Cameron of Lochiel

"'Selma, thy halls are silent. There is no sound in the woods of Morven. The wave tumbles alone in the coast. The silent beam of the sun is on the field.'

"Oh! Oui! Mes amis!" cried Lochiel, in the language that he loved, "vos salons sont maintenant, hélas! deserts et silencieux! There is no sound upon this hill which so lately was echoing your bright voices. I hear only the ripples lapping upon the sand. One pale ray from the setting sun is all that lights your meadows.

"What shall I do, kind Heaven, if the rage of the brute who commands me is not yet sated? Should I refuse to obey him? Then am I dishonored. A soldier can not in time of war refuse to carry out the orders of his commander. This brute could have me shot upon the spot, and the shield of the Camerons would be forever tarnished. Who would trouble himself to see that justice was done to the memory of the soldier who chose death rather than the stain of ingratitude? On the contrary, that which was with me but an emotion of grateful remembrance, would certainly be imputed to me for treason by this creature who hounds me with his devilish malice."

The harsh voice of Major Montgomery put an end to these reflections.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I have left my men by the edge of the river, and was proposing to encamp there after our long march."

"It is not late," answered the major, "and you know the country better than I. You will easily find for your encampment another place than that which I have just chosen for myself."

"I will march at once," said Archie. "There is another river about a mile from here where we can camp for the night."

"Very well," said Montgomery, in an insolent voice; "and as you have but a few more houses to burn in this district, your men will soon be able to rest."

"It is true," said Lochiel, "for there remain but five more dwellings. Two of these, however, the group of buildings which you see yonder and a mill on the stream where I am going to camp, belong to the Seigneur D'Haberville, the man who during my exile took me in and treated me as a son. For God's sake, Major Montgomery, give the order yourself for their destruction!"

"I never should have believed," replied the major, "that a British officer would have dared to utter treason."

"You forget, sir," said Archie, restraining himself with difficulty, "that I was then a mere child. But once more I implore you, in the name of all you hold most dear, give the order yourself, and do not force upon me the dishonor of setting the torch to the home of them who in my days of adversity heaped me with benefits."

"I understand," replied the major, with a sneer, "you wish to keep a way open to return to the favor of your friends when occasion shall arise."

At this insulting sarcasm Archie was tempted for an instant to draw his claymore and cry:

"If you are not as cowardly as you are insolent, defend yourself, Major Montgomery!"

Happily, reason came to his aid. Instead of grasping his sword, his hand directed itself mechanically toward his breast, which he tore fiercely. Then he remembered the words of the witch:

"Keep your pity for yourself, Archibald de Lochiel, when, forced to execute a barbarous order, your nails shall tear that breast which covers, nevertheless, a noble heart."

"She was indeed taught of hell, that woman," thought he, "when she uttered that prophecy to a Cameron of Lochiel."

With malicious pleasure Montgomery watched for a moment the strife of passions which tortured the young man's heart. He gloated over his despair. Then, persuaded that Archie would refuse to obey, he turned his back upon him. Lochiel, perceiving his treacherous design, hastened to rejoin his men, and a half-hour later the buildings were in flames. Archie paused beside the fountain where in happier days he had so often refreshed himself with his friends; and from that spot his lynx-like eyes discerned Montgomery, who had returned to the hill-top, and there with folded arms stood feasting on the cruel scene.

Foaming with rage at the sight of his enemy, Archie cried:

"You have a good memory, Montgomery. You have not forgotten the time when my ancestor beat your grandfather with the flat of his saber in an Edinburgh tavern. But I, also, have a good memory. I shall not always wear this uniform that now ties my hands, and sooner or later I will redouble the dose upon your own shoulders, for you would be too much of a coward to meet me in fair fight. A beast like you can not possess even the one virtue of courage. Curse be you and all your race! When you come to die may you be less fortunate than those whose dwellings you have desolated to-day, and may you have no place to lay your head! May all the pangs of hell – "

Then, ashamed of the impotence of his rage, he moved away with a groan.

The mill upon the Trois-Saumons River was soon but a heap of cinders, and the burning of Captain D'Haberville's property in Quebec, which took place during the siege, was all that was needed to complete his ruin.

