French and English: A Story of the Struggle in America

"They are villainous foes!" said Rogers, with a dark scowl. "It is their great joy to take prisoners; and when the French have extracted from them all the information they can as to the strength and prospects of the English, the Indians will claim them again, to scalp and burn, and the French scarcely raise a protest. It is said that they speak with disgust of the barbarities of these savage allies, but they do little or nothing to check them. That is why my wrath often rises higher against the French than against the Indians themselves. They know no better; but for white man to deliver white man into their hands-that is what makes my blood boil!"

The fire leaped up in Charles's eyes, and he had his tale to tell, at hearing of which the Rogerses set their teeth and muttered curses not loud but deep.

"Now will I tell you what we started forth to do," said the leader of the band. "We have been busy all winter. Last month we skated down the lake when it was clear of snow, passed Ticonderoga all unseen, intercepted some sledges of provisions, and carried them and their drivers to our fort. Now we are bent upon a longer journey. We want to reach Crown Point, and make a plan of the works for our brave Commander Winslow. We were a part of the way on our route, when we fell in with Indians conveying provisions to the French on these sledges. We took them from them and dispersed the crew; but they must have scattered and got help, and they set upon us, as you have seen. Now that we have three wounded and two somewhat bruised and shaken, I am thinking it would be better to send them back, with a few sound men as escort-for the provisions will be welcome at the fort, which is not too well victualled-whilst the rest of us push on, and see if we can accomplish our errand. Now that we are thus reinforced, we shall be strong enough to do this."

The eyes of Stark and Fritz sparkled at the prospect.

"We will go with you," they cried. "We long for such work as this; it is what we have come for from our homes and friends."

And then Stark added modestly:

"And if I am but little trained to arms, I can draw. I have been used to that work in my old life, which was too tame for me. I understand how to make plans and elevations. If I could but get a good view of the fortifications, I will undertake to make a good drawing of them for your general."

Rogers slapped him heartily upon the back.

"A draughtsman is the very fellow we want," he cried; "and a draughtsman who can wield weapons as you can, John Stark, is the very man for us. You and your band will be right welcome. You can all use snowshoes, I see, and doubtless skates also?"

Stark nodded. By that time all were proficient in these arts, even Fritz, to whom they had been new at the commencement of the winter. Charles fingered the knife at his belt, and his cavern-like eyes glowed in their sockets.

"Let me fight the French-the French!" he muttered. "I have avenged myself upon the Indian foe. Now let me know the joy of meeting the white foe face to face!"

"Is that poor fellow mad?" asked Rogers of Fritz, when next morning, all preparations being speedily made, the party had divided, and the larger contingent was sweeping down the lake towards the distant junction, which was guarded by the guns of Ticonderoga.

"I think his brain is touched. He has been like that ever since I have known him; but his brother and friends say that once he was the most gentle and peaceful of men, and never desired to raise hand against his fellow. It is the horror of one awful memory that has made him what he is. I thought perhaps that when he wreaked his vengeance upon the Indian chieftain who had slain his wife and children, he would have been satisfied; but the fire in his heart seems unquenched and unquenchable. Sometimes I have a fancy that when his wrath is satisfied the spring of life will cease within him. He grows more gaunt and thin each week; but he is borne along by the strong spirit within, and in battle his strength is as the strength of ten."

"As is ofttimes the way with men whose minds are unhinged," said Rogers. "Truly we have small reason to love our white brothers the French, since at their door lies the sin of these ravages upon the hapless border settlers. We will requite them even as they deserve! We will smite them hip and thigh! though we must not, and will not, become like the savage Indians. We will not suffer outrage; it shall be enough of shame and humiliation for them to see the flag of England flaunting proudly where their banners have been wont to fly."

A few days of rather laborious travel-for the snow was soft-and Crown Point lay before them. They had left the lake some time before, skirting round Roger's Rock, and thus making a cut across country, and missing the perils of passing Ticonderoga.

"We will take that in returning," said Rogers; "but we will not risk being seen on our way down, else they might be upon the alert for our return. We will arrange a pleasant surprise for them."

The way was laborious now, for they had to climb hills which gave them a good view over the fortifications of Crown Point; but this elevation once safely attained, without any further molestation from Indians, they were able to make a complete survey of the fortifications; and Stark made some excellent plans and drawings, which gave a fine idea of the place.

So far all had been peaceful; but the Rangers were not wont to come and go and leave no trace. There were outlying farms around the fortifications, and comings and goings between the French soldiers and peasants.

"We will stop these supplies," said Rogers, with a sardonic smile; "the French shall learn to be as careful of their flour as we have to be!"

