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THE TWO ORPHANS

THE LETTRE DE CACHET

THE FALL OF NEW FRANCE

LOI "'You can tell me where they are,' she said softly, but very earnestly."

"The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat."

"Flinging away his sword, he knelt beside her." ELOI

PART I

THE TWO ORPHANS.

THE KING'S WARRANT.

THE TWO ORPHANS.

At last England and France had formally drawn the sword which they had sheathed only eight years before at the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and the great struggle known in history as the Seven Years' War had begun in earnest. Yet although the old countries had until now managed to abstain from a declared and open rupture in the Old World, it had for well-nigh two years past been far otherwise with their great dependencies beyond the Atlantic. There, during the years 1754 and 1755, New France and New England had already been carrying on a deadly conflict, which seemed to increase in intensity and fierceness as the months rolled on, and in which for some time the royal troops of both kingdoms had taken a prominent part, notwithstanding the nominal state of peace between the mother countries. Some short-sighted men, indeed, tried to persuade themselves of the possibility that the colonists might carry on the war on the soil of the New World, without necessarily compromising the peace of Europe; but the European powers had their own apples of discord, and the ambitious designs of the Great Frederick had now set Europe once more in a blaze.

But what was to be the issue of the struggle in America? With the history of the last hundred years open before us--with such names as those of Wolfe, Abercrombie, and Wellington; Rodney, Howe, and Nelson ever ringing now like household words in our ears--with such achievements as those of the plains of Abraham, the sand-hills of Aboukir, Waterloo, the Nile and Trafalgar ever present to our minds, we are apt enough to ignore the uncertainty which, humanly speaking, in those days hung about the result of a collision between New England and New France, backed by the power of their respective sovereign states. From the descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers might, indeed, be expected an amount of vigour, energy, and self-reliance, that must needs contribute greatly to success in such a contest; but these very qualities, so far from finding much favour with their rulers in the Old Country, were like enough to be met with jealousy and distrust, to produce coldness and estrangement, and perhaps even to weaken the support of the government in England. In addition to this, the rivalries and dissensions that were always springing up amongst the several colonies themselves could hardly fail to interfere materially, as they had done for years past, with their cordial combination in any effort, however needful, for their common good. Canada, on the other hand, was essentially the creation of the parent State, its favoured offspring; it was unceasingly cherished and fostered as a nursery of commerce, and as the means of planting the Christian faith amongst the heathens, over which France would spread her protecting wings with the jealousy of an eagle defending its young even at the cost of its life. Yet so far as the colony was concerned that protection had been dearly bought at a cost of patronage and favouritism that had checked all healthy exertion amongst the colonists. With some bright exceptions, oppression, rapacity, and bigotry had ever characterised the ruling powers in the colony, and now that the hour of trial had come there could be little hope that the colonists of New France, however loyally disposed, could do much to help King Louis to retain this much-prized dependency of the French crown. But what of that? The French king probably cared as little for the help of his Canadian subjects as he did for the enmity of the New Englanders. Nearly fifty years had passed away since the victories of Marlborough, whilst the humiliation of Dettingen had been eclipsed by the triumph of Fontenoy. England, moreover, had but just succeeded, with no little difficulty, in putting down a rebellion at home, and Jacobite disaffection was still rife in the land--such at least might well be the French view of the English situation. In America, too, the successes of General Johnson on Lake Champlain, however substantial, could not efface the recollection of Braddock's disastrous rout at Fort Duquesne.

There were, nevertheless, some circumstances in the case which led reflecting men to think that even were the troops of France commanded by another Marshal Saxe the victory might yet be doubtful. The exploits of Anson, Hawke, Boscawen, and Warren, both previously to the peace, and now again immediately on the resumption of hostilities, had established almost beyond question England's superiority at sea, and this could scarcely fail to be of incalculable advantage in a contest which would make it necessary to transport and convey land forces to a distant theatre of war. There was, moreover, yet another circumstance that could not be put out of sight, even by those most inclined to rely on the military prestige of France, acquired in wars of the old conventional European type. Brought year by year more and more into contact with the white man, and year by year more debased by an insatiable thirst for the deadly fire-water, the American Indian had indeed gradually become less and less formidable to his foes; he was, however, by no means an enemy to be despised. Many a well-conceived plan was defeated by the sudden and murderous onslaught of a tribe whose stealthy approach had eluded all common precautions, and many an engagement which in civilised war might have had but small results, was turned into a massacre from which not one escaped to tell the tale. Even the hardy colonists, whilst they affected to despise the wild and untutored savage, felt a secret dread of him, and as for those who had come less in contact with him, the stories of the Red Indian's ruthless barbarity, blended as it was with traits of generous magnanimity, of his stoical indifference to physical suffering, and of his incredible sagacity in following up the trail of his enemies, seemed to invest him with a strange and almost supernatural power. Against such a foe mere bravery, or even the common prudence of ordinary warfare, was utterly insufficient, and the knowledge that there were a hundred red men in the ranks of the enemy entailed an amount of harassing precautions and fatigue that even the alliance of a thousand friendly Indians could do little to relieve. In the present struggle, which indeed may be said to have originated mainly in the jealous rivalry of Canada and New England to obtain monopolies of the trade with the red man, both parties were aided by many tribes of Indians. The powerful Iroquois, otherwise called the "Five Nations," with the Outagamis, the Fox Indians, and others, were for the most part allies of the English; whilst the Hurons, the Outamacs, the Morian Indians, and others, were generally found fighting on the French side.

