Cameron of Lochiel

"The red-skins," said Grand-Loutre, "are never traitors to their own people. They deceive their enemies, but never their friends. Will my brother tell me how it comes that there are traitors among the pale faces?"

Dumais, a little puzzled to answer this question, went on as if he had not heard it.

"The nine chiefs were taken to a great city and condemned to be hung within a month. On this sad news fires were lighted on all the hills of Scotland to summon a grand council of all the warriors. The wise men spoke fine words for three days and three nights, but came to no conclusion. Then they consulted the spirits, and a great medicine-man declared that the Manitou was angry with his children, and that they must bury the hatchet forever. Twenty warriors with blackened faces betook themselves to the chief town of the English, and before the gates they uttered a death-cry for every captive chief. A great council was held, and Ononthio granted peace on condition that they should give hostages, that they should deliver up their strongholds, that the two nations should henceforth be as one, and that the English and Scotch warriors should fight shoulder to shoulder against the enemies of the great Ononthio. A feast was made which lasted three days and three nights, and at which so much brandy was drunk that the women took away all the tomahawks. Had they not done so the war would have broken out anew. The English were so rejoiced that they promised to send the Scotch all the heads, feet, and tails of the sheep which they should kill in the future."

"The English must be generous, indeed," said the Indian.

"My brother must see by this," continued Dumais, "that a Scotch warrior would rather be burned than hung, and he will sell me his share of the prisoner. Let my brother fix his price, and Dumais will not count the cost."

"Grand-Loutre will not sell his share of the prisoner," said the Indian. "He has promised Taoutsi and Katakoui to hand him over to-morrow at Petit-Marigotte, and he will keep his word. The council will be assembled, and Grand-Loutre will speak to the young men. If the young men consent not to burn him, it will then be time to hand him over to D'Haberville."

"My brother knows Dumais," said the Canadian. "He knows that he is rich and a man of his word. Dumais will pay for the prisoner six times as much as Ononthio pays the Indians for every one of his enemies' scalps."

"Grand-Loutre knows," said the Indian, "that his brother speaks the truth, but he will not sell his share of the prisoner."

The eyes of the Canadian shot flame, and instinctively he grasped his hatchet; but, suddenly changing his mind, he assumed an indifferent air, and knocked the ashes out of the bowl of his tomahawk, which served the Canadians as well as the savages for tobacco-pipe when on the march. Although the first hostile movement of the Canadian had not escaped the keen eye of his companion, the latter went on smoking tranquilly.

The words of Dumais had revived the spark of hope in Archie's heart. In spite of his bitter remorse, he was too young to bid farewell without regret to all that made life dear. Could he, the last of his race, willingly suffer the shield of the Camerons to go to the tomb with a stain? Could he endure to die, leaving the D'Habervilles to think that they had cherished a viper in their bosom? He thought of the despair of Jules, the curses of the implacable captain, the silent grief of the good woman who used to call him her son, the sorrow of the fair girl whom he had hoped one day to call by a tenderer name than that of sister. Archie was, indeed, young to die; and with the renewal of hope in his heart, he again clung desperately to life.

He had followed with ever-increasing anxiety the scene that was passing before him. He endeavored to comprehend it by watching the faces of the speakers. Dark as was the night, he had lost nothing of the hate and scorn which were flashed upon him from the cruel eyes of the savages. Knowing the ferocity of the Indians when under the influence of alcohol, it was not without surprise he saw Dumais passing them the bottle; but when he saw one refuse to drink and the other stretched in drunken stupor on the sand, he understood the Canadian's tactics. When he heard the name of Wallace, he remembered that during Dumais's illness he had often entertained him with fabulous stories about his favorite hero, but he was puzzled to guess the Canadian's purpose in talking about the deeds of a Scottish warrior. If he had understood the latter part of Dumais's story, he would have recalled the chaffing of Jules in regard to the pretended delicacies of his countrymen. When he saw the angry gleam in the Canadian's eyes, when he saw him grasp his tomahawk, he was on the point of crying not to strike. His generous soul foresaw the dangers to which his friend would be exposed if he should kill an Indian belonging to a tribe allied with the French.

