Читать книгу Crossed Swords. A Canadian-American Tale of Love and Valor - Mary Wilson Alloway - Страница 10

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On the evening of the double birthday, in spite of the portents of war, and the shadow of the monk's cell over the young life of Leon, the Château de Lérie, with fires aglow in salon and lady's chamber, was en fête for its celebration with dance and feast. The lights from clusters of candles threw soft beams over the walls of the old reception-rooms, and a yellow gleam of cheer and welcome through every casement-pane; reflecting on the polished brasses of andirons and sconces until they seemed to be almost lights in themselves. Garlands of green hemlock from the woods wreathed pillar and cornice, entwining the flags of England and France as peacefully as if those who served under them had never crossed swords or drenched them with each others' blood.

Above the wainscoting hung portraits of dainty patched and powdered ladies, and bewigged, lace-ruffled gallants, ancestors of the de Léries, who had in their time figured in many a bal masqué and royal fête of the queens of France.

In one of the court dames there was a striking resemblance in feature and expression to Thérèse, although there was lacking in the girl's face a certain look of craft and cruelty which hardened the otherwise dark beauty of Jacqueline, Comtesse de St. Leger, a great-aunt of Madame de Lérie. She had been in the train of the arch-plotter, Catherine de Medici, and according to some mysterious family legends, it was suspected that she had been her accomplice in more than one court intrigue and tragedy. Her skirt of black and gold with bands of embroidery, and doublet of white and silver tissue with large jewelled buttons, were the delight and despair of Thérèse, whose ambition centered in one day being wedded to a French noble, and robed like her whose picture might have been taken for her own.

Upon the floors, polished to the gloss of satinwood were reflected the rich velvets and old-time ruffs and laces of the portraits, with the sheen from satin and silk of the gathering guests. For those whose bent lay toward play and games of hazard, spindle-legged card-tables were disposed in convenient recesses, and for the ease and comfort of the dancers, there were stiff-backed chairs, upholstered in damask silks in the taste of du Barry or the Pompadour, or in tapestries wrought in days gone by, by the needles of the de Lérie ladies in the turret-chambers of the château castles of old France.

Toward midnight, to the rhythm of merry fiddling, the dancing was at its gayest, as light-footed, and apparently without a thought of care, as if the morrow held no ominous uncertainties. In the rooms, filled with grace and beauty, the eyes of the young dancers rivaled in brightness the gems of the stately maternal dames, who, sitting around the walls, exchanged pleasantries and the latest bits of gossip of the town. Watchful and wise, after the manner of discreet and prudent matrons, they sat in the enjoyment of their well-bred dignity, bowing graciously to each new arrival, more especially the eligibles, complacently aware of their own mature charms. They discussed confidentially the weddings and betrothals of the past year and the marriages in prospect, in every item, from the color and texture of the gowns to the number and quality of the linen sheets and other furnishings that the mother of the last little fiancée had stored away in great dower-chests for the bridal. As the subject warmed, aided by some good port, which had mellowed among the cobwebs of the cellars since the natal day of the young host and hostess, to be decanted on that occasion, they whispered choice bits of news and even scandal from the French and English Courts.

Madame de Lérie, turning to her neighbor and intimate friend, who sat upon her right, and wishing to engage her in conversation, said:

"Dear Madame Davenant, 'tis said the young queen, Marie Antoinette, is exceeding fond of gaiety and display; as is only right, I say, in one so young and beautiful. She is but four years older than my little Thérèse, and surely no one would look for wisdom or discretion in that silly child over yonder. I, for one, can see naught amiss in her love for dress and the Court's gay doings, with scarce a year gone by since her crowning. The king is otherwise minded, so I hear, and sits but ill at ease upon his throne, lamenting that he was born to wear a crown. That is to be deplored, as our gay France is fond of royal pageantry and loves not a cloister-court, or monk upon the throne; but 'tis said that at last he loves so well his queen that he can deny her naught that she desires."

