness that seemed to overpower the wayfarer, instead of his being refreshed by a grateful shade. Look at those two men yonder, one stretched at full length at the foot of a pine-tree, the other kneeling by his side, and bending over him, both apparently exhausted with fatigue. From their thin hands and cheeks, bronzed as they are, one may well believe that want of food has helped to reduce them to their sorry plight, whilst, as a climax to their sufferings, one of them has been lamed by a snake bite, to which the other is applying some large leaves just gathered near at hand.

"'Tis hard upon us that it should come to this, just as we had got within a few miles of our journey's end," said the man who was hurt. "Listen! There is the firing again--a regular volley--and cannon too. They are attacking Ticonderoga, that's certain, just as they did a twelvemonth ago."

Here the speaker gave a groan, but not from pain.

"To think, monsieur," he added, "that you should be here, tending poor Boulanger, as if he were your equal, when you might have been striking a blow yonder for your dear France."

"It is only a pity, my good fellow," replied Isidore, "that I am not a red skin, so that I might find out the right sort of plant to cure this abominable bite and put you on your legs again."

"Never mind me, I beseech you, monsieur," said the Canadian, faintly; "I shall do well enough, I daresay. Only go and make your way to the fort--it cannot be many miles off--and then perhaps you can come and help me later when the enemy are beaten off."

"That I will not," was the reply; "I will die here with you rather than leave you alone."

There was in truth no mere sentiment in the words. Bravely indeed had Isidore borne up for many a long week; but fatigue and privation had told upon him far more than on the more seasoned frame of his companion, and with the misfortune that had befallen the latter, the strong hopes that had sustained him gave way, and he felt that he had no longer strength enough to proceed further.

"To-morrow," said he, with an attempt at an encouraging smile, "to-morrow I shall perhaps be able to carry you."

"To-morrow. Alas!" murmured Boulanger, turning away his face to hide his emotion. Then suddenly he raised himself, and pointed to a clump of undergrowth a few yards off. "Look!" whispered he, "a red skin!"

Isidore started to his feet, and levelled his rifle, but instantly threw it down, and stepping forward cried aloud, "What! my old friend White Eagle of Louisburg! Never was any one more welcome. Make haste and look to my poor comrade."

Without a word the Indian knelt down and examined the bite. Then he strode away, but soon returned with a handful of simples, which he carefully bound round the wounded limb.

"Not rattlesnake," said he quietly, "he will not die."

"I could have told you that, friend," said Boulanger, "but when a man's life depends on his walking on a bit with a leg as big as a bison's, it might just as well have been a rattlesnake for that matter, to say nothing of having had no food but a raw partridge between two of us for some days past."

The Indian opened his pouch and placed before them his little stock of food, of which they eagerly partook. Whilst they were thus engaged he sat a little way apart, to all appearance wholly unconcerned. As soon, however, as the provisions were demolished he arose, and addressing himself to Isidore, said, "Let the young brave follow me. The Canadian must stay here till you can send him help."

"Not a step do I go without him," replied Isidore, firmly. "If he stays here, I stay here too."

For a moment the expression on the chief's face seemed to bode no good, but it passed away, and after a short pause he set to work without a word, and in a few minutes had cut down a dozen branches from the nearest trees, and wound them into a rude litter. Then silently taking Boulanger up, and laying him upon it as if he had been a mere child, he took hold of one end of the litter, and signed to Isidore to take the other. He did so, and they at once set out with it, the savage threading the way through the dense forest with the most marvellous dexterity, and at a pace with which Isidore found it no easy matter to keep up. Refreshed as he had been by the food he had taken, and buoyed up as he now was by fresh hope on Boulanger's account as well as his own, he nevertheless felt that a march of any great length would be beyond his strength. Perhaps the Indian noticed this, for he presently slackened his pace.

"I hope we have done right to trust this fellow," Isidore said.

"There is nothing to fear," replied Boulanger. "If he had meant mischief our scalps would long ago have been hanging by the side of those others he has at his belt."

All this while they were gradually edging away from the sound of the firing, which could now only be heard at a remote distance on their right.

