Chapter 3: Albany.
"You are not our prisoner," said Colin; "you and your friends areour guests, welcome to stay or go as you will. Only we hope anddesire that you will not go forth into the forest again until thesnow has melted, and you are sound and whole once more."
The bright-faced boy was seated beside the bed whereon lay Fritz,who felt like a man awakening from a long, strange, and ratherfrightful dream. He had become unconscious almost immediately aftertheir rescue three days before, and had only now recovered the useof his faculties and the memory of recent events.
"You had a bad wound on the side of your head when we found you,"explained Colin. "My uncle, the Abbe, says that had it been leftmuch longer untended you must have died. He is an excellent surgeonhimself, having learned much as to the treatment of wounds andbruises and sicknesses of all kinds. He is well pleased with itsappearance now, and with your state of health. He says that youRangers are marvellous tough customers, whether as soldiers or aspatients. You take a great deal of killing!"
Fritz smiled in response to the boy's bright look, but there wasanxiety in his face too.
"Can you tell me aught of the Rangers?" he said. "You, doubtless,know how we were set upon and dispersed a few days back."
"Yes; and our Captain of the fort is right glad at it," said theboy, "for Rogers led him a dog's life with his raids and robberies.But all is fair in love and war, and it is not for us to complainof what we ourselves have provoked and should do in likecircumstances. Nevertheless there is rejoicing at Ticonderoga thatthe Rangers are dispersed and broken for the present. We werebeginning to fear lest they should take away from us all ourprovision and cut off our supplies."
"Do you know how many were slain?"
"No; but it must have been a considerable number. I am sorrymyself. I delight in all brave deeds of daring, and it is theRangers who have shown themselves the heroes of this campaign. Atfirst they said Rogers himself had been killed, but that has sincebeen contradicted. For myself I do not believe it. The dead werecarefully examined by one who knew Rogers well, and he declaresthere is no corpse that in any way resembles him; and othersdeclare that he was seen escaping to the forest, fighting everyinch of the way, with a resolute little band around him whom nonecared to follow."
"I myself saw something of that," answered Fritz; "but it all seemslike a dream of long ago. Tell me now of those who were withme--Captain Pringle and the lad Roche. Are they here, and unhurt ofthe Indians?"
"They are sound and well, and though sorely exhausted by cold andhunger and fatigue when they were brought in, are fully recoverednow. Captain Pringle is quite a hero with us, for he has told usall the story of that disgraceful and dishonourable day of Augustlast when the laurels of France were sorely tarnished by thetreacherous villainy of her Indian allies! Believe me, friendFritz, we men of France deplore that massacre, and cry shame uponourselves and our countrymen for not taking sterner measures torepress it. For that reason alone, as mine uncle says, we owe toyou and to your companions every honour and courtesy which we canshow. If we have sometimes to blush for the conduct of our allies,we can show that we are capable of better things ourselves; and ifwe can make reparation ever so little, you will not find usbackward in doing it."
This indeed seemed to be the feeling of those within the fort.Although these men were Rangers, part of the band which hadharassed them so sorely through the winter months, the garrisonreceived them with open arms, ministered to their wants, and viedwith one another in making them at home.
The influence of the venerable Abbe might have had something to dowith this; but it was greatly due to the chivalry of the Frenchnature, and to the eager desire to show kindness to those who hadwitnessed and suffered from that awful tragedy which had followedupon the surrender of Fort William Henry, which they felt to be alasting disgrace to their cause.
Those of the officers who had been there averred that they couldnever forget the horror of those two days; and the French surgeonwho had taken over the English sick and wounded, and yet saw thembutchered before his eyes ere he could even call for help, hadnever been the same man since.
So when Fritz was able to rise from his bed and join hiscompanions, he found himself in pleasant enough quarters,surrounded by friendly faces, and made much of by all in the fort.He, being able to speak French fluently, made himself a greatfavorite with the men, and he enjoyed many long conversations withthe Abbe, who was a man of much acumen and discernment, and sawmore clearly the course which events were likely to take than didthose amongst whom he lived.
From him Fritz learned that affairs in Canada were looking verygrave. There were constant difficulties arising between the variousofficials there, and the most gross corruption existed in financialaffairs, so that there was a rottenness that was eating like acanker into the heart of the colony, despite its outward aspect ofprosperity. France was burdened by foreign wars and could do littlefor her dependencies beyond the sea; whilst England was beginningto awake from her apathy, and she had at her helm now a man whounderstood as no statesman there had done before him the value toher of these lands beyond the sea.