"Pardon me, Madame, if I venture to say that such a case of domestic felicity and fidelity is somewhat novel in the royal palaces of France. I trust the disfavor of certain cliques in Paris, of which we have heard, omens no evil fortune for your sweet queen; for even a crown does not always save a head, as it availed naught for our Stuart king, who, ye remember, was wedded to your Princess Henrietta of Navarre," was the rejoinder.

"Who can tell?" was the answer; "for already there are enemies at Court who, as you say, speak ill things of our queen to her hurt; her innocent follies seeming to please as little as her lord's uncourtly manners and stiff, unprincely ways."

With a glance around, and lowered voice, Mistress Davenant then whispered behind her fan:

"I too have news by the last post from my cousin, who ye know is Maid-of-Honor to Queen Charlotte. She hints that her Majesty bears much anxiety regarding the health of King George, who is subject to strange mental whims, which give grave concern to his ministers and the peers of the realm. My cousin too has a grievance of her own. It has been a matter of private merriment among the ladies of the Household, that her Majesty should display so extreme a passion for collecting gems and wearing jewels, and yet she has decreed that the women of the Court appear no more in the enormous headdresses which are all the vogue."

"Well, I most certainly approve your good queen's sense and taste, for these stiff hoops and monstrous cushions on our heads are getting past enduring," sighed the hostess, pointing to the expanse of her peach-blossom brocade. Then letting the slight frown creasing her brow disappear in a smile, she waved her mittened hand toward the dancers, saying:

"Look, dear madame, at our children stepping the minuet; truly youth can carry off with grace any mode, however outré, be it hoop or headgear!" and she gazed fondly at the bright creatures trying to compress their youthful spirits within the dignity and stiff formality of the stately measures of the dance.

Truly it was a pretty sight! Phyllis, with blue eyes shining in the innocent glamor of the alluring figures, moved through their mazes with lips parted in a smile no man with a heart could see unmoved; her cheeks flaming pink as the broidered rose-buds clambering over the snowy satin of her gown. Her unpowdered hair was coiled high, and with bare arms and neck, white as the delicate lace shading her low-cut bodice, she was sweet enough to have snared an anchorite from his cell. As she sank in the deep courtesy, waving her painted fan, or stooping, gathered her silken skirts to trip under the crossed swords of the chevaliers, she was as fair a vision as ever made glad the heart of doting mother, or tempted the soul of passionate lover; while Thérèse, gay as a tropic bird, in cerise-colored satin, was bewildering in her dark, brunette beauty.

An hour later Leon was leading Phyllis through the measures of a contré-dance. Though fine as any courtier of his house, with purple velvet coat, flowered vest and gold buckles on his shoes and at the knee, his gay attire ill suited the gravity of his deportment and looks. As Phyllis moved by his side, his face wore an expression that she could not understand, and throughout the evening his conduct had seemed strange and unaccountable to her. He was moody and restless, at times appearing to avoid her, now talking excitedly in loud gaiety, and anon becoming silent and taciturn. Remembering that he had seemed actually forgetful that he was pledged to her for this dance, she had greeted him with a pretty pout, saying, in quaint displeasure, as she swept him a mocking curtsey:

"A gallant courtier ye would make, Leon, to be so recreant in claiming a damsel's favor!"

"What matters it? Courts and fair damsels are not for me!" he ejaculated so sharply that, offended, she remained silent.

When the figure was ended, with a formal bow he seated her, and with seeming indifference passed on to join Thérèse, who was coquetting with her partner in another part of the room. Phyllis, although for a moment piqued, was also partly amused at his unwonted seriousness and apparently causeless tragic manner; and with a touch of the dawning maidenly desire to test her power, at the first opportunity she slipped out of the nearest doorway, and hastening along the corridor leading to the picture-gallery, hid behind an inlaid cabinet, in which the Marquise de Vaudreuil had kept her newfangled Sèvres china. Wilful in her wish to punish him, yet ready to laugh and forgive at the first sign of contrition; running away from him, yet hoping he would seek her, she waited with mood as changeful as the moon flecking the floor with diamonds of light, as its beams streamed through the many-paned windows.