After taking the necessary precautions for the safety of his company, Archie directed his steps to the desolated manor. There, seated on the summit of the bluff, he gazed in the silence of anguish on the smoking ruins at his feet. It must have been about nine o'clock. The night was dark, and few stars revealed themselves in the sky. Presently, however, he made out a living creature wandering among the ruins. It was old Niger, who lifted his head toward the bluff and began howling piteously. Archie thought the faithful animal was reproaching him with his ingratitude, and bitter tears scalded his cheeks.

"Behold," said he, "the fruits of what we call the code of honor of civilized nations! Are these the fruits of Christianity, that religion of compassion which teaches us to love even our enemies? If my commander were one of these savage chiefs, whom we treat as barbarians, and I had said to him: 'Spare this house, for it belongs to my friends. I was a wanderer and a fugitive, and they took me in and gave me a father and a brother,' the Indian chief would have answered: 'It is well; spare your friends; it is only the viper that stings the bosom that has warmed it.'

"I have always lived in the hope," went on Lochiel, "of one day rejoining my Canadian friends, whom I love to-day more than ever, if that were possible. No reconciliation would have been required. It was natural I should seek to regain my patrimony, so nearly dissipated by the confiscations of the British Government. There remained to me no career but the army, the only one worthy of a Cameron. I had recovered my father's sword, which one of my friends had bought back from among the spoils of Culloden. Bearing this blade, which had never known a stain, I dreamed of a glorious career. I was grieved, indeed, when I learned that my regiment was to be sent against New France; but a soldier could not resign in time of war without disgrace. My friends would have understood that. But what hope now for the ingrate who has ravaged the hearth of his benefactors! Jules D'Haberville, whom I once called my brother, his gentle and saintly mother, who took me to her heart, the fair girl whom I called my sister to hide a deeper feeling – these will, perhaps, hear my justification and end by forgiving me. But Captain D'Haberville, who loves with all his heart, but who never forgives an injury, can it be imagined that he will permit his family to utter my name, unless to curse it?

"But I am a coward and a fool," continued Archie, grinding his teeth, "I should have declared before my men my reasons for refusing to obey, and, though Montgomery had had me shot upon the spot, there would have been found loyal spirits to approve my refusal and to right my memory. I have been a coward and a fool, for in case the major, instead of having me shot, had tried me before a court-martial, even while pronouncing my death sentence they would have appreciated my motives. I would have been eloquent in the defense of my honor, and of that noblest of human sentiments, gratitude. Oh, my friends, would that you could see my remorse! Coward, ten thousand times coward! – "

A voice near him repeated the words "Coward, ten thousand times coward!" He thought at first it was the echo from the bluff. He raised his head and perceived the witch of the manor standing erect on a projecting rock. She stretched out her hands over the ruins, and cried: "Woe! woe! woe!" Then she descended like lightning, by a steep and dangerous path, and wandered to and fro among the ruins, crying: "Desolation! desolation! desolation!" At length she raised her arm with a gesture of menace, pointed to the summit of the bluff, and cried in a loud voice: "Woe to you, Archibald de Lochiel!"

The old dog howled long and plaintively, then silence fell upon the scene.

Archie's head sank upon his breast. The next moment four savages sprang upon him, hurled him to the ground, and bound his hands. These were four warriors of the Abénaquis, who had been spying upon the movements of the English ever since their landing at Rivière Ouelle. Relying upon his tremendous strength, Archie made desperate efforts to break his bonds. The tough moose-hide which enwound his wrists in triple coils stretched mightily, but resisted all his efforts. Seeing this, Archie resigned himself to his fate, and followed his captors quietly into the forest. His vigorous Scottish legs spared him further ill treatment. Bitter were the reflections of the captive during the rapid southward march through the forest, wherein he had so often hunted with his brother D'Haberville. Heedless of the fierce delight of the Indians, whose eyes flashed at the sight of his despair, he exclaimed:

"You have conquered, Montgomery; my curses recoil upon my own head. You will proclaim that I have deserted to the enemy, that I am a traitor as you long suspected. You will rejoice indeed, for I have lost all, even honor." And like Job, he cursed the day that he was born.

