CHAPTER X

"HE WHO SOWS HATRED SHALL GATHER RUE"

Sarennes had taken himself off again to gather fresh laurels in ambuscade and retreat, the alternatives which compose the whole science of la petite guerre, and I had but little to remind me of my loss save the constant ache at my heart when I was alone, a position I strove by every means possible to avoid.

That Sarennes was desirous of making some reparation for his injury towards me, was proved by a letter from him dated in March, and written from his mother's house at Beaulieu:

"Chevalier,--There is an Englishwoman staying here who claims to be your wife. What do you wish me to do in the matter? I am ready to oblige you in any way.

"Sarennes."

I have never made any pretension to a fortitude other than that which any honourable gentleman of my standing might claim. I was still sore under this last stroke of undeserved misfortune which had so cruelly deprived me of Kit, and I could not but look on his mother as at least the indirect cause of my loss. Under these feelings I delivered the following to the Indian runner:

"Monsieur,--If you have any regard for me, keep the lady claiming to be my wife at such distance that I may never set eyes on her again. Should she be in want, I will gladly reimburse you for any expenditure you may make on her account.

"Le Chev. Maxwell."

We now come to events on which the antiquary and the student might demand a larger attention and notice than I shall devote to them. I have been too prominent an actor in the drama of the downfall of New France to write on the subject with that calmness and impartiality with which I try to view all matters; and I leave it to the gentleman who has passed his lifetime at his desk, undisturbed by any greater explosion than that of wifely indignation at his late hours and waste of otherwise valuable ink and paper, to relate the battles he has never seen and weigh the interests he cannot understand.

In January we had positive intelligence that the English would make a descent in force at the earliest possible moment in the spring. On the first day of June we saw from our ramparts the sails of their fleet spreading over the horizon, and by the eighth they attempted their descent by land.

We made such defence as seemed possible at the time, but, like all unsuccessful efforts, it has been severely criticised since, chiefly by "the gentleman at his desk."

As we lay in position at our post at La Cormorandiere, hourly expecting the landing of the enemy, it was reported by our surgeon-general, M. Guerin, that we were utterly without provision of lint, brandy, and other necessities for the wounded. A messenger was instantly despatched with a requisition to the Commissary, but he returned with a message from Prevost saying, "There are none of these articles in the King's magazines; if the English force our intrenchments, it will be their business to take care of the wounded; if, on the other hand, we are successful, we shall have time enough to attend to them."

Our colonel, M. de St. Julhien, read this heartless reply aloud, amid the deepest execrations on the part of our officers, and then turning to me, said, "Here, Chevalier, I understand there is no love lost between you and this creature. I commission you to see that these requirements are fulfilled by the morning." And he sate down and wrote an order on the Commissary to "deliver to the Chevalier Maxwell such stores as he may demand for the use of the Company d'Artois."

Armed with this authority, I set forth at once, and arriving at the town about eight o'clock, made my way to the Commissary's house and demanded him with scant ceremony.

He appeared with but little delay, and I caught sight of the bright face of Madame, alight with curiosity, behind him, though he clapped the door to sharply enough.

"Well, Monsieur le Lieutenant"--he took a petty spite in disregarding my title of Chevalier--"what brings you here away from your post?"

"Only the definite intention, M. le Commissaire, of seeing that you obey orders. I require stores for my colonel; there is his order, and if you try any of your devil's tricks with me, sir, I will make no more of running you through than I would a rat."

He turned as white as a piece of dried plaster.

"Come, sir, none of your shuffling. I want an answer at once."

"You'll get no answer from me, sir, other than I have sent. I have no stores; the magazines are empty."

"I know you to be a thief, M. le Commissaire, and it is no great stretch of imagination to believe you a liar. Show me your vaults."

"Very well, very well. We shall see who is right. We shall see who is a liar," and he started off with alacrity.

"Wait, sir! Where are you going?"

"Only into the next room to get my keys."

"Very well; I'll go with you," and I followed him into the next room.

Here we found Madame on tiptoe with excitement and curiosity.

"Where are you going? What is the matter?" she asked, quickly.

"None of your business!" roared her husband, with his usual brutality.

"Only into the vault to look for stores." I answered, throwing as much feeling into the commonplace answer as was possible.

Prevost provided himself with a lanthorn and led the way through the passage and down the steps leading to the cellars, muttering and scolding to himself, for he dared not make a complaint to which I might reply, until we reached the outer door. This he unlocked, and I discovered a long passage, evidently underground, for the air struck me as damp and chill as we traversed it, to the entrance of the principal vault, which he opened.

"There! See for yourself if I have not told the truth. It is as empty as death!" and as he spake he held the lanthorn high.

Bat this did not satisfy me. I was determined to take nothing for granted until I had personally proved the truth of his protestations.

"Give me the light," I said, taking it from him as I entered.

"Willingly." he replied; but I had not taken a dozen steps before I heard a clang, the quick turn of a key, and found I was a prisoner, trapped like a rat by the man I most hated and despised.

At first I was inclined to laugh, for the turn was not without its cleverness, but the inclination was quickly stifled as I realized what such a situation might mean to one in my position.

A foreign officer failing to be at his post when about to meet his own countrymen face to face, would be a default open to such construction as filled me with dismay--a construction which the wretch who had trapped me would use every means to convert into the blackest of certainties. When the first feeling of dismay had passed I made a careful examination of my prison, but the result brought no encouragement. The vault, which was an outer one, was only provided with two heavy doors, the one by which I had entered, and the other doubtless leading to another vault. There was not a sign of any window or opening, and the walls were covered with a white coating of fungus. In one corner was some useless household lumber, and against the wall stood a wooden coffer like those in well-to-do farmers' houses at home; save for these odds and ends, the place was indeed empty; in so far, at least, my gentleman had not lied.

