How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

  Chapter XIV

  Steve meets an Old Enemy

  Steve Mainwaring was a prisoner, and as he realised that fact athousand misgivings filled his mind. For to be taken by the French andtheir Indians was not a fate which even the boldest of the Britishcourted.

  "It may mean torture," he thought. "The French are not always able tocontrol their Indians, and even if they were always capable of doingso, there are the backwoodsmen. We have heard what they are, and thefugitives from our settlements have given us many a tale of theirferocity."

  No one, in fact, could guess in those rough days what pains wereawaiting him if he fell into the hands of the French, and if there hadnot been sufficient evidence already, there was to be abundance in thenear future. But that was hardly required. The thousands of unhappysettlers who had been driven from the forests and the backwoods werefull of tales of brutality, of cruelty on the part of French pioneersand Indians alike. And it was a known fact that even if the Frenchwere kindly disposed and desirous of treating their prisoners well,they often had to stand aside and look on helplessly while the braveswho were their allies wreaked a terrible vengeance on the unhappypeople who had been captured. This was the price which New France hadtoo often to pay for the allegiance of these monsters.

  "I have been taken in fair fight, and am a prisoner of war," Stevesaid to himself. "That in itself should gain fair treatment for me.But what is the use of worrying? I am cold, and have a severe pain inmy side. I suppose I have been wounded. Brothers, have you a blanketwith which to cover me? My blood runs cold with the frost and mywound, and in a little while I shall be frozen."

  He spoke the last aloud, addressing himself to the Indians who carriedhim, and speaking in the Mohawk tongue. All four instantly came to ahalt, there was a grunt from the leading man on the right, and thenSteve was gently laid on the ground.

  "Cold, brother?" said the leader, a fine specimen of a brave, if thefaint light could be trusted. "We will give you a covering and seeto your comfort. Tell us, how comes it that you speak our tongue, orrather, that of the Mohawks? Have you lodged in their wigwams?"

  Steve answered with a nod. "I have lived and hunted with them," hesaid feebly, for he was very weak. "They are firm friends of mine, asare others of the Iroquois nation. They call me Hawk."

  At that there was another grunt, a grunt which denoted approval andthe small amount of astonishment which the brave would permit himselfto express.

  "Hawk. Yes, we have heard of you. Then you were the chief of thosewhom we attacked a week ago?"

  "I was. The fight was a fair and open one. The Hurons attacked boldly,but were unfortunate. Those who fell were as brave as those who livedto return to Ticonderoga."

  This time all the bearers nodded their approval and grunted. Forthese Indian braves, with all their faults, with all their ferocityand their barbarous customs, had one redeeming virtue. They werebrave, and they respected bravery. It was the one great virtue afterwhich all strove, and if an enemy could speak well of their conduct,then he was for the time being a friend. More than that, these wildmen of the backwoods, who had come so many miles to aid the French,were accustomed, like other Indian nations, to make much of theirprisoners, provided they had fought with courage. A prisoner withthem was a man who had already shown fortitude, and who, by becominga prisoner, threw down the gage to his captors as it were, and boldlyasserted that if they were bold, he was still bolder, that if theyand their brothers could support hardship and pain amounting to theacutest agony, he could support the fiercest pains which they hiscaptors could design. In fact, a prisoner was wont to boast loudly ofhis own superiority, to defy his captors to make him flinch, and whenthe time for the ordeal came, to endure hours of the most diabolicaltorture, and finally the pangs of death without so much as a groan,if possible with a smile of triumph on his quivering lips. And tillthe time for torture arrived he was a brother and a man, deserving ofrespect and attention, not a beast to be goaded and bullied and loadedwith chains.

  "Our brother is weak," said the brave. "He shall have a covering atonce, and we will carry him with all comfort and care. The Hawk isour friend. We have heard of him. There are braves with us who metthe Hawk and his brothers on the Mohawk river and down in the greatvalley beyond. Yes, of a truth, the Hawk is known to us as a man ofbravery and energy." He went off over the snow at a swinging pace, andpresently his tall figure appeared again, while in his hands he bore ahuge rug of bearskin.