"I have always maintained," the Abbe would say, "that in spite ofall her blunders, which blunders and tardinesses are stillcontinuing, there is a spirit in your English colonies which willone day rise triumphant, and make you a foe to be feared anddreaded. You move with the times; we stand still. You teach andlearn independence and self government; we depend wholly upon aKing who cares little for us and a country that is engrossed inother matters, and has little thought to spend upon our perils andour troubles. You are growing, and, like a young horse or bullock,you do not know yet how to use your strength. You are unbroken toyoke and halter; you waste your energy in plunging and butting whenyou should be utilizing it to some good end. Yet mark my words, theday is coming when you will learn to answer to the rein; when youwill use your strength reasonably and for a great end and thenshall we have cause to tremble before you!"
Fritz listened and partly understood, and could admire the man whospoke so boldly even when he depreciated the power of his ownpeople. He grew to love and revere the Abbe not a little, and whenthe day came for them to say farewell, it was with real sorrow hespoke his adieu.
"You have been very good to us, my father," he said. "I hope theday may come when we may be able to show our gratitude."
"Like enough it will, my son," answered the Abbe gently; "I havelittle doubt that it will. If not to me, yet to my children andcountrymen. For the moment the laurels of victory remain in ourhands; but the tide may some day turn. If so, then remember to bemerciful and gentle to those who will be in your power. I thinkthat the English have ever shown themselves generous foes; I thinkthey will continue to show themselves such in the hour of victory."
It was with hearts much cheered and strengthened that the comradeswent forth from Ticonderoga. Colin and a few French soldiersaccompanied them for some distance.
They did not propose to try to seek Rogers or his scatteredRangers; there was no knowing where they would now be found. Fritzhad decided to push back to Fort Edward, and so to Albany, thequaint Dutch settlement which had been the basis of recentoperations, being the town nearest to the western frontier at thispoint. There they would be certain to get news of what was going onin the country, and for a short time it would be pleasant to dwellamid the haunts of men, instead of in these remote fastnesses ofthe forest.
"I hope we shall meet again," said Colin, as he held Fritz's handin a last clasp. "I am not altogether French. I find that I canlove the English well. Quebec will be my home before long. Corinneis there already, and my uncle and I will return there shortly. Itis a fine city, such as you have hardly seen in your wanderings sofar. I would I could show it you. Some say the English have an eyeupon it, as the key to Canada. In sooth I think they would find ita hard nut to crack. We of the city call it impregnable. But comeyou in peace there, and I will show it you with joy."
They parted with a smile and a warm cla
sp, little guessing how theywould meet next.
The journey to Albany was uneventful. The travellers met with nomisadventures, and upon a sunny April evening drew near to thepleasant little town, smiling in the soft sunshine of a remarkablywarm evening.
It presented a singularly peaceful appearance. The fort was on thehill behind, and seemed to stand sentinel for the little townshipit was there to protect. The wide grassy road ran down towards theriver, its row of quaint Dutch houses broken by a group of finerand more imposing buildings, including the market, the guard house,the town hall, and two churches.
The houses were not built in rows, but each stood in its owngarden, possessing its well, its green paddock, and its ownovershadowing tree or trees. They were quaintly built, withtimbered fronts, and great projecting porches where the inhabitantsgathered at the close of the day, to discuss the news and to gossipover local or provincial affairs.
As the travellers entered the long, wide street, their eyes lookedupon a pleasant, homely scene--the cows straying homeward, makingmusic with their bells, stopping each at her own gate to be milked;the children hanging around, porringer in hand, waiting for theevening meal; matrons and the elder men gathered in groups roundthe doors and in the porches; young men wrestling or arguing ineager groups; and the girls gathered together chatting andlaughing, throwing smiling glances towards their brothers andlovers as they strove for victory in some feat of skill orstrength.
It was difficult to believe that so peaceful a scene could exist ina country harassed by war, or that these settlers could carry ontheir lives in so serene and untroubled a fashion with the dreadwar cloud hovering in the sky above.
There was one house which stood a little apart from the others, andwore a rather more imposing aspect, although, like all the rest, itwas of a quaint and home-like appearance. It stood a little backfrom the main streets and its porch was wider and larger, whilstthe garden in front was laid out with a taste and care whichbespoke both skill and a love for nature's products.
The travellers were slowly wending their way past this house,debating within themselves where to stop for the night, and justbeginning to attract the attention of the inhabitants, when a voicehailed them eagerly from the wide porch.