And carefully laying an ambush in the early grey of a winter's morning, he sprang suddenly out upon a train of wagons wending their way to the fortifications.

The drivers, scared and terrified, jumped from their places, and ran screaming into the defences, whence soldiers came rushing out, sword in hand, but only to find the wagons in flames, the horses driven off to the forest, and the barns and farmsteads behind burning.

It was a savage sort of warfare, but it was the work of the Rangers to repay ferocity in kind, and to leave behind them dread tokens of the visits they paid.

Whilst the terrified inhabitants and the angry soldiers were striving to extinguish the flames, and vituperating Rogers and his company, these bold Rangers themselves were fleeing down the lake as fast as snowshoes could take them, full of satisfaction at the havoc they had wrought, and intent upon leaving their mark at Ticonderoga before they passed on to Fort William Henry.

Guarded as it was by fortifications and surrounded by Indian spies, Rogers and his men approached it cautiously, yet without fear; for they knew every inch of the ground, and they were so expert in all woodcraft and strategic arts that they could lie hidden in brushwood within speaking distance of the foe, yet not betray their presence by so much as the crackle of a twig.

It was night when they neared the silent fort. A dying moon gave faint light. The advancing party glided like ghosts along the opposite bank. A sentry here and there tramped steadily. The Rangers could hear the exchange of salute and the rattle of a grounded musket. But no sign did they make of their presence. They kept close in the black shadow, and halted in a cavern-like spot well known to them from intimate acquaintance.

Richard Rogers had been sent scouting by his brother, and came in with news.

"There will be marching on the morrow. Some soldiers will leave the fort for the nearest camp; I could not gather how many, but there will be some marching through the forest. If we post ourselves near to the road by which they will pass, we may do some havoc ere they know our whereabouts."

This was work entirely to the liking of the Rangers. Before dawn they were posted in their ambush, and allowed themselves a few hours of repose, but lighted no fire. They must not draw attention to themselves.

They were awake and astir with the first light of the tardy dawn, eagerly listening whilst they looked to the priming of their arms, and exchanged whispered prognostications.

Then came the expected sound-the tramp, tramp, tramp of a number of men on the march.

"Hist!" whispered Rogers, "lie low, and reserve your fire. These sound too many for us."

The men kept watch, and saw the soldiers file by. There were close upon two hundred. It would have been madness to attack them, and the Rangers looked at one another in disappointment.

"Cheer up! there may be more to come," suggested Rogers; and before another hour had passed, their listening ears were rewarded by the sound of a bugle call, and in a few minutes more the trampling of feet was heard once again, and this time the sound was less and more irregular.

"Some stragglers kept behind for something, seeking to catch up the main body," spoke Rogers in a whisper. "Be ready, men; mark each his foe, and then out upon them, and take prisoners if you can."

The taking of prisoners was most important. It was from them that each side learned what was being done by the various commanders. A prisoner was valuable booty to return with to the fort. Rogers seldom went forth upon any important expedition without returning with one or more.

The men swung by carelessly, laughing and talking. They had such faith in their Indian scouts that they never thought of an ambushed foe.

The ping of the rifles in their rear caused a strange panic amongst them. They faced round to see the redoubtable Rogers spring out at the head of a compact body of men.

But the strangest thing in that strange attack was a wild, unearthly yell which suddenly broke from one of the Rangers.

It was like nothing human; it was like the fierce roar of some terrible wild beast. Even Rogers himself was startled for the moment, and looked back to see from whence it had come.

At that moment Charles Angell dashed forward in a frantic manner. He had flung his gun from him; his eyeballs were fixed and staring; there was foam upon his lips; his hair was streaming in the wind. He bore an aspect so strange and fearful that the French uttered yells of terror, and fled helter-skelter from the onslaught.

But if any had had eyes to note it, there was one Frenchman whose face became ashy white as he met the rolling gaze of those terrible, bloodshot eyes. He too flung away his gun, and uttered a frantic yell of terror, plunging headlong into the wood without a thought save flight.

"It is he! it is he! it is he!"

This was the shout which rang from the lips of Charles as he dashed after the retreating figure. All was confusion now amid French and Rangers alike; that awful yell, and something in the appearance of Charles, had startled friend and foe alike.

There were several of the French soldiers left dead in the wood, and one was captured and made prisoner; but the rest had fled like men demented, and the Rangers could not come up with them. As for Charles and his quarry, they had disappeared, and it was long before any trace could be found of them.