  "This will keep the warmth in you, Hawk," he said kindly. "We willwrap you in it till you are completely covered. Then your blood willrun again. You have lost much, brother. See, it is frozen on yourshirt."

  Steve had not felt the place before, but was glad to hear the news,for he reckoned that if there had been severe bleeding from his wound,as seemed to have been the case, for he was very weak, the frost hadarrested further haemorrhage, and perhaps saved his life. He submittedwhile the Indians wrapped him in the skin rug, and then felt himselflifted on their shoulders again. Very soon he was in a comfortableglow from head to foot, and that, combined with his weakness andweariness, caused his eyes to close, and he fell asleep. An hour ormore later a light flashed in his face, for the dawn had not yetbroken, and on looking round, he found that he was in a big hut, thewalls of which were constructed of whole timbers. The light flashedfrom a candle lamp hanging to the rafters, and showed beside thewalls and roof of the hut, the figures of the four Indians standingabout him, and some twelve French soldiers and as many backwoodsmen,the irregulars on the side of France. Someone was speaking in thebackground, and for a time he listened to the words. Then somefamiliar note in the voice struck on his ear, and he found himselfwondering who was speaking, wondering why the voice caused his heartto flutter so and his pulses to beat.

  "One captured, you say? Only one? Peste! Is this carrying out myorders?"

  There was a bang as the speaker's hand came down upon a table whichstood close to one of the walls.

  "That is so, monsieur. One only was taken," came the answer, and bydint of craning his head, Steve saw that it was a regular who spoke,dressed in the familiar uniform of the French line, but now swathed inwarm furs, which, however, did not cover the chevrons, which showedthat he was a sergeant. "One only, monsieur," he repeated, as ifexcusing himself.

  "And for this fine capture you paid well no doubt. What was the price?Come, I am asking you."

  The voice was very calm now. There was a note of satire in it, andthose who listened could tell that the man who spoke was angry, thathis calmness was only the prelude to an outburst of temper. Thesergeant felt that, too. He drew himself up at attention, clapped hispike close against his shoulder, and looked askance at his commander.

  "The price, monsieur. There was one killed by this prisoner, and threeothers who fell within the five minutes which followed. Yes, four werekilled altogether, one of these being a messenger."

  "Ah! I hear. But there were three messengers. That was thearrangement, friend, for if one were fool enough to be captured orkilled, then there were two left. You follow, sergeant? You give menews of one of these fine fellows. I have been roused in haste, andhave come here expecting other news. You do not bring it. You haveonly one beggarly prisoner to show. The whole tale, man. Let me haveit."

  This time the speaker's rage got the better of him, and he thumped onthe table as an excited Frenchman might be expected to do, leaning farover it till his face was within an inch of the sergeant's. Not tillthen did Steve catch sight of his features, and when he did so, hefell back with a scarcely suppressed groan. It was Jules Lapon, thevery man who had hunted him and his friends out of house and home.

  "The whole tale, monsieur? You have heard it already, unless----"

  "Unless what? Speak fool. I am but just out of my bed, and havegathered nothing, save the fact that you have returned without asingle messenger."

  "Then the news is still bad," came the faltering answer. "Onemessenger was killed within four miles of this, while the hunter whoaccompanied him
as guide escaped unharmed. They were set upon near theBritish fort, and they alone escaped. The other two messengers aretherefore accounted for. They were surrounded and attacked by hunters,just as the two who escaped were suddenly followed and fired on atthis end of the lake. We put the enemy's numbers down at a dozen, andof those we captured one. He is here, monsieur."

  The sergeant having unburdened himself of a disagreeable tale,endeavoured to distract his angry commander's attention from himselfand his failure to the prisoner, and succeeded. Jules Lapon scowled athim for a little while, drumming with his fingers on the table. Thenhe cleared a path for himself by savagely sweeping the soldiers aside,and in a moment was standing over the prisoner.

  "Bring a light and let us see the fellow," he growled. "Come, it is sodark in this hole that one cannot see. Are you sure, sergeant, thathe is one of the enemy? You have done so well that perhaps you havehalf-killed and then captured one of our own side. Mistakes are madein the darkness."

  "By white men, perhaps, monsieur," came the answer, an answer whichcaused Jules to writhe. "Indians were with us, monsieur, and they arenot often in error."