"Fritz Neville, or I'm a Dutchman myself! And Pringle and Roche aswell! Why, man, we thought we had left you dead in the forest. Wesaw you cut off from us and surrounded. We never had a hope ofseeing you alive again. This is a happy meeting, in truth!"
Fritz started at the sound of his name, and the next minute hadmade a quick forward hound, his face shining all over.
It was Lord Howe who had hailed him--the bold, joyous youngViscount beloved by all who knew him. The comrades shook handsagain and again as they eagerly exchanged greetings.
"Oh, we got away to the forest, Rogers and Stark and I, and a scoreor more. Other stragglers kept dropping in and joining us, and manymore, as we found later, had made their way back to Fort Edward.But nowhere could we learn news of you. Come in, come in; you willbe welcomed warmly by my kind hostess, Mrs. Schuyler. She has beenthe friend and mother of all English fugitives in their destitutionand need. I have a home with her here for the present, till thearmy from England and the levies from the provinces arrive. Comein, good comrades, and do not fear; there will be a warm welcomehere for you."
They followed Howe to the house, and found that he had not deceivedthem as to the welcome they would receive. Colonel Schuyler was agreat man in Albany, and his wife was deservedly respected andbeloved. Just now the Colonel was absent on duties connected withthe coming campaign, in which Albany was becoming keenlyinterested. The neighbouring provinces, particularly that ofMassachusetts, had awakened at last from lethargy, and theinhabitants were bestirring themselves with zeal, if not alwayswith discretion. The Colonel, who had warmly embraced the Englishcause, was doing what he could there to raise arms and men, and hiswife at home was playing her part in caring for the fugitives whokept passing through on their way from the forest, both after themassacre at Fort William Henry, and after the rout of the Rangers.
Rogers himself was too restless a being to remain in the haunts ofcivilization. He and a few picked men were again off to the forest.But Stark, who had been wounded, and Lord Howe, who was awaitingorders from England as to his position in command during theapproaching campaign, remained as guests with Mrs. Schuyler; andshe at once begged that Fritz and his companions would do the same,since her house was roomy, and she desired to do all in her powerfor those who were about to risk their lives in the endeavour tosuppress the terrible Indian raids, and to crush the aggressions ofthose who used these raids as a means of obtaining their ownaggrandizement.
It was a pleasant house to stay in, and Mrs. Schuyler was like amother to them all. For Lord Howe she entertained a warm affection,which he requited with a kindred feeling.
All was excitement in Albany now. General Abercromby was on the wayto take the command of the forces; but Lord Howe was to have aposition of considerable importance, and it was whispered by thosewho knew what went on behind the scenes that it was to his skilland courage and military prowess that Pitt really looked. Hereceived private dispatches by special messengers, and his brightyoung face was full of purpose and lofty courage.
The Massachusetts levies began to assemble, and Howe took the rawlads in hand, and began to drill them with a wonderful success. Butit was no play work to be under such a commander. They had come foronce rather well provided with clothing and baggage; but Howelaughed aloud at the thought of soldiers encumbering themselveswith more impedimenta than was actually needful.
The long, heavy-skirted coats which the soldiers wore, bothregulars and provincials, excited his ridicule, as did also thelong hair plaited into a queue behind and tied with ribbons.
His own hair he had long since cut short to his head--a fashionspeedily imitated by officers and men alike, who all adored him. Hesuggested that skirtless coats would be more easy to march in thanthe heavy ones in vogue, and forthwith all the skirts were cut off,and the coats became short jackets, scarcely reaching the waist.
The men laughed at their droll appearance, but felt the freedom andincreased marching power; and as Lord Howe wore just such a coathimself, who could complain? He wore leggings of leather, such aswere absolutely needful to forest journeys, and soon his men didthe same. No women were to be allowed to follow his contingent; andas for washing of clothes, why, Lord Howe was seen going down tothe river side to wash his own, and the fashion thus set wasfollowed enthusiastically by his men.
If their baggage was cut down to a minimum, they were each orderedto carry thirty pounds of meal in a bag; so that it was soon seenthat Lord Rowe's contingent could not only walk further and fasterin march than any other, but that it would be independent of thesupply trains for pretty nearly a month. They carried their ownbread material, and the forest would always supply meat.
Fritz was ever forward to carry out the wishes and act as the righthand of the hardy Brigadier; for that was Lord Howe's militaryrank. Pringle and Roche served under him, too, and there was a warmbond growing up betwixt officers and men, and a feeling ofenthusiasm which seemed to them like an augury of victory to come.
