How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

  How Canada was Won

  A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

  BY CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON

  Author of "With Wolseley to Kumasi" "Jones of the 64th" "With Roberts to Candahar" "A Soldier of Japan" "Roger the Bold" &c. &c.

  _ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._

  LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED THE COPP CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED TORONTO

  STEVE AND MAC CAPTURING THE FRENCH GUNS]

  _Copyright, 1908, in the United States, America, by H. M. Caldwell Co._

  _Published simultaneously in Great Britain and the United States._

  Contents

  CHAP. Page

  I. THE CAMP ON THE RIVER 9

  II. FRENCH OUTLAWS AND ROBBERS 25

  III. FLIGHT BY NIGHT 43

  IV. STEVE MAKES A SUGGESTION 61

  V. JULES LAPON IS DISAPPOINTED 79

  VI. LEFT IN CHARGE 97

  VII. THE ALLEGHANY RAIDERS 115

  VIII. A QUESTION OF TERRITORY 133

  IX. GEORGE WASHINGTON SPEAKS 152

  X. STEVE AND HIS BAND OF SCOUTS 174

  XI. HELD UP! 194

  XII. GENEROSITY TO THE FOE 215

  XIII. A TRAITOR IN THE CAMP 238

  XIV. STEVE MEETS AN OLD ENEMY 254

  XV. OFF TO QUEBEC 275

  XVI. THE RETURN OF THE HURONS 296

  XVII. DOWN THE MIGHTY ST. LAWRENCE 315

  XVIII. THE ATTACK ON LOUISBOURG 334

  XIX. WOLFE MAKES HIS LAST ATTEMPT 359

  XX. THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM 379

  Illustrations

  Page

  STEVE AND MAC CAPTURING THE FRENCH GUNS _Frontispiece_ 220

  "THE INDIAN WAS UPON HIM, HIS KEEN TOMAHAWK GLEAMING IN HIS HAND" 36

  "'COME NEARER THAT I MAY KILL YOU EASILY,' HE SAID" 65

  "STEVE RESTED HIS BARREL IN THE FORK OF A DWARFED TREE" 125

  STEVE AND MAC DISCOVER THE WOUNDED FRENCH OFFICER 235

  "WHEN HE CAME TO HIMSELF AGAIN, HE WAS BEING CARRIED ON THE SHOULDERS OF FOUR INDIANS" 253

  "WE SEEK A PALE FACE WHO HAS BROKEN AWAY FROM THE CITY" 312

  "IN ANOTHER SECOND HE HAD BAYONETTED THE FRENCHMAN" 349

  MAP OF CANADA AND OUR AMERICAN COLONY IN 1755 137

  MAP OF THE TRIANGULAR ROUTE BETWEEN CANADA AND OUR AMERICAN COLONY, 1755 335

  MAP OF QUEBEC IN 1759 365

  Chapter I

  The Camp on the River

  "Waal? What did yer see? Clear, I reckon."

  Jim Hardman looked up swiftly as a couple of tall figures camesilently into the clearing in the centre of which the camp fireburned, and he paused for a moment in the task which occupied him.He was squatting on his heels, after the fashion of the Indians andof all backwoodsmen, and was engaged in cleaning the long barrelof his musket, turning the weapon over with loving care, as if itwere a child to whom he was devoted. Indeed Jim had no more faithfulfriend or servant. For this long musket had been his companion onmany and many a hunting and prospecting expedition during the pasttwenty years. He scarcely ever laid it down, but carried it the daylong, usually ready in his hands, or when the times were peaceful andquiet, slung across his slender shoulders. Jim could tell tales ofhow this faithful weapon had brought down buffalo and deer and manyanother animal, and had helped him to gather the stores of skins inexchange for which he obtained those few luxuries which his simplenature needed. In his more communicative moods he could narrate howthe bullets which he had moulded with the aid of a hot camp fire anda supply of lead had been directed against men, against the fierceIndian inhabitants of this Ohio valley, who for years past had waged aceaseless and pitiless warfare against all white invaders of their oldhunting grounds.

  Indeed, "Hunting" Jim, as he was styled and known by all thebackwoodsmen in those parts, had need to care for his weapon, forwithout it he would be lost, and his life would be at the mercy of thefirst redskin who crossed his path.

  "Waal?" he repeated, in his backwoods drawl, as he vigorously rubbedat the shining barrel. "Reckon we're through 'em. There ain't a one insight. Ef there is, Steve and Silver Fox'll know all about 'em."