The campaign of 1756 was opened with some inconsiderable advantages obtained by the French along the line of forts that lay between Montreal and Oswego. The erection of this latter fort, where the Onondaga river falls into Lake Ontario, had been amongst the first causes of serious enmity between the French Canadians and their New England neighbours, the latter having boldly planted this outpost right in the teeth of their rivals, for the better prosecution of their trade with the Indians--the great and ever-recurring subject of dispute. The reduction of this small stronghold was accordingly the first object of the Marquis de Montcalm, who this year took the command in Canada of the French forces, which had been largely increased by drafts from home. Fort Ontario, situated on the right bank of the river opposite to Oswego, was first attacked, and, running short of ammunition, owing to some unaccountable neglect on the part of the British, was carried in little more than twelve hours. The French artillery, and such guns as were found available in the captured fort, were then turned upon the more important stronghold of Oswego. The English commandant and many more of its brave defenders were soon killed, and on the 14th of August it fell into the hands of the French. It is to be lamented, however, that the massacre, by Montcalm's savage Indian auxiliaries, of a large number of the prisoners who had placed themselves under his protection, has cast a stain on the otherwise irreproachable character of the renowned and chivalrous commander, and tarnishes the glory of this brilliant exploit. The loss on the French side had been comparatively small, nevertheless the evening of that same 14th of August found the army surgeons busy enough, and from many a rude couch in the shed on which the wounded had been laid the doctor turned away with a shrug, which told plainly enough that all further human aid was hopeless. Such was the case with a certain Captain Lacroix, of the Regiment of Auvergne, who had at first seemed only slightly wounded; but symptoms of more serious injury suddenly became apparent, and one of his companions in arms, who now stood by his bedside, had just broken to him the intelligence that in a few hours more he would be no longer of this world.

"Yes," said the dying man, "I was afraid that it was so; and yet I hoped it might not be--for her sake, for her sake, Valricour. As for myself, what could I wish better than to die a soldier's death in the hour of victory? But my poor Marguerite! My heart bleeds for her, left so young without a father--without a friend."

"Say not so, old comrade," replied the other, scarcely able to speak for emotion. "I should be a base hound indeed if I could let such a thought embitter the last moments of an old brother officer to whom I once owed my life. Poor Marguerite shall never want a home--I swear it to you."

"I thank God! I thank God!" exclaimed the dying man, faintly, as he wrung the hand of his friend. But this effort, coupled with the sudden revulsion of feeling produced by the unexpected promise, proved too much for him, and poor R?n? Lacroix fell back upon his pillow to rise no more.

For a brief space Valricour, and a young officer who had shared with him the task of watching by the bedside of his comrade, remained absorbed in mournful silence. It was at last broken by Valricour, who, half soliloquising, half speaking to his younger companion, sorrowfully uttered the words--

"Poor fellow! It was indeed a hard thing for him to leave her all alone and friendless here in a strange land. I could not but promise him that I would care for her, though how to set about it as matters stand is truly more than I exactly know at present. Well, we must see what can be done."

"His daughter is motherless too, is she not, my uncle?" said the young soldier.

"Yes, Isidore; she is, as he even now told us, utterly alone in the world, and penniless too, I fancy. When poor Lacroix came out with the regiment, and brought her with him, it was in the hope that he might ultimately obtain a grant of land here in New France and settle down upon it, for what little property he had was thrown away upon a worthless son, who died some little time ago."

Here M. de Valricour was interrupted by a summons to attend upon the general at head-quarters. He accordingly quitted the shed, leaving to young de Beaujardin the melancholy duty of seeing their friend consigned to his last resting-place amidst the battered outworks of the stronghold which his valour had helped to conquer.

So, after liberally rewarding the soldiers who had helped him in his sorrowful task, and with a sigh of commiseration for the desolate but unknown Marguerite, the young soldier betook himself to his quarters to attend to his toilet and get rid, as far as might be, of the distasteful and offensive traces of the day's fight. He had just completed that agreeable task, very much to his own satisfaction at all events, when the orderly who had previously called M. de Valricour away, once more made his appearance and informed Isidore that the Marquis de Montcalm desired his attendance at head-quarters.