"Our business is to fight the foe--to do our duty whether we liveor die," Howe would say to his men. "We have failed before; we mayfail again. Never mind; we shall conquer at last. With results thesoldier has nothing to do. Remember that. He does his duty. Hesticks to his post. He obeys his commands. Do that, men; andwhether we conquer or die, we shall have done our duty, and that isall our country asks of us."
And now the long days of June had come, and all were eager for theopening campaign. Ticonderoga was to be attacked. To wrest from theFrench some of their strong holds on the western English border--tobreak their power in the sight of the Indians--was a thing that wasabsolutely necessary to the life of the New England colonies andthe other provinces under English rule. Fort Edward still remainedto her, though Oswego and William Henry had fallen and weredemol
ished. The capture of Ticonderoga would be a blow to Francewhich would weaken her immensely, and lower her prestige with theIndians, which was now a source of great danger to the Englishcolonists.
The story of the massacre after the surrender of Fort William Henryhad made a profound impression throughout the English-speakingprovinces, and had awakened a longing after vengeance which initself had seemed almost like an earnest of victory. And now theregular troops began to muster and pour in, and Albany was allexcitement and enthusiasm; for the Dutch had by that time come tohave a thorough distrust of France, and to desire the victory ofthe English arms only less ardently than the English themselves.
Mrs. Schuyler, as usual, opened her doors wide to receive as manyof the officers as she was able whilst the final preparations werebeing made. And upon a soft midsummer evening Lord Howe appeared inthe supper room, bringing with him two fine-looking officers--onegrey headed, the other young and ardent--and introducing them tohis hostess and those assembled round the table as Major DuncanCampbell, the Laird of Inverawe, in Scotland; with his sonAlexander, a Lieutenant of the Highland force.
Young Alexander was seated next to Fritz at table, and began aneager conversation with him. Talk surged to and fro that night.Excitement prevailed everywhere. But Fritz observed that MajorCampbell sat very grave and silent, and that even Lord Howe'sefforts to draw him into conversation proved unavailing.
Mrs. Schuyler also tried, but with little success, to make theveteran talk. He answered with grave courtesy all remarks made tohim, but immediately lapsed into a sombre abstraction, from whichit seemed difficult to rouse him.
At the end of the supper Lord Howe rose to his feet, made a dashinglittle speech to the company, full of fire and enthusiasm, andproposed the toast:
"Success to the expedition against Ticonderoga!"
Fritz happened to be looking at the grave, still face of MajorCampbell, and as these words were spoken he saw a sudden spasm passacross it. The soldier rose suddenly to his feet, took up his glassfor a moment, put it down untasted, and with a bow to his hostesspushed aside his chair, and strode from the room in an access ofvisible emotion.
Lord Howe looked after him a moment, and draining his glass, seemedabout to go after the guest; but young Alexander, from the otherside of the table, made him a sign, and he sat down again.
The incident, however, seemed to act like the breaking up of thesupper party, and the guests rose and left the table, dispersingquickly to look after bag or baggage or some last duty, till onlyMrs. Schuyler, Lord Howe, Fritz, and Lieutenant Campbell were leftin the supper room.
It was then that young Alexander looked round and said, "It was thename you spoke which affected my father so strangely--the fatalname of Ticonderoga!"
"Fatal! how fatal?" asked Lord Howe quickly.
"You have not heard the strange story, then?"
"No; what story?"
"It concerns my father; it is the cause of his melancholy. When youhave heard it you will not perhaps wonder, though to you theincident may seem incredible."
"I have learned that there are many things in this world which arewonderful and mysterious, yet which it is folly to disbelieve,"answered Howe. "Let us hear your story, Campbell. I would not havespoken words to hurt your father could I have known."
"I am sure you would not; but hear the tale, and you will know whythat name sounds in his ears like a death knell.
"Long years ago it must have been when I was but a little child--myfather was sitting alone over the fire in our home at Inverawe; awild, strange place that I love as I love no other spot on earth.He was in the great hall, and, suddenly there came a knocking atthe door, loud and imperative. He opened, and there stood a manwithout, wild and dishevelled, who told how he had slain a man in afray, and was flying from his pursuers.
"'Give me help and shelter!' he implored; and my father drew him inand closed the door, and promised to hide him. 'Swear on your dirknot to give me up!' he implored; and my father swore, though withhim his word was ever his bond. He hid the fugitive in a secretplace, and hardly had he done so before there was another loudknocking at the door.