After two hours' rapid marching they arrived at the foot of the mountain which overlooks Trois Saumons Lake, on which water Archie concluded that they would find an encampment of the Abénaquis. Coming to the edge of the lake, one of his captors uttered three times the cry of the osprey; and the seven echoes of the mountain repeated, each three times, the piercing and strident call of the great swan of Lower Canada. At any other time Lochiel would have thrilled with admiration at the sight of this beautiful water outspread beneath the starlight, enringed with mountains and seeded with green-crowned islets. It was the same lake to which, for ten happy years, he had made hunting and fishing excursions with his friends. It was the same lake which he had swum at its widest part to prove his prowess. But to-night all Nature appeared as dead as the heart within him. From one of the islets came a birch canoe, paddled by a man in Indian garb, but wearing a cap of fox-skin. The new comer held a long conversation with the four savages, but Archie was ignorant of the Abénaquis tongue, and could make out nothing of what they said. Two of the Indians thereupon started off to the southwest; but Archie was put into the canoe and taken to the islet.

CHAPTER XII.

A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES

What tragic tears bedew the eye!What deaths we suffer ere we die!Our broken friendships we deplore,And loves of youth that are no more.Logan.All, all on earth is shadow, all beyondIs substance; the reverse is folly's creed.How solid all where change shall be no more!Young's Night Thoughts.

Having cursed his enemy and the day of his birth, Lochiel had gradually come to a more Christian frame of mind, as he lay bound to a tree and all hope banished from his heart. He knew that the savages scarcely ever spared their captives, and that a slow and hideous death was in store for him. Recovering his natural force of mind, he hardly took care to pray for his deliverance; but he implored of Heaven forgiveness for his sins and strength to bear the tortures that were before him. Of what account, thought he, the judgment of men when the dream of life is over? And he bowed himself beneath the hand of God.

The three warriors were seated around within a dozen feet of Lochiel, smoking in silence. The Indians are naturally reserved, regarding light conversation as only suitable to women and children. One of them, however, by name Talamousse, speaking to the man of the island, made inquiry:

"Will my brother wait long here for the warriors from the Portage?"

"Three days," answered the latter, lifting up three fingers. "Grand-Loutre and Talamousse will depart to-morrow with the prisoner. The Frenchman will rejoin them at the encampment of Captain Launière."

"It is well," said Grand-Loutre, extending his hand toward the south. "We are going to take the prisoner to the camp at Petit-Marigotte, where we will wait three days for my brother and the warriors from the Portage, and then go to the camp of Captain Launière."

For the first time Lochiel perceived that the voice of the man with the fox-skin cap was not like that of the other two men, although he spoke their language fluently. Hitherto he had suffered in silence the torments of a burning thirst. It was a veritable torture of Tantalus, with the crystal lake waters lapping at his feet, but, under the impression that the man might be a Frenchman, he made bold to say:

"If there is a Christian among you, for God's sake let him give me a drink."

"What does the dog want?" said Grand-Loutre to his companion.

The man addressed made no answer for some moments. His whole body trembled, his face became pale as death, a cold sweat bathed his forehead; then, controlling himself sternly, he answered in his natural voice:

"The prisoner asks for a drink."

"Tell the dog of an Englishman," said Talamousse, "that he shall be burned to-morrow; and that if he is very thirsty he shall have boiling water to drink."

"I am going to tell him," replied the Canadian presently, "that my brothers permit me to give their captive a little water."

"Let my brother do as he will," said Talamousse; "the pale faces have hearts like young girls."

The Canadian curled a piece of birch bark into the form of a cup, filled it with fresh water, and handed it to the prisoner, saying:

"Who are you, sir? In the name of God who are you? Your voice is like that of a man who is very dear to me."

"I am Archibald Cameron, of Lochiel," came the answer, "once the friend of your countrymen; now their enemy, and well deserving the fate which is in store for him."

"Mr. Archie," replied Dumais, for he it was, "although you had slain my brother, although it should be necessary for me to cut down these two red rascals with my tomahawk, in an hour you shall be free. I shall try persuasion before resorting to violent measures. Now silence."

