Читать книгу Rabble in Arms: A Chronicle of Arundel and the Burgoyne Invasion - Kenneth Roberts - Страница 12

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Whenever Cap Huff spoke of Quebec, which he often did, he smacked his lips. “It ain’t much to look at,” he told us, “but after we’ve reported to Arnold, we’ll scout out around Sillery.” He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “There’s a place out in Sillery that’s got brandy in the cellar that’ll surprise you! Take maybe a third of a bottle, and for three days afterward you won’t remember none of the worst things you ever done. That’s the nice thing about it!”

But the closer we had come to Canada, the more silent Nathaniel had grown, almost as though his mind were busy with something that would not let him rest. His increasing quiet, I felt, was somehow due to Marie de Sabrevois; to something she had said to him in London, or to something in the letter she had given him—the letter Nathaniel had never mentioned to me. I became almost certain of this when I heard him asking Cap Huff how long we would stay in St. John’s.

“Stay?” Cap asked. “We’ll stay long enough to get some food. We’ll buy us a couple of young pigs, maybe, and a barrel of that cider with brandy in it.” His answer seemed comforting to Nathaniel, and I made up my mind not to let him out of my sight in St. John’s.

We were half-way between the lake and St. John’s when we caught sight of the bateaux we were pursuing. They were abreast of a long, low island in the river—an island with a wealth of alders on it. This low and swampy island, Verrieul told us, was the Isle aux Noix—a gloomy place, almost a swamp, but used for military camps by French armies and Indian war parties since time out of mind. We were to know it better soon; and even now there was a singular thing about it that caught our attention.

There were open fields on the island, and amidst them we saw a white house—a house with eaves that curved upwards as if warped in the damp air of the place. The singular thing of which I speak lay in the actions of the people who were working in the fields. As soon as we came in sight, they ran like frightened rabbits, and vanished; so that the whole island, as we passed, might have been deserted.

Cap Huff scratched his head in bewilderment. “By Gosh!” he said, “that don’t look right! These Frenchmen up here in Canada, they like us. Leastways, they always have. It was them as learned me my French songs, and how to drink cider with brandy in it! What’s got into ’em, I’d like to know?”

He was clearly aggrieved as we drew up towards the hindmost bateau—a sort of scow with a swivel gun mounted bow and stern; and the greeting we received was not calculated to calm him. A man in the stern pointed his swivel at Cap’s stomach, and warned us off.

“Where you from and where you going?” he shouted. “What’s your business?”

I ran off to larboard to let Cap talk to him. “Detachment of scouts for General Arnold,” Cap bawled. “Going to Quebec! What you want to be so damned military about?”

The man in the stern stared at us: then swung his swivel gun to one side and jerked his head by way of inviting us to come closer.

“Where you been?” he asked, as I laid the canoe alongside him. “You been in jail or something?”

“We been coming over the trail from Maine,” Cap said.

“You must have laid up somewhere if you ain’t heard the news,” the man said. “You ain’t going to see Quebec this trip.” By way of afterthought he added grimly, “Nor any other trip, neither, the way things look now.”

Cap breathed heavily. “You mean they licked Arnold?”

“Arnold? No, not Arnold! They ain’t got around to him, yet! Arnold left Quebec when Wooster came down there to take command, in April. There wasn’t any room for Arnold after Wooster got there, the damned old woman, so Arnold went back to Montreal and took command there.” He stared at us balefully, muttering “damned old woman” under his breath.

“Who’s a damned old woman?” Cap demanded.

“Wooster! He’s out now. They threw him out. He was an old woman. General Thomas tooken his place.”

“Thomas!” Cap growled. “Thomas! I never heard of him! Where do they get all these generals I never heard of! They must grow ’em on bushes! Why didn’t they leave Arnold where he was? There wasn’t anybody as good as Arnold!”

The scow-man snorted. “Brother, save your breath! Don’t ask why! There ain’t nobody knows why anybody does anything up in this hell-hole! If ever there was a pack of half-wits running things, it’s here and now! Congressmen running an army! Hell!” He spat furiously into the water.

“Say, brother,” Cap warned him, “you better be careful how you talk about Congress! There’s a law against it!”

The man laughed bitterly. “Wait till you been up here a few hours before you start telling me how to talk about Congress! Wait till you begin to look around for food! That’s my job, carrying food! We carry in half enough to feed them that’s here. Half enough! There ain’t money to buy more! Congress ain’t got none! No money and no brains, neither—sending men up here without giving ’em no way to keep alive! And more men to come, too: four regiments! Four more regiments, under Sullivan, due to leave Albany any day; due to come up here and holler for food that nobody ain’t got!”

Nason’s canoe, with Doc Means staring helplessly at us over the high curved bow, came up astern. Tom Bickford swung her alongside; and the middlemen laid their paddles across our gunwale to keep the bark sides from chafing.

Cap Huff twisted himself so violently in the bottom of the canoe, in order to meet Nason’s eye, that I held him down for fear he might upset us all. He sat there, rigid with rage, and bawled hoarsely at Nason: “No food, he says, Stevie! No food, by God, and we can’t go to Quebec! This is a hell of a war!”

Nason seemed to ponder the words, and the rest of us were silent, staring at the dark forests through which this broad stream relentlessly hurried us.

It was the man at the swivel gun who broke the silence. “I should say it was a hell of a war!” he cried, “thanks to your damned New Englanders!”

We transferred our attention from the forests to him. He fingered his gun uneasily, and spoke defensively. “That’s what it was: your damned New Englanders! Three weeks ago they were sitting outside of Quebec, pinching their pennies and stealing each other’s food, same as ever. Then, by God, Carleton opened the gate and popped out at ’em; and the New Englanders, they’re running yet! Left their guns and camp kettles: left all their ammunition and medicines: left the food in the kettles, even, so’s they could run their heads off! Some of ’em ran all the way around Montreal, so Arnold wouldn’t catch ’em; and some of ’em ran through the woods, all the way back to New England! You’ll find some of ’em up around Lake Superior, still running, prob’ly! Look at these folks on shore, the way they act! They won’t have nothing to do with us, since your damned New Englanders started running!”

Cap rubbed his face with his huge hands, as if to clear it of insects. “You’re a liar!” he said. “If they did any running, they did it because the Yorkers started it! Where you from? New York?”

The man slapped his swivel gun and laughed derisively. “New York? Not me! I’m from a real place! I’m from Pennsylvania.”

“All right, brother,” Cap said. “When you’re talking to us, don’t be so damned free about New Englanders! We been up in this Quebec country before: with Arnold. If we’d had half enough food then, we’d ’a’ been well fed! Nothing to eat for a month but squirrel-hair and rock-tripe! None of our folks did any running, brother! A few, maybe; but none to speak of. If there’s been any done since, I’ll bet you a bottle of rum to an eel skin it was started by Yorkers, headed by Lieutenant Colonel Donald Campbell of the New York line!”

“Say!” the Pennsylvanian exclaimed, “come to think of it, it was Campbell they were all cussing!”

Nason shouted at his middlemen. They let go of our canoe and dug in their paddles with such force that the water sucked and swirled. As Tom Bickford swung the craft into midstream with his long steering-paddle, Nason spoke quietly to Cap Huff. “Drive your men! If we can’t reach Quebec, we’ve got to leave the river at St. John’s and get somewhere—and get there quick!”