The Canadian was silent for some time. He refilled his pipe, began to smoke, and at length said quietly:

"When Grand-Loutre, with his father, his wife, and his two sons, fell sick of the small-pox over by South River, Dumais sought them out. At the risk of bringing the disease upon himself and family, he carried them to his own wigwam, where he nursed them for three moons. It was not the fault of Dumais if the old man and the two boys died; Dumais had them buried like Christians, and the Black Robe has prayed to the Great Spirit for their souls."

"If Dumais," replied the Indian, "if Dumais and his wife and his children had fallen sick in the forest, Grand-Loutre would have carried them to his wigwam, would have fished for them and would have hunted for them, would have bought them the fire-water which is the Frenchman's medicine, and would have said, 'Eat and drink my brothers, and recover your strength.' Grand-Loutre and his squaw would have watched day and night by the couch of their French friends; and never would Grand-Loutre have said, 'Remember that I fed you and took care of you and bought fire-water for you with my furs.' Let my brother take the prisoner," continued the Indian, drawing himself up proudly; "the red-skin is no longer in debt to the pale face!" And he calmly resumed his smoking.

"Listen, my brother," said the Canadian, "and pardon Dumais that he has hidden the truth. He knew not thy great heart. Now he is going to speak in the presence of the Great Spirit himself, in whose presence he dare not lie."

"That is true," said the Indian, "let my brother speak."

"When Grand-Loutre was sick two years ago," continued the Canadian, "Dumais told him about his adventure when the ice went out that spring at the Falls of St. Thomas, and how he was saved by a young Scotchman who had arrived that very evening at the house of the Seigneur de Beaumont."

"My brother has told me," said the Indian, "and he has shown me the little island suspended over the abyss, whereon he awaited death. Grand-Loutre knew the place and the old cedar to which my brother clung."

"Very well!" replied Dumais, rising and taking off his cap, "thy brother swears in the presence of the Great Spirit that the prisoner is none other than the young Scotchman who saved his life!"

The Indian gave a great cry which went echoing wildly round the lake. He sprang to his feet, drew his knife, and rushed upon the captive. Lochiel thought his hour had come and commended his soul to God. What was his surprise when the savage cut his bonds, grasped his hands with every mark of delight, and pushed him into the arms of his friend. Dumais pressed Archie to his breast, then sank upon his knees and cried:

"I have prayed to thee, O God, to extend the right arm of your protection over this noble and generous man. My wife and my children have never ceased to make the same prayer. I thank thee, O God, that thou hast granted me even more than I had dared to ask. I thank thee, O God, for I should have committed a crime to save his life, and should have gone to my grave a murderer."

"Now," said Lochiel, after endeavoring to thank his rescuer, "let us get off as quickly as possible, my dear Dumais; for if my absence from camp is perceived I am ruined utterly. I will explain as we go."

Just as they were setting foot in the canoe the cry of the osprey was heard three times from the lake shore opposite the island. "It is the young men from Marigotte coming to look for you, my brother," said Grand-Loutre, turning to Lochiel. "Taoutsi and Katakoui must have met some of them, and told them they had an English prisoner on the island; but they will shout a long time without awakening Talamousse, and as to Grand-Loutre, he is going to sleep till the Canadian gets back. Bon voyage, my brothers." As Archie and his companion directed their course toward the north they heard for a long time the cries of the osprey, which were uttered at short intervals by the Indians on the south shore.

"I fear," said Archie, "that the young Abénaquis warriors, foiled in their amiable intent, will make a bad quarter of an hour for our friends on the island."

"It is true," replied his companion, "that we are depriving them of a very great pleasure. They find the time long at Marigotte, and to-morrow might have been passed very pleasantly in roasting a prisoner."

Lochiel shuddered in spite of himself.