Dumais resumed his place with the Indians, and after a time he remarked:

"The prisoner thanks the red-skins for promising him the death of a man; he says that the song of the pale face will be that of a warrior."

"Houa!" said Grand-Loutre, "the Englishman will screech like an owl when he sees the fires of our wigwams." And he went on smoking and casting glances of contempt upon Lochiel.

"The Englishman," said Talamousse, "speaks like a man while the stake is yet far off. The Englishman is a coward who could not suffer thirst. He has begged his enemies for a drink like a baby crying for its mother." And the Indian spit upon the ground contemptuously.

Dumais opened a wallet, took out some provisions, and offered a portion to the savages, who refused to eat. Then he stepped into the woods, and after a short search brought out a bottle of brandy. He took a drink and began to eat. The eyes of one of the Indians dwelt longingly on the bottle.

"Talamousse is not hungry, my brother," said he, "but he is very thirsty. He has made a long march to-day and he is very tired. The fire-water is good to rest one's legs."

Dumais passed him the bottle. The Indian seized it with a trembling hand and gulped down a good half of the contents.

"Ah, but that's good," said he, handing back the bottle; and presently his piercing eyes grew glazed, and a vacant look began to creep into his face.

"Dumais does not offer any to his brother Grand-Loutre," said the Canadian; "he knows that he does not drink fire-water."

"The Great Spirit loves Grand-Loutre," said the latter, "and made him throw up the only mouthful of fire-water he ever drank. The Great Spirit made him so sick that he thought he was going to visit the country of souls. Grand-Loutre is very thankful, for the fire-water takes away man's wisdom."

"It is good fire-water," said Talamousse after a moment's silence, stretching out his hand toward the bottle, which Dumais removed from his reach. "Give me one more drink, my brother, I beg you."

"No," said Dumais, "not now; by and by, perhaps." And he put the bottle back into his knapsack.

"The Great Spirit also loves the Canadian," resumed Dumais after a pause; "he appeared to him last night in a dream."

"What did he say to my brother?" asked the Indians.

"The Great Spirit told him to buy back the prisoner," answered Dumais.

"My brother lies like a Frenchman," replied Grand-Loutre. "He lies like all the pale faces. The red-skins do not lie to them."

"The French never lie when they speak of the Great Spirit," said the Canadian; and, opening his knapsack, he took a small sip of brandy.

"Give me, my brother, give me one little drink," said Talamousse, stretching out his hand.

"If Talamousse will sell me his share of the prisoner," said Dumais, "he shall have another drink."

"Give me all the fire-water," said Talamousse, "and take my share of the English dog."

"No," said Dumais, "one more drink and that will be all;" and he made a movement to put away the bottle.

"Give it to me, then, and take my share of him."

He seized the bottle in both hands, took a long pull at the precious fluid, and then fell asleep on the grass.

"There's one of them fixed," thought Dumais.

Grand-Loutre had been watching all this with an air of defiance, but had kept on smoking indifferently.

"Now will my brother sell me his share of the prisoner?" asked Dumais.

"What do you want of him?" replied the savage.

"To sell him to Captain D'Haberville, who will have him hung for burning his house. The prisoner will endure like a warrior the tortures of the stake, but at sight of the rope he will weep like a girl."

"My brother lies again," replied Grand-Loutre. "All the English that we have burned cried out like cowards, and not one of them sang his death-song like a man. They would have thanked us to hang them. It is only the red warrior who prefers the stake to the disgrace of being hung like a dog."

"Let my brother heed my words," said Dumais. "The prisoner is not an Englishman, but a Scotchman, and the Scotch are the savages of the English. Let my brother observe the prisoner's clothing, and see how like it is to that of a savage warrior."

"That is true," said Grand-Loutre. "He does not smother himself in clothes like the other soldiers whom the Great Ononthio sends across the water. But what has that to do with it?"

"Why," replied the Canadian, "a Scotch warrior would rather be burned than be hung. Like the red-skins of Canada, he considers that one hangs only dogs, and that if he were to go to the country of souls with the rope about his neck the savage warriors would refuse to hunt with him."

"My brother lies again," said the Indian, shaking his head incredulously. "The Scotch savages are nevertheless pale faces, and they can not have the courage to endure pain like a red-skin." And he went on smoking thoughtfully.