  He looked with approval at his weapon, and getting to his feet heslung it across his shoulders. Then he stepped softly across to thefire, and bending over it, pushed the long ramrod suspended overthe embers a little farther on to the forked sticks which held it.A couple of pieces of bear meat were skewered upon the rod, and hadbeen frizzling there for the past quarter of an hour. Now, as theywere placed right over the heat they set up a low-voiced but merrytune, while an appetizing odour assailed the nostrils of the twowho had come to the camp. One of these two was without doubt a RedIndian, for he was decked elaborately after the custom of his race;his face was freely daubed with paint, which gave him a hideous andcruel appearance that a feathered head-dress served to increase. Hewas a tall, broad-shouldered man, with long, sinewy arms and legs, andgave one the impression that he was in perfect condition and trainedto stand the utmost hardship. He nodded to Jim, and took his placein front of the fire, squatted on his heels, and stared silently atthe embers. A minute later he opened his lips and spoke in the Indiantongue, his gaze still fixed on the fire.

  "My brothers can sleep and eat in peace and contentment," he said,in tones which were dignified and not unmusical. "Silver Fox and thepale-face youth whom you call Steve, but known to us as Hawk, forhis eyes are keen, keener even than are mine or my brother's,--havebeen through the forest and have watched the river. Our enemies havegone, vanished into the woods. We know this for certain, for we cameupon their track. They were journeying towards the head waters of theriver."

  It was a long speech for Silver Fox, and having delivered it, hefelt for the buckskin bag in which he carried his precious store oftobacco, filled his pipe and set fire to the weed by taking one of theburning sticks in his long, thin fingers and lifting it to the bowl.

  Meanwhile his companion, who had emerged with him from the thickforest which surrounded the camp, advanced to the fire, sniffedappreciatively, and glanced at the meat which frizzled over theflames, in a manner which showed that the sight was a pleasant one.Then he slipped his musket from his shoulders, and stood for a momentto his full height, thoughtfully regarding Silver Fox and HuntingJim. He, too, was tall and lissom. From the top of his coon-skin capto the bottom of his soft moccasins he measured a good six feet. Hewas dressed in a leather shirt elaborately fringed, as was the habitwith all hunters, while his legs were encased in fringed leatherleggings and in soft moccasins, all of which he had manufactured fromskins he himself had obtained. Stephen Mainwaring looked a typicalbackwoodsman, and as the sun struck upon his well-developed figure,upon his open face, all tanned with long exposure to the wind and theweather, and upon his strong brown arms and hands, even his bitterestenemy would have been forced to admit that he was a fine young fellow,that there was as much strength in his face, in that square, resolutechin, and in those steady, fearless-looking eyes as could well befound, and that his whole ap
pearance gave promise of honesty, asterling good nature, and a temper which was not to be easily ruffled.Had there been any doubt on the last point Steve's joviality on thisfine summer's morning would soon have set the matter at rest. He mightonly that moment have risen from his blanket, so fresh and gay washe, and no one would have dreamed that he and Silver Fox had beentramping the forest since night had fallen, scouting for an enemywhom they and their comrades had good cause to fear. He sat downsuddenly, dragged off his soaked moccasins, and his coon-skin hat,which glistened with the heavy dew that had fallen upon it, and placedthem close to the embers. Then he turned a jovial face to Jim.

  "Waal, I reckon you can smoke that ere pipe of yours with ease andcomfort, Jim," he sang out, imitating exactly the drawl of thehuntsman. "Reckon Silver Fox and I can eat jest all we're able to getour fingers on, and can then put in a bit of sleep. There ain't noInjuns this side of forty mile away."

  He laughed merrily as Jim looked severely at him, and taking theramrod in his hand, turned it so as to expose the farther side of themeat to the heat.

  "All's clear," he went on suddenly, in his natural tones, speaking ina manner which showed that though he looked a typical backwoodsman hehad had an education, and as regards his conversation, was fit to mixwith the gentry of New York, or those of Boston or Charlestown, oreven with those of London itself.

  "That's a lad for yer, Judge," said Jim, scowling playfully at Steve,and then turning to one of the other figures standing or sitting aboutthe camp. "This Hawk gets born out in the settlements and gets tookstraight away right into the backwoods. He larns to sit a scrawny ponywhen he's no higher than a dozen piled-up dollars, and to shoot a gunwhen he ain't got the strength to stand up to the jar one of thesemuskets gives. Reckon I've seen him knocked endways with the kick manyand many a time."