"As for the two canaouas (red rascals) we have left, do not trouble yourself for them, they will know how to get out of the scrape. The Indian is the most independent being imaginable, and renders account to nobody for his actions unless it suits him. Moreover, the worst that could happen to them in the present instance would be, using their own expression, to cover the half of the prisoner with beaver skins or their equivalent – in other words, to pay their share in him to Taoutsi and Katakoui. It is more probable, however, that Grand-Loutre, who is a kind of a wag among them, would choose rather to raise a laugh at the expense of his two disappointed comrades, for he is never without resource. He will say, perhaps, that Talamousse and he had a perfect right to dispose of their half of the prisoner; that the half which they had set free had run away with the other half; that they had better hurry after him, for the prisoner was loaded with their share of himself and therefore could not travel very fast; with other waggery that would be hugely relished by the Indians. It is more probable, however, that he will speak to them of my adventure at the falls of St. Thomas, which the Abénaquis know about, and will tell them that it was to your devotion I owed my life. Then, as the Indians never forget a good turn, they will cry, 'Our brothers have done well to set free the savior of our friend the pale face!'"

Lochiel wished to enter into full details in order to excuse himself in the eyes of Dumais for his cruel conduct on the day preceding; but the latter stopped him.

"A man like you, sir," said the Canadian, "need make me no explanation. I could hardly suspect a heart so noble and so self-forgetful of failing at all in the sentiments of humanity and gratitude. I am a soldier, and I know all the duties imposed upon one by military discipline. I have assisted at hideous performances on the part of our barbarous allies, which in my position as sergeant I might have been able to prevent had not my hands been tied by the orders of my superiors. It is a hard calling for sympathetic hearts, this profession of ours.

"I have been witness of a spectacle," continued Dumais, "which makes me shudder now when I think of it. I have seen these barbarians burn an English woman. She was a young woman of great beauty. I still see her tied to the stake, where they tortured her for eight mortal hours. I still see her in the midst of her butchers, clothed, like our first mother, in nothing but her long, fair hair. I shall hear forever her heart-rending cry of 'My God! my God!' We did all we could to buy her back, but in vain; for her father, her husband, and her brothers, in defending her with the courage of despair, had killed many of the savages, and among them two of their chiefs. We were but fifteen Canadians, against at least two hundred Indians. I was young then, and I wept like a child. Ducros, who was nicknamed the Terror, foamed with rage and cried to Francœur: 'What! sergeant, shall we, who are men and Frenchmen, let them burn a poor woman before our eyes? Give the order, sergeant, and I will split the skulls of ten of these red hounds before they have time to defend themselves.' And he would have done it, for he was a mighty man – was the Terror – and quick as a fish. Black Bear, one of their greatest warriors, approached us with a sneer. Ducros sprang toward him with his tomahawk uplifted, crying: 'Take your hatchet, coward, and you shall see that you have no woman to deal with!' The Indian shrugged his shoulders with an air of pity, and said slowly; 'The pale face is childish; he would kill his friend to defend the squaw of a dog of an Englishman, his enemy.' The sergeant put an end to the argument by ordering Ducros back into the ranks. He was a brave and generous heart, this sergeant, as his name attested. With tears in his eyes, he said to us: 'It would be useless for me to disobey my orders; we would all be massacred without doing the poor woman any good. What would be the consequence? The great tribe of the Abénaquis would forsake its alliance with the French, would join our enemies, and our own women and children would share the fate of this unhappy English woman. Their blood would be upon my head.' Well, Mr. Archie, for six months after this hideous scene I used to start from my sleep bathed in sweat, with those heart-rending cries of 'My God! My God!' shrieking in my ears. They wondered at my coolness when the ice was bearing me down to the falls of St. Thomas. Here is the explanation of it. Through the tumult and uproar I was hearing the screams of the unhappy English woman, and I believed that Heaven was punishing me, as I deserved, for not having succored her. For, you see, Mr. Archie, that man often makes laws which God is very far from sanctioning."

"True, indeed," said Archie, sighing.

During the rest of their journey the two friends talked about the D'Habervilles. Archie learned that the ladies and Uncle Raoul, on the appearance of the English fleet in the St. Lawrence, had taken refuge within the walls of Quebec. Captain D'Haberville and Jules were in camp at Beaupré, with their respective regiments.