The Indian slackened his pace still more, and seemed to be listening eagerly as if for some expected sound. Suddenly he stopped, and the litter having been deposited on the ground, he turned to Isidore, saying, "White Eagle has finished his task." At the same moment he raised his rifle and discharged it in the air, and before the astonished wayfarers could utter a word in reply, he had darted into the thick wood and disappeared.

"It beats me altogether," said Boulanger; "he has brought us ever so far away from the fort, and yet I can't think why he should start off like that. He belongs to one of the Algonquin tribes, and they used to be allies of ours. Hush! There is some one not far off."

"Qui vive?" shouted a voice from the underwood near them.

"French! Long live King Louis!" cried Isidore, in reply.

The usual challenge followed, and shortly afterwards a French officer cautiously emerged from the brushwood, followed by a couple of his men. He seemed not a little astonished on discovering the number and condition of the supposed enemy, and roughly demanded who they were, and whence they came.

"Well, I suppose," replied Isidore, with a grim smile, "I must not feel insulted if my friend de Montenac fails to recognise in such a scarecrow his old comrade de Beaujardin."

"De Beaujardin!" exclaimed the officer, amazed and apparently horrified. "For Heaven's sake, how came you in this pitiable state? Stop, not a word," he added, "you are in no condition for talking now. Quick, my men, bring the wounded man along." Then taking Isidore's arm he led him away, followed by the soldiers, who at once took Boulanger under their charge. In a short time they reached an open space in the forest, where to his great joy Isidore found a considerable body of French soldiers regularly encamped. De Montenac, however, would listen to no questions until the wayfarers had been, not only well fed, but furnished with some better covering than the rags that hung about them.

The short Canadian twilight was gone, and night had come on, as Isidore related to his friend as much of his story as it seemed necessary to tell him. He concluded thus:--

"They kept us at Fort Duquesne all the winter, possibly not knowing exactly what to do with me, and a couple of months ago sent us off in charge of two burly New England militiamen, though I never knew what was our intended destination. These British are always boasting that one Englishman is a match for three Frenchmen, so I suppose they thought that two must be quite enough to guard a couple of miserable half-starved creatures like Boulanger and myself. They had not even taken the trouble to tie our hands, but simply made us go on in front. During the second day's march I noticed that they had both taken too much to drink, so just as we were going down a steep hill, at a signal we had preconcerted we dropped down right in front of them, and over our backs they went like a shot. Long before they could scramble up we had got hold of their muskets, and they were rather obliged than otherwise by our letting them decamp without giving them each a bullet by way of souvenir. Thanks to Boulanger's knowledge of his craft we have arrived here at last, though it has been no easy matter, I can assure you."

"I quite believe that, judging from your appearance," replied de Montenac laughing; "but I must now go my rounds, and after that you shall hear what news there is with us."

He was absent much longer than was required merely to visit the pickets. Isidore's practised ears indeed told him that there had been an alarm of some kind, and a shot had been fired in the wood. At last de Montenac made his appearance.

"The strangest thing has just now happened," said he. "My men caught a spy. He had managed to pass the sentinels, when one of them saw the fellow creeping away among the bushes, and as he did not answer or stop, the man shot him dead. I found on him a note of our strength, to say nothing of some English guineas, so the rascal fully deserved a rope instead of a bullet, but in one of his pockets I came upon this." Here de Montenac handed to Isidore a sheet of paper, the writing on which ran as follows:--

"To all whom it may concern.

"This is to certify that the person designated in a royal warrant as Isidore Marquis de Beaujardin, otherwise known as Godefroid, confined here during the royal pleasure, is released from further detention, and the authorities, whether civil or military, are required to permit him to pass freely.

"(Signed) DE VALRICOUR,

"Colonel Commandant of the Fort of Sorel."

Isidore sprang to his feet. "Where is the man?" he gasped out.

"You can see him; he lies dead not a hundred yards off." In a couple of minutes they had reached the spot, and Isidore no sooner beheld the upturned face of the dead man then he exclaimed, "Just Heaven! it is Jasmin."