  He looked for an answer, and waited while the broad-shoulderedbackwoodsman whom he addressed sat up and stared thoughtfully back athim and then at Steve, who squatted by the fire. "Judge" Mainwaring,as he was usually styled, was a big-boned, burly man, bearded and asrugged as the oaks which grew in the wood. His eyes were deep-set andthoughtful, and he had the air of a man who reflects, who says little,and that only after due consideration. Indeed Judge Mainwaring had areputation for wisdom in the backwoods. No man was more respected inthe neighbourhood of the Mohawk country, and there was no more skilfulhunter, no more courageous Indian tracker than this big man. He spokeseldom, and then always to the point, and in a manner which provedthat he had at one time been very different from these rough, honestfellows of the backwoods with whom he now spent his days. Jim and hiscomrades had had a talk about Tom Mainwaring or the Judge, many andmany a time, and had even endeavoured to worm some of his history fromhim. But always without success.

  "Reckon we'd better shut up," said Jim, after one of these manyconversations, when he and Judge and some five others had beengathered at Tom Mainwaring's log hut in the backwoods. "He don't meanto tell whar he's from, nor what he was, and small blame to him. He'shere, stout and plucky, a good shot, and jest the fiercest hater Iknows of them varmint of redskins. Reckon that's enough."

  "And need he's had to hate them too," another had added. "Reckon Judgedon't care for much after the boy, than to get even with them varmint."

  That was indeed the case. No one knew Tom Mainwaring's history, orcould even conjecture where he came from, what calling he had followedor what his fortunes had been. To the many questions with which he hadat first been bombarded he had replied shortly and with perfect goodtemper, but in such a manner that none of those who were so curiouswere any the wiser. Yes, he knew Boston, and New York, and London.He had lived in all three, and he knew France. That was as far as hecould or would go, and the settlers who had picked their holdings inthe Ohio valley, to the south of the giant lakes of Erie and Ontario,had to be content. He had come to them one fine spring time, a silentman, bringing a wife and a young son on the back of the one horsewhich he led. He had set up his log hut like the rest, and had fishedand shot, and exchanged his pelts for the few necessaries required bythese pioneers of the American forests beyond the Alleghany Mountains.His wife was French, that they knew for a fact; while Judge, and indue course Steve also, could speak the language fluently. But wherehe came from, why this educated man, who lacked nothing, not evendollars, for it was an open secret that he had abundant means,--shouldcome to the backwoods and there bury himself and his wife and boy nonecould imagine. But it was apparent that, whatever the reason was, TomMainwaring had no need to be ashamed of it. His honest dealings withothers, his high principles, and the manner in which he had devotedhimself to the education of his boy had proved over and over againthat whatever the mystery, there was nothing about it that could calla blush of shame to his cheeks.

  As to his undying hate of the Indians, that was easily explained.After all, he did not differ very much in that from the few neighbourswho surrounded him. But he had undoubtedly more cause for hatred.That same mystery which was for ever a source of wondering curiosityto these rough pioneers of the forest, took Tom Mainwaring over theAlleghany mountains once in a while in the direction of the Americancoast. Perhaps he went to New York, perhaps to Boston, and it waseven possible, seeing that on occasion he had been absent for sixmonths, that he had been to England--wherever he went, one of thesejourneys had caused him to leave his wife and child in the care offriendly neighbours, and during his absence these unhappy people hadbeen raided by the relentless Indians, the women of the party had beenkilled, while Steve and one other who happened to be picking berriesin the forest, had alone escaped.

  "Reckon that air enough to set any man who is a man agin the varmint,"Jim had said long ago. "Judge ain't been the same sence he come backto find the boy alone, and the wife killed and scalped. He's gotkinder hard and fierce, and don't them Injuns know it! And now thatSteve's got big and grown, and able to look for hisself, the log hutain't no more use to Judge. Reckon he's happier on the trail."

  "There's a lad for yer, Judge," repeated Jim. "Listen to his sauce.He ain't no respect for his betters now that he's got the knack ofshootin'."

  "It's his spirit, Jim," replied Tom Mainwaring, looking with kindlingeye at Steve, and relaxing so far as to smile. "He can use his tongueas well as he can shoot. So all is clear, Steve?"

  "Yes, all clear, father. Silver Fox and I trailed round the camp farout, and never came upon a track till early. That hunting tribe thatgot on to our trace yesterday has given the matter up, and there'sno one to harm us anywhere near. We struck a party of Mohawks up theriver. They're watching the borders."