"This time it was the pursuers, hot on the track of the murderer.'He has slain your cousin Donald,' they told him. 'He cannot be faraway. We are hunting for him. Can you help us?' My father was in agreat strait; but he remembered his oath, and though he sent outservants to help in the search, he would not give up to justice theman who had trusted him."
"And he was right," said Lord Howe quickly; "I honour and respecthim for that."
"It may be so, yet it is against the traditions of our house andrace," answered Alexander gravely; "and that night my father wokesuddenly from a troubled dream to see the ghost of his murderedkinsman standing at his bedside. The spectre spoke to him in urgenttones:
"'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not themurderer!'
"Unable to sleep, my father rose, and went to the fugitive and toldhim he could not shelter him longer. 'You swore on your dirk!'replied the miserable man; and my father, admitting the oath not tobetray him, led him away in the darkness and hid him in a mountaincave known to hardly any save himself.
"That night once more the spectre came and spoke the same words,'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!'The vision troubled my father greatly. At daybreak he went oncemore to the cave; but the man was gone--whither he never knew. Hewent home, and again upon the third night the ghostly figure stoodbeside him; but this time he was less stern of voice and aspect.
"He spoke these words, 'Farewell, Inverawe; farewell, till we meetat Ticonderoga.' Then it vanished, and he has never seen it since."
"Ticonderoga!" repeated Lord Howe, and looked steadily atAlexander, who proceeded:
"That was the word. My father had never heard it before. The soundof it was so strange that he wrote it down; and when I was a youthof perhaps seventeen summers, and had become a companion to him, hetold me the whole story, and we pondered together as to what andwhere Ticonderoga could be. Years had passed since he saw thevision, and he had never heard the name from that day. I had notheard it either--then."
The faces of the listeners were full of grave interest. Thestrangeness of the coincidence struck them all.
"And then?" queried Howe, after a silence.
"Then came the news of this war, and some Highland regiments wereordered off. My father and I were amongst those to go. We were longin hearing what our destination was to be. We had landed upon theseshores before we heard that the expedition to which we wereattached was bound for Ticonderoga."
Again there was silence, which Mrs. Schuyler broke by askinggently:
"And your father thinks that there is some doom connected with thatname?"
"He is convinced that be will meet his death there," repliedAlexander, "and I confess I fear the same myself."
Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Mrs. Schuyler said softly:
"It is a strange, weird story; yet it cannot but be true. No mancould guess at such a name. Ticonderoga, Ticonderoga. I wonder whatwill be the end of that day!"
"And what matters the end if we do our duty to the last?" spokeLord Howe, lifting his bright young face and throwing back his headwith a gesture that his friends knew well. "A man can but die once.For my part, I only ask to die sword in hand and face to the foe,doing my duty to my country, my heart at peace with God. That isthe spirit with which we soldiers must go into battle. We are sentthere by our country; we fight for her. If need be we die for her.Can we ask a nobler death? For myself I do not. Let it come to meat Ticonderoga, or wherever Providence wills, I will not shrink orfear. Give me only the power to die doing my duty, and I ask nomore."
There was a beautiful light in his great hazel eyes, a sweet smilehovered round his lips. Fritz, looking at him, seemed to seesomething in his face which he had scarcely noted before--a depth,a serenity, a beauty quite apart from the dashing gallantry of lookand bearing which was his most salient characteristic.
> Into the eyes of Mrs. Schuyler there had sprung sudden tears. Shewent over to the young man and laid a hand upon his head.
"Thank God that our soldiers still go into battle in that spirit;that they make their peace with Him before they draw sword upontheir fellow men. A soldier's life is a strange paradox; yet God,who is the God of battles as well as Prince of Peace, knows andunderstands. He will bless the righteous cause, though He may callto rest many a gallant soldier, and still in death many an ardentyoung heart. But however mysteriously He works, we are instrumentsin His hands. Let us strive to be worthy of that honour, and thenwe shall know that we are helping to bring nearer His kingdom uponearth, which, when once set up, shall bring in a reign of peace,where war shall be no more."
"Amen, with all my heart!" quoth Lord Howe, and there was a lightin his eyes which bespoke that, soldier though he was to hisfingertips, he was no stranger to the hope of the eternal peacewhich the Lord alone can give.
Mrs. Schuyler was not a demonstrative woman in daily life; but whenher guest rose to say goodnight upon this last evening, she kissedhim as a mother might, and he kissed her back with words of tendergratitude and affection.
And so the night fell upon the town of Albany--the night before themarch to Ticonderoga.