  "The lamp, man! Hold it higher, and pull that skin from his head. Ah!"

  He started back as if he had been shot, and gripped instinctively atthe tomahawk which was thrust in his belt. For a moment he lookedthoroughly frightened, and then of a sudden his features assumed anexpression of triumph and hate and of the most diabolical malice allintermingled till those who watched him were amazed and horrified. Asfor Steve, he was utterly bewildered. He knew well that the meetingbetween himself and this Jules Lapon would hardly prove a pleasantone, for the relations between them were somewhat strained. He and hisfriends had, in fact, obtained two consecutive victories over thisFrenchman and his band of Indians, and no doubt those successes hadroused the ire of Jules. But the tables were turned now, and had beenfor some time. For if Jules had lost at first, he was the conquerornow. He had turned Steve out of house and home, the settlement wherethe hunters had lived so happily was his, by right of conquest if byno other right, and now, to crown all, here was the Hawk his prisoner,wounded and completely in his hands. Then why so much triumph andhate?

  "Ah. Then this is your prisoner. The only one you say, sergeant?"

  The voice had become calm again. This Jules Lapon was now speaking ineven tones suggestive of kindness.

  "That is true, monsieur. The only one. He is the Hawk, the leader ofthose men whom we attacked a week ago. It is a fine capture."

  "You have done well, sergeant. This man is of more value even thanthat news could have been. He is wounded, you say?"

  "There is a bullet lodged in his ribs, Monsieur. He bled much, and isweak, so that we were forced to carry him. But he may have recoverednow, and will stand if we lift him to his feet."

  At a sign from the sergeant, the Indians raised their prisoner, andstood looking at him critically, wondering whether this pale face, ofwhom they had heard before, would fail now, or whether he would havesufficient courage to overcome his weakness. But they had little needto fear the result, for though Steve was weak, as weak and weary as atired child, he had a determined spirit, and moreover felt intuitivelyas if this was the supreme moment of his life, as if his future, hissafety in fact, depended upon his courage now. He set his teeth,placed his feet well apart, and stood erect, his face towering abovethat of Jules.

  "The Hawk thanks the braves who carried him," he said, as steadily ashe could. "They treated him honourably, and though he has no gift tomake, he gives them thanks a thousand times."

  "He is a man. We are satisfied," was the answer.

  "He is more. He is a spy!"

  Jules darted forward with a cry of delight, and snatched at Steve'sskin cap, to the top of which was attached an eagle's crest.

  "Tell me, sergeant," he said, swinging round with an air of triumph,"this prisoner was captured out on the ice. Had he a blanket?"

  "Not when captured, monsieur. But all who supported him were dressedso. They had the appearance of Indians."

  "Then this Hawk is a spy," shouted Jules. "He and his men came in thisdirection with one object. They came to spy, and in order to help themthey dressed as Indians, knowing well that they would pass as suchwith a crest and a blanket about them, so long as the snow fell. Thisis a most important capture. See that this man is guarded well, and atdawn march out a firing party."

  The sergeant brought his pike to his shoulder smartly as Jules swept apath to the door and departed. Steve watched him go, and then staredat the Indians and the soldiers and the backwoodsmen about him. Hewas too weak to take in the full significance of that last command,but vaguely wondered whether the firing party could be meant for him,and whether he was to be executed. And as he wondered, he listenedto the chatter of those about him. It was evident that many of thebackwoodsmen, rough and brutal men as many were, who had becometainted with the cruelty of the Indians, approved of the sentence.They crammed tobacco into their pipes and smoked furiously, while theyacclaimed the decision of their leader with many an oath and with manya glance at the prisoner. Some of the regulars were of their opinionalso, but not so the sergeant.

  "Disguise! Spy!" he cried, some minutes later, having talked thematter over with some of his comrades. "This brave lad whom we havetaken had no more idea of spying here than I have of setting a watchat Fort William Henry. I'll be bound that he and his friends knew ofthe messengers going to the English fort, and set a trap for them.They guessed that an Indian dress might help their plans, and adoptedit. Why, the same is done here amongst ourselves. Even this commanderof ours, who shouts into one's throat, and orders all as if they weredogs, dresses as a brave, ay, and goes out with a following of Hurons."