Soon, in the lights and shadows, she descried him searching among the pillars, and knew he had missed her. Palpitating with mischief, her mouth quivering with a gay, breathless laugh, she was forced to press her handkerchief over her lips lest she betray her hiding-place. At length, as in his haste he stumbled against a chair, she was unable longer to restrain her mirth, and a ripple of the sweetest laughter, with a flutter of her white dress, revealed her whereabouts.

In a moment he was by her side, and had her in his arms, while words of burning passion flowed out so impetuously that her light laughter died away into a cry of mingled fear and surprise, as, struggling, she exclaimed:

"Leon de Lérie, ye have no right thus to do! Release me at once or I will call for help!"

Instantly his arms fell by his side, and, white and faint, she sank into the nearest window-seat. Looking down upon her, his young face drawn and grey in the spectral moonlight, he said, brokenly:

"Yes, Phyllis, my darling, I let you go, but I must speak! I love you! I have loved you ever since I have known what love is. I cannot remember the time when you were not the idol of my boyish heart. I could ever bear anything, dare anything for your sake. Once in our childhood, when I fell bruised and bleeding from yon tree, striving to reach a red-cheeked apple you had fancied, I felt the pain no more, when you kissed me with little, tender lips, and cried bitterly over my hurt. Now I am a man, and my love is but the stronger, my Phyllis. In the church the pictured saints and angels have ever seemed less fair to me than you are; and in my prayers, as I behold our blessed Virgin, methinks I see your eyes in hers. I have lived all my life with no thought of the future but with you, my love. I would be ever brave for your sake—good, that I might the better mate with you—and rich that I might the easier give you happiness—but now"—he stopped, and with voice choked in a sob, buried his convulsively-working face in his hands; the tears of a man's deep agony falling through his fingers as he fell on his knees at her feet.

In a moment, with all traces of trifling and chiding fled, and conscious in her tender pity of a deep affection for the boy who had playfully tormented and manfully defended her with dash and vigor all their lives, the girl bent over him, as the color slowly returned to cheek and lip, saying gently:

"Dearest Leon, there is no need for grief. If, as you say, you love me, all may yet be well. Of a truth I have not thought of a love for me other than that you bear our dear Thérèse; but give me time to look deep down into my heart, and perchance I may find love is there, or some foreshadowing of it; for I fain would ease this sorrow."

With a groan, as if his soul were rent in twain, he raised his head, started to his feet, and recoiled, shrinking from her arms, which at the sight of his tears she had thrown around him as in their childish days, crying:

"Oh, mon Dieu!—unclasp your arms, their soft touch doth madden me, sending my blood like molten lead coursing to my heart, to scorch and blast it!"

"But, Leon, have I not said that though I may not love you now, I will strive to, as perhaps 'tis unmaidenly to do," was the faint reply.

"Tell me you will never love me!" he cried. "Scorn me!—flee me!—'Twere better thus, then gladly and with true heart can I take my vows and bury under monkish cowl my ill-starred love, and in unceasing vigils, prayers and scourgings tear my idol from its throne!"

At the vehemence of his words and strangeness of his manner, something of her fear returned.

"Leon, speak not so wildly," she said soothingly, "else I shall think something hath turned your brain. Close study and too hard striving with dry Latin themes, or mayhap the austere piety of the good fathers, has filled your head, I fear, with fancies that are quite unreal."

Clasping her to him again in uncontrolled agitation, with burning kisses on brow, lip and cheek, he muttered hoarsely:

"No, I swear, I cannot, will not, vow to aught save you, my own, my bride!" Then suddenly clutching his brow between his hands, he staggered back and pushing her almost rudely from him sobbed: "Alas! I am vowed to the Church. But this morn my parents have made known to me, that ere the waning of yon moon, now limning you like a saint in heavenly light, I go to my novitiate in the Jesuit order of monks!"

With a cry, her face whitened with horror, the girlish figure, in its silks and laces, shrank back appalled, as she comprehended his words. With face buried in her hands, she cried out piteously:

"Oh, Leon, dear Leon, this must not be!" and he, with heart a-throbbing with agony, and not daring to touch even her hand with his own, besought her in a low, unnatural voice:

"Phyllis, for the love of Heaven do not weep so, or, I swear, in yonder river I will drown myself and my misery!"