Notably short in stature and of slight figure, Montcalm had by nature an air and manner which at once powerfully impressed those who came across him, and the rapidity with which he habitually spoke tended rather to enhance the impression. He was endowed with a singular quickness of perception, an unusually retentive memory both for things and persons, and an unfailing judgment in the selection of the right man. These qualities, joined to an unvarying uprightness and a bravery of the most chivalrous character, not only won for him the esteem and affection of all who served under him, but stamped him unmistakably as one of those born to command.

When Isidore entered the shot-riddled building in which the marshal had taken up his quarters, he found him in conversation with Monsieur de Valricour. The young soldier accordingly saluted, and then remained standing near the door, whilst Montcalm, dropping his voice so as not to be overheard, concluded as follows:--

"As for me, I do not think so badly of these dandies as you do; some of them only need to have all the pains they take upon themselves directed into the proper channel to realise great things. From what I have seen of our young friend I think he is one of these; at any rate I will give him the chance." Then, turning to Isidore, he added aloud: "Monsieur de Beaujardin, I have noticed with satisfaction your courage and self-command during the assault, and have selected you for a duty of importance. You will take this despatch and deliver it, with the least possible delay, into the hands of Monsieur de Longueuil at Fort Chambly. On your way you will observe the formation of the ground and any obstacles or facilities for the march of troops, and will take note of any appearance of an intention on the part of the enemy to throw forward advanced posts on your line of route. At Chambly you will hold yourself at M. de Longueuil's orders either to return or proceed elsewhere."

Isidore took the despatch which the general held out to him, and as the latter remained silent, he again saluted, and was turning to withdraw when Montcalm stopped him, saying--

"You seem to make very light of the matter, my young friend; but you will not find the task before you so easy an affair as dancing a gavotte or a minuet, I can tell you. Do you know that Chambly is some seventy leagues distant? How do you mean to find your way there?"

"I presume I shall be furnished with a guide, and if so, I shall trust to him for that; if not, I shall find the way as best I can."

"Yes, and get scalped by some of our red friends before you have gone a league; and then what becomes of my despatch on the king's service?"

"In that case," replied Isidore, coolly, "I shall be no longer in His Majesty's service, and be accountable to another King for having at least done my duty."

"Good," said Montcalm. "You will find that I have provided you with a guide--one in whom you may place implicit confidence. Adieu, sir."

On leaving the general's quarters Isidore was followed by Monsieur de Valricour.

"You wounded, my uncle?" exclaimed Isidore anxiously. "I hope it is really slight; you are apt to think too lightly of such a thing."

Isidore looked at his guide, whose countenance seemed, to confirm this favourable opinion. The Canadian looked at him, though more covertly, and it must be owned that his face did not betray any evidence of a similar good opinion of the young marquis. On the contrary, it was in a rather sulky tone that, after touching his cap, the guide observed--

"I go as I am, Master Guide," replied Isidore curtly. "Mind your own business."

"H'm--well, perhaps you are right," said Monsieur de Valricour. "Yes, stick to the uniform; a soldier cannot well do wrong in that, when there is any doubt."

"Monsieur at least will take with him some better weapon than that small sword," urged the Canadian. "But perhaps monsieur is not used to carry a musket?"

"Yes, yes, do so, Isidore," said the baron. "Do that by all means; one doesn't know what one may come across on such a journey."

These important preliminaries were scarcely settled when a hue-and-cry was heard, and no little commotion arose. It turned out that an Indian had been found huddled up, apparently asleep, in a corner of the room adjoining the one occupied by the Marquis de Montcalm himself. He proved to be not one of those acting with the French troops, but an Iroquois, and on being detected had darted through the open window, and though the alarm was instantly raised, had succeeded in baffling his pursuers and making his escape. Such incidents, however, were not so uncommon as to excite more than a passing notice, and as soon as the outcry had subsided the baron took an affectionate leave of the young envoy, who, accompanied by his guide, forthwith set out upon his journey.

"And how far does monsieur mean to march to-night?"

"Nay, my friend," replied Isidore, "that is for you to arrange; I never interfere with the business of other people. You are the guide; you know the distance and the road. It is for you to settle the length of the stages, and where we are to encamp for the night, as I suppose, from the little I know of these parts, that we have not much chance of sleeping under a roof between this and Fort Chambly."

"Bravely spoken, monsieur!" exclaimed Boulanger, thoroughly restored to good-humour by these words. "Monsieur will pardon me for having had my misgivings as to the length of the marches that might be accomplished by--by a personage like yourself, not used to this kind of work. Well, then, I propose that we halt at midnight; that will be enough for a start, and it will bring us to good camping ground. I think we had better do the greater part of our work by night, and rest and sleep during the heat of the day. We shall do more, besides escaping notice in case there should be any scouts, either white or red, or marauding parties prowling about, as is sometimes the case near the border."