  "Which does not alter the case as it stands, friend of the threestripes," answered one of the trappers. "This leader of ours, abackwoodsman like ourselves, fights in the garb that best suits him,chancing capture. This fool here decks himself out in feathers, and iscaptured. Both run the same risk. One is taken and shot as a naturalcourse, while the other, the smarter man, you understand, lives tofight another day. As to shouting down a man's throat, there are somedull dogs who want a deal of that, and still remain dull."

  For a little while it looked as if the two would come to blows, forthe sergeant strode over to the trapper who had spoken, a flush ofanger on his face. But evidently he thought better of the matter,turned to the Indians, and in a little while was accompanying Steveout of the hut. Borne on the shoulders of the braves, the prisoner wastransferred to a second hut, where he was placed on a low couch.

  "Whatever happens you shall have food and some attention, friend,"said the sergeant. "I will leave the Indians to see to your wound,while I myself get you some victuals. Cheer up. You have still afriend or two left in the world."

  He smiled kindly at our hero, and, taking a lamp, went out of the hut,speaking a few words to the Indians as he went. The latter at once setabout tending to Steve's wound, for these sons of the lake and forestwere for the most part excellent surgeons. One placed a jar over thefire, and blew at the embers till the flames roared round it. A secondcrept from the hut, to return some ten minutes later with some softfleecy material, while beneath his arm he carried a bundle wrapped inbark. Opening the last, he disclosed a heap of dried leaves, which hecommenced to pound between two stones, while some he even chewed. Alittle water was added to the mass, and the whole worked into a softbrown paste.

  "The Hawk will let us see and tend this wound, well knowing thatwe have had experience," said the chief who had already shown hisfriendly spirit. "We will carry you close to the fire, so that youwill feel no cold. That is well. The Hawk has won our favour. Hedoes not flinch at the prospect of a death which would be an eternaldishonour to even the most cowardly brave. Fear not. There are menhere who will see that this indignity is not allowed. If die you must,there are other and nobler ways of taking the life of a prisoner."

  Little did the fine fellow know what pangs he was causing our hero,
for to Steve, if he were condemned to die as a spy, shooting would beinfinitely preferable to the death by torture which the Indians wouldinflict. He knew their customs well, and he told himself over and overagain that it would be better far to stand for one brief minute andface the muskets than to be feasted for a day or more by these braves,to be petted and praised by them, knowing full well that all the whiletheir preparations were being completed for the orgie of the morrow,when all their diabolical ingenuity would be called into play toprovide a slow death for him, which in their opinion was alone worthyof a warrior. Ugh! The very idea made him shiver.

  "You are cold. Cover our brother with the skin again," said the chief."Now, let us remove the shirt, and see what harm has come to him."

  Very gently they cut the leather shirt away and removed his clothingtill the wound was uncovered. By then the water in the jar placed overthe fire was comfortably hot, and with some of this and a portion ofthe fleecy material the chief bathed the place till the nature of theinjury could be seen.

  "Ah! The bullet struck beneath the arm, Hawk, and ran round the ribs.It is here. I feel it beneath my fingers."

  The chief ran the tips of his fine fingers over the ribs, and tracedthe direction of the bullet from the entrance wound to the spot wherethe hard mass could be felt to move under the skin.

  "Some water, brother," he demanded. "Nay, hotter than that. Heat ittill it bubbles."

  He sat patiently beside Steve while the jar was placed on the fireagain. And presently, when the water was boiling, he strode over toit, and plunged the blade of his keen hunting knife deep into thecontents.

  "The Hawk has felt pain before," he said. "He will not flinch. Thebullet shall be within my hand in less time than it takes to count thefingers. Lie so. Now, Hawk."

  Steve shut his teeth again, and never so much as winced as the keenblade, wielded by a dexterous hand, cut down on the bullet. It wasextracted in a few seconds, and when Steve opened his eyes, there itwas in the chief's hand.

  "Good," grunted the brave. "The worst is done. We will dress the woundnow."