Fearing lest Archie should fall in with some of the Abénaquis spies who were hanging on the skirts of the English, he escorted Archie all the way to his encampment. Archie's parting words were as follows:

"You have paid me life for life, my friend; but, for my part, I shall never forget what I owe you. How strangely our lives have come together, Dumais! Two years ago I came all the way from Quebec to South River just in time to snatch you from the abyss. Yesterday, having but just landed from a voyage across the ocean, I am made prisoner; and you find yourself waiting on a little island in Trois-Saumons Lake to save my honor and my life. The hand of God is in it. Farewell, dear friend. However adventurous the soldier's career, I cling to the hope that Fate will bring us again together, and that I may give your children further cause to bless my memory."

When the sun arose, the Highlanders remarked the strange pallor of their young chief. They concluded that, dreading a surprise, he had passed the night in wandering about the camp. After a light meal, Archie gave the order to burn the house beside the mill. He had scarcely resumed the march when a messenger came from Montgomery, ordering him to cease from the work of destruction.

"It is time!" cried Archie, gnawing his sword-hilt.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM

Il est des occasions dans la guerre où le plus brave doit fuir.Cervantes.

Vae victis! says the wisdom of the nations. Woe to the conquered! – not only because of the ruin which follows defeat, but because the vanquished are always in the wrong. They suffer materially, they suffer in their wounded self-love, they suffer in their reputation as soldiers. Let them have fought one against twenty, let them have performed prodigies of heroism, they are nevertheless and always the vanquished. Even their fellow-countrymen forgive them hardly. History records but their defeat. Here and there they get a word of approval from some writer of their race; but the praise is almost always mixed with reproach. Pen and compass in hand, we fight the battle over again. We teach the generals, whose bodies rest on the well-fought field, how they might have managed affairs much better. Seated in a well-stuffed arm-chair, we proudly demonstrate the skillful manœuvres by which they might have snatched the victory; and bitterly we reproach them with their defeat. They have deserved a more generous treatment. A great general, who has equaled in our own day the exploits of Alexander and of Cæsar, has said: "Who is he that has never made a mistake in battle?" Vae victis!

It was the 13th day of September, 1759, a day accursed in the annals of France. The English army, under General Wolfe, after having eluded the vigilance of the French sentinels and surprised the pickets under cover of the darkness, were discovered at daybreak on the Plains of Abraham, where they were beginning to entrench themselves. Montcalm was either carried away by his chivalrous courage, or he concluded that the work of entrenchment had to be at once interrupted; for he attacked the English with only a portion of his troops, and was defeated, as he might have foreseen, by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. On this memorable battle field both generals laid down their lives – Wolfe bestowing upon his country a colony half as large as Europe, Montcalm losing to France a vast territory which the King and his improvident ministers knew not how to appreciate.

Woe to the vanquished! Had Montcalm been victorious he would have been lauded to the skies, instead of being heaped with reproaches for not awaiting the re-enforcements which would have come from De Vaudreuil and De Bougainville. We would have praised his tactics in hurling himself upon the enemy before the latter had had time to establish himself. We would have said that a hundred men behind cover were equal to a thousand in the open. We would never have imputed to General Montcalm any jealous and unworthy motives. His shining laurels, gained on so many glorious fields, would have shielded him from any such suspicions.

Vae victis! After the fatal battle of the 13th the city of Quebec was little more than a heap of ruins. Not even the fortifications furnished shelter, for a portion of the ramparts had been shattered to fragments. The magazines were empty of ammunition, and the gunners, rather to conceal their distress than with any hope of injuring the enemy, answered the English batteries only with an occasional cannon-shot. There were no provisions left. Yet they bring the charge of cowardice against the brave garrison which endured so much and defended itself so valiantly. If the governor, a new Nostradamus, had known that the Chevalier de Lévis was bringing succor to the city, and, instead of capitulating, had awaited the arrival of the French troops, it is certain that the garrison would have been lavishly applauded for its courage. To be sure the garrison showed itself most pusillanimous in giving up a city which it was no longer able to defend! To be sure it should rather have put its trust in the humanity of an enemy who had already carried fire and sword through all the peaceful villages, and should have refused to consider the lives of the citizens, the honor of their wives and daughters, exposed to all the horrors of a capture by assault! Assuredly this unhappy garrison was very pusillanimous! Woe to the vanquished!