"Let my brother hearken, and he will see that I speak the truth," said Dumais.

"Speak, thy brother gives ear."

"The English and the Scotch," continued the Canadian, "dwell in a great island beyond the great water. The English dwell on the plains, while the Scotch inhabit the mountains. The English are as many as the grains of sand about the shores of this lake, while the Scotch are but as the sands of this little island. Yet the Scotch have withstood the English in war for as many moons as there are leaves on this great maple. The English are rich, the Scotch poor. When the Scotch beat the English, they return to their mountains laden with booty; when the English beat the Scotch, they get nothing. The profit is all on one side."

"If the English are so numerous," said Grand-Loutre, "why do they not pursue their enemies into the mountains and kill every man of them? They could not escape, since, as my brother says, they live on the same island."

"Houa!" cried Dumais, after the fashion of the savages, "I will show my brother why. The Scotch mountains are so high that if an army of young Englishmen were to ascend them but half way, they would be an army of graybeards before they got down again."

"The French are always tomfools," said the Indian. "They can't do anything but talk nonsense. Soon they will put on petticoats and go and sit with our squaws, and amuse them with their funny stories. They never talk seriously like men."

"My brother ought to understand," said Dumais, "that what I said was merely to impress upon him the remarkable height of the Scottish mountains."

"Let my brother continue. Grand-Loutre hears and understands," said the Indian, accustomed to this figurative style of speech.

"The Scotch legs are as strong as those of a moose and active as those of a roebuck," continued Dumais.

"True," said the Indian, "if they are all like the prisoner here, who, in spite of his bonds, kept right on my heels all the way. He has the legs of an Indian."

"The English," said Dumais, "are large and strong, but they have soft legs and huge bellies. When they pursue their more active enemies into the mountains the Scotchmen lie in ambush and kill them by the score. The war seemed as if it would last forever. When the English took prisoners they used to burn many of them; but these would sing their death-song at the stake and heap insult on their torturers by telling them that they had drunk out of the skulls of their ancestors."

"Houa!" cried Grand-Loutre, "they are men these Scotch."

"The Scotch had a great chief named Wallace, a mighty warrior. When he set out for war the earth trembled under his feet. He was as tall as yonder fir-tree and as strong as an army. An accursed wretch betrayed him for money, he was taken prisoner and sentenced to be hung. At this news a cry of rage and grief went up from all the mountains of Scotland. All the warriors painted their faces black, a great council was held, and ten chiefs bearing the pipe of peace set out for England. They were conducted into a great wigwam, the council fire was lighted, and for a long time every one spoke in silence. At length an old chief took up the word, and said: 'My brother, the earth has drunk enough of the blood of these two great nations, and we wish to bury the hatchet. Give us back Wallace and we will remain hostages in his place. You shall put us to death if ever again he lifts the tomahawk against you.' With these words he handed the pipe of peace to the Great Ononthio of the English, who waved it aside, saying sternly, 'Within three days Wallace shall be hung.' 'Listen my brother,' said the great Scotch chief, 'if Wallace must die let him die the death of a warrior. Hanging is a death for dogs.' And again he presented the pipe of peace, and Ononthio refused it. The deputies withdrew and consulted together. On their return the great chief said: 'Let my brother hearken favorably to my last words. Let him fix eleven stakes to burn Wallace and these ten warriors, who will be proud to share his fate and will thank their brother for his clemency.' Once more he offered the pipe of peace, and once more Ononthio rejected it."

"Houa!" cried Grand-Loutre, "those were noble and generous words. But my brother has not told me how the Scotch are now friends with the English and fighting against the French."

"With rage in their hearts, the deputies returned to their mountains. At their death-cries, which they uttered at the gate of every town and village to announce the fate of Wallace, every one rushed to arms; and the war between the two nations continued for as many moons as there are grains of sand here in my hand," said Dumais, picking up a handful. "The Scotch were generally beaten by their swarming enemies, and their rivers ran with blood, but they knew not how to yield. The war would have been going on still but for a traitor who warned the English that nine Scotch chiefs, having gathered in a cavern to drink fire-water, had fallen to sleep there like our brother Talamousse."