As soon as he had recovered from the excitement into which this discovery had thrown him, Isidore acquainted his friend with the more private details of his story. "I must start at once for Sorel," said he; "I scarcely dare to hope it, but it may be that my unhappy wife was or is still detained there, and if so, with Heaven's blessing I may see her again. I shall indeed be thankful if my Uncle de Valricour has been her gaoler."

"Then you can march with us, at least a part of the way," said do Montenac. "Listen! there it goes." As he spoke, an explosion like a peal of thunder was heard in the distance. "De Bourlemaque has evacuated Fort Ticonderoga and blown it up," added he. "We have been stationed here to guard against a flank movement and to keep open the road to Crown Point, on which we are to fall back."

"What! retreat without a fight!" exclaimed Isidore.

"We have scarce three or four thousand men to Amherst's twelve or fourteen thousand, and he is not an Abercromby to run his head against a wall for nothing. I believe we are not even going to hold Crown Point, strong as it is. No, no; forty or fifty leagues of well-nigh impassable country lie between this and the St. Lawrence, as you ought to know, Master Isidore, and that will fight for us without our losing a man. Amherst can only advance by water, and as we have armed vessels on the lake and he has not, why there is as much chance of his doing anything before the winter sets in again, as there is of my being made a Field Marshal."

Thanks to the Indian's simple medicines, and the subsequent care of the regimental surgeon, Boulanger was doing well, and was able, on the following day, to accomplish the short march made by the detachment. Nor was Isidore at first sufficiently strong to do more. They accordingly accompanied the troops as far as Crown Point, and then pushed forward alone. The journey which the travellers had undertaken was long and difficult. On reaching the northern end of Lake Champlain, however, they obtained a small canoe, in which they descended the Richelieu River, and thus reached Sorel.

Here Isidore, to his great disappointment, found that Baron de Valricour was no longer commandant of the place, and had quitted it for Quebec early in June. During the three months that had elapsed the little garrison had been changed, and the few guarded inquiries which he ventured to make respecting any persons formerly detained in the fort proved fruitless.

There was nothing for it but to go on to Quebec, where Boulanger indeed was anxious to rejoin his family, and they accordingly continued their journey, traversing Lake St. Peter, and passing down the St. Lawrence in their canoe. To their surprise and mortification they now found that for a considerable distance above Quebec small vessels belonging to the English fleet had the command of the river. Still they made their way onward, once or twice narrowly escaping capture by an English cutter, until they reached a spot called Le Foullon, about three miles above the great fortress, where a rugged and winding footpath led to the top of the lofty and precipitous cliff not far from the Canadian's cottage.

Arrived at the summit, they were instantly challenged, and then taken to the officer in command of the detachment posted there. De Montenac had taken the precaution to obtain for Isidore a despatch from General de Bourlemaque to Montcalm, and he was at once allowed to pass, as was Boulanger also when it was found that he was actually the proprietor of the house which had been appropriated as the captain's quarters. As to Bibi and the little ones, the Canadian ascertained that they had taken refuge in a less exposed locality near the city.

On entering the fortress, Isidore at once made his way through the town, and was then directed to the citadel. There, on the extreme and loftiest point, where the white flag of France still waved, stood Montcalm, "that little body with a mighty soul," surveying the vast landscape spread out below. In front lay the great lake-like sheet of water, six miles in length, and nearly half as broad, formed by the confluence of the St. Lawrence on the right, and the smaller river, St. Charles, on the left. Far away the united streams are again divided into a northern and southern channel by the picturesque Isle of Orleans. To the right hand is seen Point Levi, and the almost perpendicular banks of the St. Lawrence; on the left the more gradually sloping shore presents a long line of intrenchments and redoubts, reaching to a distance of seven or eight miles, ending at the great chasm into which the Montmorency River hurls down its waters in a fall of two hundred and fifty feet. Ranges of lofty mountains on every side form the fitting background of this unrivalled scene.

Montcalm's eyes were riveted on the English fleet, whose countless masts bristled all across the further end of the bay, and down the diverging channels beyond it; so deeply indeed was he buried in thought that he did not seem aware of Isidore's approach until the latter was close to him. He then turned abruptly and looked at the new-comer, but it was only for a moment.