  "And good need they'll have, too," said Tom with emphasis. "I thinkthere was never such a time as this for raids and murders. We have tothank the French and their Indians for that."

  There was silence for a while in the camp, Steve nodding to Silver Foxand chatting in low tones as soon as the meat was cooked, while Jimand Tom stared at the embers, both engrossed with their own thoughts.And while the two at the fire discuss their breakfast of bear'smeat, and the two sturdy backwoodsmen stare at the embers and think,let us take a closer look at the camp to which we have already beenintroduced, and at its surroundings.

  It was pitched in a small natural clearing on the Mohawk river, alittle before its junction with the Hudson, at the mouth of which NewYork is situated. Not the New York of to-day, with its regular streetsand avenues, its towering buildings, well-named "sky-scrapers,"its gigantic hotels, its tenement dwellings and its mansions wheremillionaires hide from the inquisitive eyes of the people; but theNew York of the year 1756, with many Dutch among the inhabitants, whostill clung to the city which had once been theirs, but at that timebelonged to the English. New York with its smaller and, compared withmodern days, unpretentious dwellings above which the only thing thattowered was the steeple of the church. South and west of the campwhere Steve and his comrades rested was Albany, an up-country Dutchsettlement, which boasted many wealthy and aristocratic Dutch, andoffered always a means whereby the hunters and tr
appers of Englishdescent could barter the pelts which they had collected during theprevious winter. It was whispered, too, that here, in this quietAlbany, tenanted by Puritan Dutch, French _voyageurs_, and _coureursde bois_, the backwoodsmen and trappers of that portion of NorthernAmerica then owned by France, and now known as Canada, were able tosell the loot obtained from the numerous English settlements whichthey and their Indian helpers had attacked and captured.

  For there was war between the colonial French and the colonialEnglish, and for some little time now the two nations had been engagedin a cruel frontier struggle. In Europe, however, France and Englandwere outwardly at peace, so far as those in America knew, thoughthe spring of the year above mentioned saw England's patience atlast destroyed, and a formal declaration of war made. Still, thesebackwoodsmen had no notion of that, nor had the numerous French_voyageurs_ and soldiers who had come across Lake Erie and had marcheddown into the valley of the Ohio. That was the disputed ground, wherethe bold English pioneers had settled their log huts and taken upholdings, believing themselves to be on British soil. And now hordesof French, accompanied by their priests and by thousands of Indians,were pushing south and west, were expelling the British colonists, andtoo often were exterminating them.

  No wonder Hunting Jim and Judge Mainwaring and their comrades tookprecautions against surprise. They were in a country which was overrunby enemies, and since they had set out from their settlement ten daysbefore, they had observed the greatest caution. The huge birch barkcanoe in which they had paddled down the Mohawk had never left thecentre of that stream, save when night had fallen, and always two ofthe party had had their eyes glued on the tree-covered banks. In rearof them, piled high in a second canoe, which was attached to the onethey paddled, were their pelts, a big store of valuable skins, forwhich they hoped to obtain a good exchange. It was guarded by one ofthe two Mohawk Indians who accompanied them, and who sat at the stern,musket in hand.

  And so for ten days they had travelled, their camp settled in someclearing at night, sometimes without a fire, for the smoke or theglare would have brought a host about them, and always with two oftheir number out in the woods keeping careful guard. But now they weresafe. It was seldom that French _voyageurs_ had penetrated into theEnglish settlements as far as this, while their Indian allies stoodin fear of the six united tribes of redskins situated hereabouts, andknown as the Iroquois.

  About the camp trees clustered thickly, pines and oaks, maple andbirch, while scattered here and there amongst the trunks werewhortleberry and cranberry bushes, honeysuckle, wild rose trees andbracken. In many and many a spot the scarlet tupelo and the sumacgrew bright against the green, with purple asters and balm, and thedelicate blue flower of the gentian to keep them company.

  A narrow exit led to the Mohawk river, glistening in the sun, andreflecting the deep green of its forest boundaries in deep pools,where the stream ran sluggishly, and where the surface was brokenevery now and again by the sudden rising of a fish. Wild rice grewin banks at the water's edge, while clusters of the resin plant andof wild lilies could be seen by those who cared to look for them. Nowonder that Steve Mainwaring looked fresh and jolly, for these werethe surroundings in which he had passed his seventeen years, withouta care, save the loss of his mother, which he was too young at thetime to realize, and with that spice of danger about him which hasdrawn men of every race and creed to such parts. Steve knew the forestby heart, could tell the difference between the sharp call of thechickadee and the blue bird, and the howl of fox or wolf. No Indianwas more conversant with the secrets of nature than he, and nonewas more at home in the heart of these forest wildernesses. It was,indeed, his home, and he was never happier than when on the trail.