"I should have thought there was small chance of meeting any one in these interminable woods, through which, as a matter of taste, I should prefer to travel by daylight," replied Isidore. "Indeed, I am rather thankful for the bright moonlight we seem likely to have, and wish we had a few more of such open glades as the one we have just crossed; it would be more agreeable--at least to me."

They had re-entered the wood, and had not proceeded very far when they came to a spot that would have been particularly dark owing to the great size of the trees and their closeness to each other, but for the few gleams of moonlight that found their way even through the dense foliage and lighted up a branch here and there with a strange and almost supernatural brightness. Suddenly the guide stopped, and slightly raising his hand as if to keep back his companion, gazed intently for a moment at a good-sized button-wood tree that stood at a distance of about thirty yards, but somewhat out of their course. Following the direction of the Canadian's eyes, Isidore looked wonderingly at the tree, when suddenly he saw a dark shapeless object drop from one of the lower branches. He expected of course to see it lying on the ground beneath the tree, but not a trace of it was visible; it seemed as if the earth had swallowed up the big dark thing, whatever it might have been.

The guide, who had half raised his rifle, now lowered it again. "The rascal has got off this time," said he, "but who would have expected to come across a red skin hereabouts just now? Stop a bit! Depend upon it, this is the same fellow who was found skulking about the general's head-quarters this evening. Yes, he is dogging our steps, and we shall hear more of him before we get to Chambly."

There was something about this announcement that was not at all pleasant to Boulanger's companion. He might be brave as a lion and cool enough in fair open fight, but the idea of being the object of a planned attack by Indian savages in the depths of a lonely American forest somewhat disconcerted him, and he looked rather anxiously around, as if each tree might harbour another lurking enemy.

"An English settlement!" exclaimed Isidore, "that would surely be running into a trap, as you call it, with a vengeance."

Isidore could not fail to be struck by the unhesitating certainty with which his companion threaded the intricacies of the apparently interminable forest, through which he could detect no path or track of any kind, much less anything in the remotest degree resembling a road. There were, indeed, such things as tracks in the woods, though perhaps a league apart, but the practised eye of the Canadian forester needed none; his habits of observing every peculiarity, whether on the ground or above, enabled him to keep not only a direct course, but one which avoided any obstructions or impediments to their progress. Boulanger said that he had been used to these woods ever since he was born, some forty years since, and had lived in those parts until two or three years previously, when he had removed to the neighbourhood of Quebec with his wife, whom he called Bibi. His experience in all things pertaining to the woods had obtained for him a situation under the manager of the Royal Chase, as it was called, but he had been engaged by Montcalm, who had the gift of selecting the best man for every business, to act as one of the guides to the troops in the present campaign. After conducting Isidore to Chambly he was to have his discharge, and would be at liberty to return home; but it was plain that the last few months had revived in him a love for his old independent way of life, which doubtless contrasted strongly with his new position. It galled him to work for wages, however high, however certain, and his servitude brought him into contact with much at which his disposition revolted. So, as he told his story, he gradually grew more and more excited, declaiming hotly against the evils he had seen and heard of since he had quitted his log hut in the forest. For some little time Isidore listened with patience, or rather indifference, to his guide's indignant invectives against the various misdoings and iniquities of the creatures and underlings of the Government, and especially of those employed by Bigot, the king's intendant. At last, however, in his excitement, Boulanger began to launch out against Monsieur Bigot himself, whereupon he was somewhat sternly called to order by his aristocratic young companion, who bade him remember that it was not for such low-born fellows as he to open their mouths against the seigneurs and nobles, and least of all against the officers of His Most Christian Majesty. Had the guide been a New England colonist, rejoicing in the name of John Smith, he would probably have retorted boldly enough and held his ground, but what could be expected from Jean Baptiste the Canadian woodsman? He might have sense enough to understand the wrong-doing, and in the honest zeal of the moment he might inveigh against it, but it was not for him to set himself up against monseigneur the young Marquis de Beaujardin. There was a murmured apology, mingled with some kind of protest that it was all true, nevertheless, and then our travellers continued their journey for a while in the same unsatisfactory silence with which they had commenced it.

He had touched a chord in Boulanger's breast which was always ready to vibrate.

"Yes, monsieur," exclaimed the latter, forgetting in an instant the rebuff he had recently received; "yes, here, indeed, all is peaceful and happy, for all is as it comes to us from God's hand. The folly and wickedness of man have not yet invaded these sublime yet lovely solitudes. All things around can but remind us of the days when the world came forth from the hands of our Father, and He said it was very good. Come, monsieur, it is time we should call a halt, and take some supper; we have done very well, and made a good beginning. Let us sit down here under this noble tree, and rest and refresh ourselves."

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