"Welcome, welcome indeed!" said he, extending his hand, "not as Claude Breton however, but as my valued friend and comrade-in-arms, Isidore de Beaujardin."

"I can well believe that I have to thank Monseigneur for that," replied Isidore, bowing.

Montcalm waved his hand: "It was no more than was due to you," said he. "Fortunately a certain M. de Crillon, who seems to have been your evil genius, has been disgraced at last, and the task became an easy one. But whence do you now come, and what news do you bring?"

"As for myself, I must report to you, _pro forma_, that I duly reached Fort Duquesne, where I was made prisoner, but subsequently escaped, and made my way to Ticonderoga. I left the army on this side of Crown Point, which has been evacuated, and I have to hand to you a despatch from de Bourlemaque. There is not a chance of Amherst reaching the St. Lawrence in time to co-operate with Wolfe."

"Thanks for that, at all events. My news is less cheering: Niagara is lost."

"I had hoped," said Isidore, "that Pouchot would have been able to hold out."

"Not so. The English General Prideaux was killed by the bursting of a shell in his own intrenchments, but Sir William Johnson took the command, and nothing could withstand that brave and skilful fellow. Aubrey came to Pouchot's relief with at least a thousand men collected from the other forts, but was beaten in a pitched battle before the place, which had to surrender at discretion, and the governor and garrison were made prisoners, but were allowed to march out with the honours of war. This and the loss of Frontenac make the English masters of all the upper country."

"But here," exclaimed Isidore, eagerly, "here we may yet retrieve it all."

"If it so please God," replied Montcalm; "but though all hope is not yet gone, our chance is but slender. We have kept the enemy at bay for nearly two months and a half, and on the last day of July we foiled a desperate attack which Wolfe made on the Montmorency redoubts yonder. If we could hold out till winter comes to our aid all would be well, but I have little hope."

"They are masters of all the right bank, are they not?" interposed Isidore.

"Yes, for many miles up the river. If I had had my way I would have thrown a couple of thousand men across and stopped that game, but de Vaudreuil overruled me at the outset. He is a traitor, and has ruined us. What can I do with barely three thousand regulars? The Canadian militia are indeed some five or six thousand strong, but I cannot rely on them with any certainty, and with such a fleet at his command it is impossible to say where Wolfe may next assail us. Look at it! A score of ships of the line, with frigates and transports out of number."

"But they have been here since the end of June and have done nothing. This bank of the river is absolutely impregnable, and it seems they cannot force the Montmorency lines."

"It is our last and only chance," replied Montcalm, "and if the worst should come, a battle before Quebec might save us. I have had, however, to send away a couple of thousand Canadians to try and save some of the harvest, which is sorely needed, for our commissariat is reduced almost to the last extremity. Yes, de Beaujardin," he added, "there is nothing left for me but to hold out and fight to the last, and die a soldier's death. I would not wish to live to see the fall of New France, but that must surely come. But de Valricour has of course told you----"

"I have not seen him yet. I came direct to you to report myself," said Isidore.

"Not seen him!" cried Montcalm in amazement; "but I might have expected that from you. Go--go at once--good news is in store for you at all events, and you are worthy of it." Then turning to an officer who had just come up, he added, "Send an orderly with this gentleman to Colonel de Valricour's quarters. Stay; Colonel de Beaujardin is reappointed to his old position on the staff. See to this at once."

Isidore would have thanked him, but Montcalm was already reading the despatch just brought to him, and with a full heart the young soldier bent his steps towards his uncle's quarters.

Passing out of the citadel, he had proceeded but a short distance when the orderly stopped.

"Here!" exclaimed Isidore, with some agitation, for the house pointed out to him was the very one in which Madame de Rocheval had resided, and where he had seen Marguerite for the first time.

Another orderly at the door bade him enter. He did so, and ascended the stairs as if in a dream. He did not even hear the man announce him, and as he stood at the open door of the saloon his eyes grew dim, and he could see nothing; but he heard a voice cry out, "Isidore! my husband!" and Marguerite was clasped in his arms.