Stark and Fritz, however, would not give up the search, and at last they came upon the prostrate form of Charles. He lay face downwards on the frozen ground, which was deeply stained with blood. His wrist was fearfully gashed by some knife; yet in his fingers he held still a piece of cloth from the coat of the French fugitive. It had been literally torn out of his grasp before the man could get free, and he had nearly hacked off the left hand of the hapless Charles.

Yet the man had made good his escape, leaving Charles well nigh dead from loss of blood. But they carried him tenderly back to their cave, and making a rough sledge for him; then brought him safely with their prisoner into the camp at Fort William Henry.

Chapter 3: The Life Of Adventure

"I have seen him once, and he has escaped me. But we shall meet again, and then the hour of vengeance will have come!"

This was the burden of Charles's words as he lay in his narrow quarters in the Rangers' huts just without Fort William Henry, tended by his comrades till his wound healed. The fever which so often follows upon loss of blood had him in its grip for awhile, and he would lie and mutter for hours in a state of semi-delirium.

The sympathy of his comrades for this strange man with the tragic story was deep and widespread. Charles had become a favourite and an object of interest throughout the ranks of the Rangers, and great excitement prevailed when it was understood that he had really seen the man-the Frenchman-who had stood by to see his wife and family massacred, and had deliberately designed to leave him, cruelly pinioned, to die a lingering death of agony in the heart of the lonely forest.

Every day he had visitors to his sickbed, and again and again he told the tale, described his foe, and told how he knew that the man recognized him, first taking him-or so he believed-for a spectre from the tomb, afterwards filled with the most lively terror as he realized that he was pursued by one who had such dire cause for bitter vengeance.

"We have met twice!" Charles would say, between his shut teeth. "Once I was at his mercy, and he showed none. The second time he fled before me as a man flees from death and hell. The third time we meet-and meet we shall-it will be that the Lord has delivered him into my hand. I will strike, and spare not. It will be the hour appointed of Heaven!"

With the lengthening days and the approach of spring the life of the Rangers became less full of hardship, though not less full of adventure. Snowshoes and skates were laid aside, and the men started to construct boats and canoes in which they soon began to skim the surface of the lake; scouting here, there, and all over, and bringing back news of the enemy's movements and strength even when no capture of prisoners rewarded their efforts.

Rogers had taken a great liking to John Stark and his followers. He dubbed Stark his lieutenant, and Fritz and Stark were inseparable companions by this time. Charles attached himself to no person in particular, but was the friend of all; pitied and respected for his misfortunes, allowed to come and go much as he would; regarded rather as one set aside by Heaven for an instrument of vengeance; standing alone, as it were, not quite like any of his comrades; a dreamy, solitary creature, seldom talking much, often passing the whole day in silent brooding; yet when there was fighting to be done, waking up to a sort of Berserker fury, dealing blows with an almost superhuman strength, and invariably filling the hearts of his adversaries with a species of superstitious fear and dread.

For the tall, gaunt figure with the haggard face, flaming eyes, and wildly-floating locks bore so weird an aspect that a man might be pardoned for regarding it as an apparition. Not a particle of colour remained in Charles's face. The flesh had shrunk away till the bones stood out almost like skin stretched over a skull. The hair, too, was white as snow, whilst the brows were coal black, enhancing the effect of the luminous, fiery eyes beneath. It was small wonder that Charles was regarded by Rangers and soldiers alike as a thing apart. He came and went as he would, no man interfering or asking him questions.

At the same time he seemed to regard Fritz and Stark as his chief friends; and if they started forth with any of the Rangers, it was generally observed that Charles would be of the company.

The life of the forest was pleasant enough in the warmer weather; but the garrison at the fort were anxious to know what orders they would receive for the summer campaign, and so far nothing was heard but that they were to remain on the defensive. This might be prudent, seeing that Ticonderoga was< strongly fortified and garrisoned; but it pleased neither soldiers nor officers, and the Rangers went scouting more and more eagerly, hoping to learn news which might tempt those in authority to sanction some more overt movement.

One day a strange adventure befell the Rangers. Rogers and his little flotilla of boats were here, there, and everywhere upon the lake. Not only did they move up and down Lake George, which was debatable ground, commanded at the different ends by a French and English fort, but they carried boats across a mountain gorge to the eastward, launched them again in South Bay, and rowed down the narrow prolongation of Lake Champlain, and under cover of dark nights would glide with muffled oars beneath the very guns of Ticonderoga, within hearing of the sentries' challenge to each other, and so on to Crown Point, whence they could watch the movements of the enemy, and see their transports passing to and fro with provisions for Ticonderoga.