Seeing that at his words she strove to control herself, he suddenly turned, and, leaving her, strode away, frightening trim Lizette, carrying a tray of glasses, almost into hysterics at the sight of his stern, agonized features. With the gay ribands fluttering with fear over her beating heart, and dropping a hurried little curtsey, she asked timidly:

"Will Monsieur have some wine?"

Seizing the goblet she offered him, he drained it at a single draught, and regaining by a strong effort his customary mien, returned it, saying:

"Merci, Lizette."

As he re-entered the salon he saw, in conversation with his mother and Mistress Davenant, Captain Basil Temple, of His Majesty's frigate the Vulture, wintering at Quebec. Joining them, he leaned in silence against the wainscoting. With arms folded across his breast, he stood moodily, apparently watching the dancing, but in reality jealously listening to the voice of a man whom he had seen regard Phyllis with eyes which told his heart's secret, that he too loved her with the depth and rapture of a true and honest affection.

"Ye have recently arrived from Quebec," Mistress Davenant was saying. "Pray, Captain, tell us what is the state of things there. Is there to be another siege? My heart quakes at the very thought!"

"Ah, Captain," sighed Madame de Lérie, "I was in that unhappy town when it was attacked by your General Wolfe. Ah, me! I shudder yet to think upon it—the roar of the guns still sounds in my ears—the hurried tramp, tramp of the soldiers, I think I hear it still! Never can I forget the weeping and wringing of hands as they bore the noble Montcalm wounded off the field, and my dear brother, Tancred—brave as that Red-Cross Knight whose name he bore—home to us, dead. Alas! it was a cruel day for us and for France," and the lady shook her head sadly at the bitter memories.

A tear dropped on her satin fan, but waving it vigorously and using her smelling-salts, she turned to him, saying:

"Change the subject, if you please, Monsieur, and let us be merry for to-night, even if the morning should bring the cannon-balls rattling on our roofs. See my poor Leon here," turning to her son, "the doleful tale has made him quite distressed. He has the visage of eighty instead of eighteen, and on his birthnight, too, when all should be only wit and merriment;" and with a laugh she resumed her usual light-hearted manner and address.

She was a strikingly handsome dame in her rich velvets and jeweled stomacher, with a charming grace and polished speech, learned in the courtly circles of Paris, where in her maidenhood she spent several years in the household of her grandmother, the Marquise de St. Leger. In her salon she met the handsome young Monsieur de Lérie, with whom she fell in love, and notwithstanding more ambitious plans of her family, wedded.

Captain Temple, though restless at the absence of Phyllis, whom he had seen leave the room, listened with polite attention to Madame's efforts to turn the conversation into livelier channels by recounting some of the reminiscences of her early days. Although a matron of almost forty years, she still loved to recall to attentive ears the conquests and love affairs of her youth. Not perceiving his divided attention, she proceeded to tell with vivacity and relish of a royal duke's mad infatuation for her as Mademoiselle St. Leger; of the duels which had been fought for the favor of her smile; and with one of her old, coquettish glances, hinted that it had been even whispered at Court, that the queen was jealous of "La Belle Canadienne," as she was called.

"Does Madame regret the loss of all this," he asked, "and lament the banishment from the brilliant life of the Palais Royal for a provincial home, and the comparative rudeness of life in a Canadian forest?"

"Ah, no, Captain, not for a moment. I loved my Louis, and none of these things weighed with me as much as would a sou against the Crown jewels, so that I were by his side!"

"Ah, mother," exclaimed Leon, a dark flush mounting to his brow as he heard her last words, "would you not then counsel your son in like case to choose love above all else?"

"Vex not yourself with questions such as these," she answered, turning to him with some irritation, "for you well know that from your cradle you have been vowed to the celibacy of Mother Church. Love comes before all save her claims, so it behooves you to give all your thoughts to her sweet and holy service. 'Tis well no human love but that of mother and sister divides your heart with her."