I placed my lanthorn on the floor, and seating myself on the chest, tried to form some plan of action. There was no use in attempting to attract attention by raising an outcry, for I was certainly underground, cut off by the long passage from the house. If I made a fire the smoke could not escape, and I should only gain suffocation for my pains. There was absolutely no escape that I could further by my unaided effort. Dreadful as this thought was, I was tortured by others infinitely worse; by phantasms that the future might well convert into horrid realities.

With a too-ready imagination I framed the crafty charges which my enemy would prefer against me. No sense of shame would prevent him from distorting my innocent relations towards his wife into a treacherous attempt upon his honour; he would no doubt trump up some suggestive story of my presence in his house. My unsupported statement of my imprisonment must stand against his specious tale--the word of the accused against that of the injured husband, and he an official with powerful backing. The ridiculous trap into which I had so stupidly fallen would be difficult to explain without derision at any time, but now it was a time of actual war, when any infraction of duty would be punished with the severest penalty; nothing short of death would be a sufficient excuse for my failure to return to my post.

I pictured myself, an alien--for a foreigner is always an alien no matter what his merit or service may be--fighting for life against the malevolence of a virulent enemy, contending too against that monstrous perversion of justice which so often sways a court-martial --composed as it is of men little qualified by training for impartial judgment--towards the severest interpretation where an officer without influence is concerned, to win a cheap applause from outsiders and inferiors.

My blood ran cold at the thought. I stared at the lanthorn until my eyes ached, and, when I looked elsewhere, the image of the flame only faded to give place to another scene in the drama that tried my fortitude almost beyond endurance: It was early dawn outside the Brouillon Bastion, chilling sheets of fog swept in from over the dull waters, and there, with back against the ramparts, stood a coatless figure, with pinioned arms and bandaged eyes, facing a file of soldiers--the dreadful waiting in the dark, the whispered commands, the sudden movement of the men, and then--I jumped to my feet trembling in every limb, and with shaking hand wiped the gathered perspiration from my forehead, but could not wipe away the vision of the men staring at the motionless figure lying face downward on the trampled grass, dishonoured, never to be spoken of, until the Great Day, when all the injustices of the ages shall be righted and made clear.

I again seized the lanthorn and re-examined every stone and corner with feverish hope, only to have despair triumph over it more completely than before. Then came a season of mad revolt. It was too horrible! too impossible! that I, Hugh Maxwell, a gentleman, who had lived delicately, who had shone in society which the world courted, who had loved fair women, had talked, and smiled, and sung to them, could in a few short hours be lying a mangled corpse in this obscure corner of the world, could die the death of a dog, of a traitor, the most shameful that can come to a man of honour. I was filled with a vast pity for myself, so mighty and overwhelming that tears filled my eyes as for another, for I saw myself apart, as it were, as distinctly as I saw that pitiful figure before the ramparts; then the childishness of it flashed across me and I laughed aloud; but my laughter was no more real than my tears, for neither brought relief, and the weary round began again.

How many hours this continued I do not know, but my attention was suddenly arrested by a sound at the door, and I made out a jingle of keys. Quickly blowing out the light, I drew my sword and prepared to force an exit, no matter what the odds. But scarce had the door moved when I caught a low whisper. "The chest against the wall! Quick!" Then followed the voice of Madame Prevost raised in dismay: "Mon Dieu, Charles! My candle has gone out! Hurry, bring a light!"

The moment's delay sufficed; I gained the chest and squeezed myself in, letting the lid down over me.

In a moment and before my heart ceased beating I heard her clear accents again. "There, Charles! There, Antoine! Take it up and carry it to my room." And I felt the chest slowly lifted, and the men staggered out, complaining loudly of its weight.

Up the stairs we travelled, uncomfortably for me; then on a level again along the passage; and I was laughing to myself at the probable outcome of my adventure, when I heard,

"Where in the name of all the devils are you lugging that thing?"

It was the Commissary!

"To my room. I want to put my furs away," came the soft answer from madame.

"Blague! Put it down!" And I was jarred on the stone flags.

Then came a pause, and I was speculating on the best mode of attack for a man in my ridiculous position, when the chest was lifted at one end and again dropped heavily.

Then came the same voice, but with a tone of triumph to it:

"Well, do as you like; but there is a lot of old rubbish in it. Take it first, and empty it over the Princess's Bastion!" And once more the chest was slowly lifted.

A pretty situation surely, and clever on the part of M. the Commissary again. A tumble down on those rocks or into the moat would be equally effective, and would not require such explanations as if my body were found in the King's vaults; but my gentleman reckoned without his host.

My scheme was as simple as his own. Hardly had we got clear of the house before my mind was made up. When I judged we were at the open space between the end of the barricaded street and the ramparts I uttered a terrifying yell and flapped the lid. It was enough. The chest went crashing to the ground, and I crawled out, bruised but otherwise unhurt, and my valiant porters were out of sight.

Without delay I made my way to M. Bois de la Mothe, in charge of the fleet, and stated the case, carefully suppressing, however, all mention of my personal adventure, and by morning was in possession of the desired stores, extracted from the Commissary by a peremptory threat to put him in irons and send him to France if they were not forth-coming.

Long before our preparations could be made for leaving the town, the sound of musketry reached us from La Cormorandiere, and we knew the landing was attempted. I was all impatience to be off, but our scanty stores could not be risked if the attempt were successful; so with the others I anxiously awaited the result. But, alas! our stoutest hopes were dashed by the sight of white uniforms straggling over the crest of the hill in full flight, and, instead of a hospital train, I was soon heading a sortie to support the retreat of our troops, with the cannon thundering over our heads to cover their entry into the threatened town.