After the capitulation the English left nothing undone to secure themselves in the possession of a place so important. The walls were rebuilt, new fortifications added, and the batteries immensely strengthened. It was conceivable that the besiegers might become the besieged. This foresight was justified, for in the following spring General Lévis took the offensive with an army of eight thousand men, made up of regulars and militia in about equal numbers.

At eight o'clock in the morning, April 28, 1760, the English army was drawn up in order of battle on the same field where it had moved to victory seven months before. General Murray, with this army of six thousand men and twenty guns, held a very strong position, while the French army, a little more numerous, but supported by only two guns, occupied the heights of St. Foy. The French were wearied with their painful march over the marshes of La Suède, but they burned to wipe out the memory of their defeat. The hate of centuries stirred the bosoms of both armies. The courage of both was beyond question, and fifteen thousand of the best troops in the world only awaited the word of their commanders to spring at each other's throats.

Jules D'Haberville, who had distinguished himself in the first battle on the Plains of Abraham, was with a detachment commanded by Captain d'Aiguebelle. By order of General de Lévis, this detachment had at first abandoned Dumont's mill under the attack of a much superior force. Jules was severely wounded by the explosion of a shell, which had shattered his left arm, but he refused to go to the rear. Presently the general concluded that the mill was a position of supreme importance, and, when he gave the order to recapture it, Jules led his company to the charge, carrying his arm in a sling.

Almost all Murray's artillery was directed to the maintenance of this position. The French grenadiers charged on the run. The bullets and grape decimated their ranks, but they closed up as accurately as if they were on parade. The mill was taken and retaken several times during this memorable struggle. Jules D'Haberville, "the little grenadier," as the soldiers called him, had hurled himself, sword in hand, into the very midst of the enemy, who yielded ground for a moment; but scarcely had the French established themselves, when the English returned to the attack in overwhelming numbers, and took the position after a most bloody struggle.

The French grenadiers, thrown for a moment into disorder, reformed at a little distance under a scathing fire; then, charging for the third time, they carried the position at the point of the bayonet, and held it.

One would have thought, during this last charge, that the love of life was extinct in the soul of Jules, who, his heart torn by what he thought the treason of his friend, and by the total ruin of his family, appeared to seek death as a blessing. As soon as the order for that third charge was given he sprang forward like a tiger with the cry of, "À moi grenadiers!" and hurled himself single handed upon the English. When the French found themselves masters of the position they drew Jules from under a heap of dead and wounded. Seeing that he was yet alive, two grenadiers carried him to a little brook near the mill, where he soon returned to consciousness. It was rather loss of blood than the severity of his hurt that had caused the swoon. A blow from a saber had split his helmet and gashed his head without fracturing the skull. Jules wished to return to the fight, but one of the grenadiers said to him:

"Not for a little while, my officer. You have had enough for the present, and the sun beats like the devil out there, which is very dangerous for a wound on the head. We are going to leave you in the shade of these trees." D'Haberville, too weak to oppose them further, soon found himself lying among a number of the wounded, who had had strength enough to drag themselves into the grove. Every one knows its result, this second battle of the Plains of Abraham. The victory was dear bought by the French and the Canadians, who suffered no less severely than their enemies. It was a useless bloodshed. New France, abandoned by the mother country, was ceded to England by the careless Louis three years after the battle.

Lochiel had cleared himself nobly of the suspicions which his foe, Montgomery, had sought to fix upon him. His wide knowledge, his zeal in the study of his profession, his skill in all military exercises, his sobriety, his vigilance when in guard of a post, all these had put him high in esteem. His dashing courage tempered with prudence in the attack on the French lines at Montmorency and on the field of the first Battle of the Plains had been noticed by General Murray, who commended him publicly.