  "Reckon ef we get away within an hour we'll fetch up at Albany beforethe dark comes," said Jim at length, as he watched Steve and SilverFox eating. "We'll give yer that time for a smoke, young feller, andthen strike camp. Jest raise Mac and that 'ere Talkin' Baar."

  He nodded across the camp to the far corner where two figures laybeneath blankets, sleeping lightly. That they were easily roused wasclear, for as Steve and his companion had come into the clearingthey sat up, only to snuggle under their blankets again. But as Jimcalled out the name of Talking Bear, one of the figures started into asitting position, followed by the second.

  "We'll be on the road in an hour," explained Jim. "Reckon you two havehad a sleep, and ken help me and Judge to get the canoes afloat andthe pelts packed into 'em. Rouse yerself, Mac. Never did see such aman for sleep."

  "And, faith, niver did Oi set eyes on a man what spoke so much. Sleepdid ye say? Sure it's these last two hours Oi've been lyin' alongsideof Talking Bear, wid me eyes tight shut, thrying to get off and drame.But ye talk so much, Huntin' Jim. Ye'd kape a regimint awhake, so yewould."

  The Irishman roused himself with a growl, and throwing off hisblanket, strode over to Jim and shook his fist in his face, a broadgrin setting his lips wide asunder, and showing a set of strong teethwhich were somewhat blackened with constant use of his pipe. He wasshort and sturdy, and in spite of the severeness of his hunting dress,which was identical with those worn by his comrades, he presented acomical appearance. His skin cap had fallen off, and showed a shockhead of very brilliant red hair, continuing down his cheeks to hischin, where it ended in a straggling beard of the same vivid colour.Indeed, Mac was not good-looking, but he had a pair of genial,kindly eyes, and was a merry fellow, whose jests and laughter keptthe spirits of his fellows from falling. Once upon a time he hadworn a uniform, and had fought for his country. Then he had come toAmerica, and by degrees had drifted to the Alleghany settlements, fromwhich his fondness for danger and adventure had attracted him to thebackwoods. And here he was, boon companion to Jim and the Judge, astaunch man in the fight, as merry and as light-hearted as a child.

  "Will ye niver larn to keep yer tongue in betwixt yer teeth, Huntin'Jim?" he asked, severely, shaking his fist within an inch of the blackbowl which Jim held between his teeth. "Begorra! Take a lisson fromthe Judge. Reckon he's that silent folks can sleep and take theirrest. Git up wid yerself and lind a hand."

  He made a sudden dive at Jim's shoulder, and swung him to his feet,for Mac was very powerful. Then, still shaking his fist at thegrinning backwoodsman, he hustled him down to the banks of the river.And from there their laughter and their shouts came back to the camp,while Steve watched their antics. Then Silver Fox handed him histobacco, and soon they were smoking and staring at the embers, now andagain exchanging words in the Mohawk language. Presently a shout fromMac told that the canoes were laden, and at the summons Silver Foxand his brother, a painted and bedecked Indian like himself, gatheredtheir blankets about their shoulders, took up their muskets, andtrailed off down to the bank, leaving Steve and his father to stampout the fire, to look round for any forgotten trifle, and then tofollow.

  "Talkin' Baar's turn for the canoe with the pelts," said Jim, takingthe lead. "Me and you'll paddle, Judge, while this 'ere critter ofyours and Silver Fox keeps an eye on the banks. Hop in easy thar. Mac,I quite forgot you war there. Slip in in front of me. Now, off we go."

  They pushed out into the river, and took to their paddles. Thatevening, just before darkness fell, they pulled into the shore wherethe township of Albany was situated, and having found a suitable spot,made for the land. A fire was soon blazing, and within a little whilethey were eating. When the moon got up that night and rode high in theheavens above them, it looked down upon a silent camp, upon the dyingembers of a fire, and upon five silent figures stretched on the groundand hidden beneath their blankets. Within a few feet of their headsstood one solitary figure, erect and motionless, swathed in a blanket.The long barrel of a musket stood up stark against the moon, whilethe brilliant light showed up the features of Talking Bear, alert andwatchful, as careful here of the safety of his pale-face brothers ashe would have been in the heart of a hostile country.