  Once more he had recourse to the jar of water. A wide piece of doeskin was steeped in the boiling water first, and then, having beenwrung out, was made the receptacle for the brown paste alreadyprepared. The skin was then folded round, screwed up at the ends, andagain plunged into the water, and left there for a couple of minutes.

  "It is ready," said the chief. "Squeeze the mass dry, and bring theskin to me."

  Up to that moment the wound had been smarting, particularly thatportion where the Indian had made use of his knife. But a minutelater, after the hot brown paste had been applied and covered by apad of the fleecy material, the pain disappeared, and Steve felt hugerelief. He was carefully bound up with long strips of doe skin, hisshirt replaced, and in a little while he was lying back on the couch,expressing thanks to the Indians.

  "Here is the food, and you look as if you could enjoy it," said thesergeant, entering a little later. "Come, drink this stuff. It is hotand steaming, and will put warmth into your body."

  The kind-hearted fellow sat down and watched his prisoner eat anddrink. Then he propped his head up on the couch, drew the rug wellover him, and sat staring thoughtfully at his figure till Steve's eyesclosed and he slept.

  "A fine lad, and one who fights stoutly for a lost cause," murmuredthe sergeant, as he watched the sleeper. "To look at him as he liesthere, one could take him for one of our country, though he is biggerand stouter than we are built. And he speaks French, too. Yes, Iremember that. It struck me as strange when I heard him answer thisJules Lapon. Can it be that he is partly French, his mother perhapsbeing one of our land? There have been many such marriages, and oftenthey have turned out well."

  For a little while he lapsed into silence again, till his eye caughtthe gleam of a long, thin streak of light which was pushing its waythrough a chink in the roughly fashioned door. It was dawn, the hourfor the firing party, and the sergeant rose at once to his feet.

  "We shall see," he said aloud, as he moved towards the door, but stillkept an eye on Steve. "This lad is a brave one, and I am taken withhim. That is strange now, for up to this an Englishman has been to me,as to all my comrades, just an Englishman, fit to be slain if need be.I have pitied them often, to be sure, for it is hard to see them givenover to these braves. But it is necessary to keep the Indians in goodtemper, and, therefore, what is necessary should not be grumbled at.Why is it that this young Hawk has gained my goodwill?"

  He was of a reflective turn of mind, this French sergeant, and stoodagain with his hand on the latch of the door, staring hard at Steveand thinking aloud.

  "Peste take it! Why is this? Ah! It must be this Jules Lapon. I havehated him ever since he came to us, and more so now that he is ourcommandant in the absence of the colonel. He is a hard man, or else hewould never order the execution of a white prisoner without some sortof trial. I doubt that he has the power. The colonel could intervene,if only he were not chained to his bed with a broken thigh. _MonDieu!_"

  He strode across the floor of beaten and frozen earth, and shook thesleeper vigorously. His face was flushed, and there was an air ofexcitement about him.

  "Pardon, monsieur, but I wish to ask a question. Monsieur, you areawake, and I ask pardon for disturbing you. But this is a matter ofimportance."

  Steve opened his eyes wearily, and acknowledged the presence ofthe sergeant somewhat peevishly, for he had been enjoying a mostrefreshing and dreamless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, stared at thesergeant, and then caught sight of the streak of light penetratingthrough the door. Then his senses returned with a rush, and heremembered.

  "The dawn, sergeant," he said. "Then this Jules Lapon will carry outhis purpose. I am ready. Help me to get to my feet."

  "Not now, monsieur. I am about to go for the firing party, but wishto ask an important question. Tell me, was it you who aided monsieurle colonel, Colonel St. Arnould de Prossen, till a week ago thecommandant of this force?"

  He waited for the answer eagerly, as if his own life depended on it,and gave a cry of joy as Steve replied that it was he who had foundthe unfortunate soldier, and who had had him carried on to the lakeand handed over to his friends.

  "Then rest easy, monsieur. I go to the colonel, and we shall see ifthis firing party assembles. Sleep again. Have I not said that youhave many friends? Even the Indians would save you now, not becausethey wish to reserve you for torture, but because you have shownbravery and much honour to themselves."

  He pressed Steve gently back on to the couch, and raced from the hut.A few minutes later he was knocking at the door of his colonel'squarters, thumping on the logs with an energy which brought shoutsof anger from within, and very soon afterwards the squat figure of aFrench soldier servant came to the door.