Many a small boat was seized, many a large one sunk by these hardy Rangers of the forest. They were as wily as Indians, and as sudden and secret in their movements. The French regarded them with a species of awe and fear. They would sometimes find an English boat or canoe in some spot perfectly inexplicable to them. They could not believe that anyone could pass the fortifications of Ticonderoga unseen and unheard, and would start the wildest hypotheses to account for the phenomenon, even to believing that some waterway existed which was unknown alike to them and their Indian scouts.

But to return to the adventure to which allusion has been made.

Rogers with some thirty of his Rangers was out upon one of those daring adventures. They were encamped within a mile of Ticonderoga. Their boats were lying in a little wooded creek which gave access to the lake. Some of the party, headed by Rogers, had gone on towards Crown Point by night. Stark, with a handful of trusty men, lay in hiding, watching the movements from the fort, and keeping a wary eye upon those who came and went, ready to pounce out upon any straggler who should adventure himself unawares into the forest, and carry him off captive to the English camp.

Certain tidings as to the course the campaign was likely to take were urgently wanted by this time. The posts to the English fort brought in no news save that it was thought better for the army on the western frontier to remain upon the defensive, and no talk of sending large reinforcements came to cheer or encourage them. Winslow was impatient and resentful. He thought there were mismanagement and lack of energy. He knew that the provinces had been roused at last out of their lethargy, and had pledged themselves to some active effort to check French aggression; yet weeks were slipping by, one after the other, and no help of any consequence came to the army on the outskirts. No command reached the eager soldiers for a blow to be struck there, as had been confidently expected.

Perhaps the French might be better informed as to what was going on in other parts of the great continent, and so prisoners were wanted more urgently than ever.

At midday upon a steamy midsummer day, one of the young Rangers who had been wandering about near to the camp in search of game came back with cautious haste to report that he had seen a small party of French leaving the fort by the water gate, cross the narrow waterway, and plunge into the forest. He had observed the direction taken, and thought they could easily surround and cut them off. He did not think there were more than six in the party; probably they were out hunting, unconscious of the proximity of any foe.

Stark was on his feet in a second. This was just the chance for the Rangers. Seizing their arms and hastily conferring together, they laid their plans, and then divided themselves into three companies of three, planning to fetch a circuit, keep under cover, and thus surround the little company, who would believe themselves entirely overmatched, and some of whom would surrender at discretion, if they did not all do so.

Stark, Fritz, and Charles remained together, taking a certain path as agreed upon. They crept like Indians through the wood. Hardly the breaking of a branch betrayed their movements. In Charles's eyes the slumbering fire leaped into life. He always lived in the hope of again meeting his foe face to face. He knew that he was probably within the walls of Ticonderoga. Any day might bring them face to face once more.

Softly and cautiously they crept through the brushwood. Stark had made a sign of extra caution, for some nameless instinct seemed to have told him that they were near the quarry now. He paused a moment, held up his hand as if in warning; and at that instant there suddenly arose from the heart of the wood the unwonted sound of a sweet, fresh girl's voice raised in a little French song!

The men looked at one another in amaze. Were their ears deceiving them? But no; the trilling notes came nearer. Involuntarily they pressed forward a few paces, and then came to a dead stop. What was it they saw?

A maiden, a young girl of perhaps seventeen summers, her hat suspended by a broad ribbon from her arm, and half filled with flowers, was wandering through the woodland tracks as quietly as though in her sheltered home across the water. As she moved she sang snatches of song in a clear, bird-like voice; and when her eyes suddenly fell upon the three strange figures in the path, there was no fear in their violet depths, only a sort of startled bewilderment, instantly followed by an eagerness that there was no mistaking.

"Oh," she exclaimed eagerly, in accents which denoted almost unmixed pleasure, and speaking English with only a very slight intonation denoting her mixed nationality, "I am sure that I have my wish at last! You are Rogers' Rangers!"

Stark and Fritz had doffed their hats in a moment. They were more nonplussed a great deal than this fearless maiden, who looked like the goddess of the glade, secure in her right of possession. Her eyes were dancing with glee; her mouth had curved to a delicious smile of triumph.

"I have been longing to see the Rangers ever since I arrived at Ticonderoga; but they declared they were terrible fire-eating men, worse than the wild Indians, and that they would kill me if I adventured myself near to them-kill me or carry me away captive. But I said 'No!'" (and the girl threw back her head in a gesture of pride and scorn); "I said that the Rangers were Englishmen-English gentlemen, many of them-and that they did not war with women! I was not afraid; I knew they would not lay a finger upon me.

"I am not wrong, am I, sirs? You would not hurt a maiden who trusts your chivalry and honour?"

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.