  "Peste!" he exclaimed. "Are you mad, sergeant, to come and beat so onthe commandant's door? Go away before it is light enough for me torecognise you. Go, I say, or I shall know you, and then there will betrouble."

  "Give way. I have important information for the colonel. Let me pass,"gasped the sergeant, thrusting the man aside and pushing his way intothe hut. A moment or two later he was confronting the wounded officer,and for some ten minutes the two were closeted together, much to theamazement of the soldier servant.

  "There, there, Armand, you must leave us," said the colonel, as hisvalet rushed in after the sergeant with the intention of ejecting theintruder. "Our friend has news for me. Withdraw. Come again when Iknock, and have no fear. Our friend is in his sober senses."

  "I am glad that you have come to me, sergeant," he said, at the endof their interview. "Glad to think there are some here who have kindhearts still after all this bitter warfare. Not for worlds would Ihave this lad injured, for he behaved with noble generosity to me. Gonow, summon your firing party, and march the squad to the hut wherethis prisoner lies. If any dare give you an order to proceed withthis unjust and cruel execution, show this note. Though I am woundedand incapable at the moment, I am sti
ll nominally, if not actively,in command, and I will have my orders obeyed. Go, and I will followpresently."

  Half an hour later Steve awoke to the fact that men were gatheringoutside the hut in which he lay. He could hear the tramp of theirboots on the frozen ground, and the ring of their muskets as theystood at ease. The voice of the sergeant came to his ears as he gavethe commands. "Attention! Shoulder your pieces! Stand steady there,lads, for Monsieur Jules Lapon comes to inspect you."

  The door was thrown open, a gust of freezing air swept the apartment,and there was Jules, muffled in furs, his face haggard and weary as ifhe had some great weight on his mind which had kept him wakeful sincethe arrival of the prisoner, two bright, hectic spots on his cheeksand staring, blood-shot eyes which seemed to denote a fever. Anddespite the cruel smile now on his lips, it wanted no acute observerto see that this young man, with all his bravado, was hesitating as tohis course of action, not out of compassion for the prisoner, but forfear of what might happen to himself. However, the sight of Steve'scalm face settled the question.

  "You are ready, sergeant?" he asked curtly. "Good. Then bring out theprisoner. There is a wall yonder, where you will set him up and shoothim promptly. He is a dog and a spy, and should thank us for givinghim bullets instead of a noose."

  "He will certainly not thank you for his life, monsieur. The lad istoo proud and too brave for that. He would not ask it of me, and muchless of you."

  The words, spoken in the coldest and most cutting tones, caused Julesto swing round and face the open. He flushed to the roots of his hair,and then turned deathly pale, while, like the coward and bully he was,his lips at once commenced to frame lies and excuses. For his superiorwas there. Four soldiers stood before him, bearing a bed, on which,warmly covered with skins, lay the long figure of the colonel.

  "Have you no heart, man?" demanded the colonel fiercely. "Do younot know that this prisoner was the leader of those men whom weattacked last week? Yes, you know that, I see. Then it is also in yourknowledge that it is to that gallant youth that I owe my life. And yetyou would shoot him! You are suspended, monsieur. You will retire toyour hut till I can send you out of the fort. Sergeant, you will carrymonsieur the prisoner to my hut, where he will remain till completelyrecovered. Tell off one of the men to wait on him."

  The colonel fell back on his pillow, waved to his bearers, and wasgone without deigning to glance again at Jules Lapon. Then thesergeant's voice was heard.

  "Ground arms, my lads. Now pile them against the hut. Good. Enter nowand fetch monsieur. You will carry out the colonel's orders."

  In a minute Steve was being conveyed across the open, while JulesLapon looked on as if dazed. Then he turned, rushed across to his owndwelling, and broke the door open with a furious kick. He was beaten.At the very last minute the life at which he had been aiming for somany months now, for some subtle reason of his own, was saved, andthe prisoner, in place of standing up before the muskets of a firingparty, was being quartered in the colonel's own hut. Jules ground histeeth with fury, and filled the bowl of his pipe with savage energy.