With a low bow to conceal the bitterness that marked his features, he said abruptly:

"This scene ill befits one dedicated to so high and holy a calling. Will you, my mother, make excuse for me if I retire to muse upon the high claims of its coming duties and denials? My heart accords not with this merry scene, and with your leave I would withdraw."

Pleased at his apparently devoted and pious frame of mind, she quickly replied:

"Certainly, my son, retire and forget not to commend to Heaven the follies and frivolities of those of us to whom has not been given such high vocation."

As with lines of stern self-control hardening his boyish features, he disappeared, his mother turned to Mistress Davenant, who having gone in search of Phyllis, had returned with her, and asked with gratification:

"Madame, do you not think that my Leon has a noble look? With his handsome face and fine, manly form, I have feared that some maiden of the town would seek to win his love; but I am assured he is heart and hand free, for besides his sister and your own sweet Phyllis, their playmate, he cares not for other companionships. With his noble kinsmen in France, and some family interest at the Vatican, we are not without hope that some day the red hat of the Cardinal may rest upon our boy's fine brow."

With the keen insight which love ever gives, Basil Temple had from the first read Leon's passion in his every act and look. Knowing they craved the same woman's heart, as he marked her affectionate intimacy with the handsome boy, he had felt the bitterness of looking into happiness through another man's eyes. The dialogue between the mother and son, to which he had, without intention, become a listener, sent a great flood of hope and joy pulsing through his heart. Something in the listlessness with which Phyllis sank into the chair he offered her, and a certain sweet pathos in her face, which was more alluring than even her usual sunny brilliance of manner, impelled him to say, as with deference and tender gallantry he bent over her, his lips almost touching the fragrant, golden hair:

"Let me, I pray, take you from the heat and fatigue of the ball-room. A sailor loves the water, and methinks a glance at it under this beautiful moon would be grateful."

Glad of an opportunity to escape the necessity of explaining to the sharp maternal eyes the reason of her pallor, she gratefully accepted his arm, the warm blood surging to his heart at the touch of her soft hand. As they passed out from the throng, with its satins, laces and laughter, her fair head bent towards him, Madame de Lérie asked quietly, above the mingling of voices and the soft glide of feet over the waxed floor:

"Is this a love affair, dear Madame? By my word they would make a comely couple!"

"Perhaps it may so prove, for I have thought at times that the Captain's manner meant something more than friendship merely; an' were it so, I would not think ill of it, as he comes of noble blood, and owns fair lands in our dear England," Phyllis's mother replied; and at the words her mind reverted to certain family gems and laces hid away in casket and coffer, that would not look amiss on so fair a bride.

Phyllis's apparent pleasure at his request, as she raised her guileless eyes to thank him, and her willingness to forego the dance to accompany him, awoke in Basil Temple's soul a new-born hope. Leading her to a curtained alcove, where the heavy tapestry fell, separating them from the sight and hearing of the revelers, and showed the river like a silver floor, he suddenly poured into her ears his ardent love, as he whispered with some agitation:

"In quieter times I might bide with patience for some assurance that you look with favor upon me ere I spoke, but at any moment I may be forced to heed the call of duty, and join my ship at Quebec. With all the grim possibilities and uncertainties that menace us, I must listen to my heart's call and tell you now, while I may, that I love you!"

Seeing from the color that flew to her cheeks that she was startled and surprised at the sudden impetuosity of his speech and manner, he took her hand, the words coming hastily, as he protested earnestly:

"Yonder pure stars have witnessed many a love-troth, but never one more worthy woman's taking than this I plight, if devotion, lifelong loyalty and undying service to her lightest wish be aught of worth. Never before this night has word of love to woman passed my lips, and I am unused to trick of speech and honeyed words in which to pay my court. It is a bluff sailor's love, proffered in a rough sailor's way, but British seamen's hearts are hearts of oak," and pressing her slender hand between his own strong ones, he continued vehemently: "Twere easier for this tender hand to rend yonder gnarled tree from its grasp of earth, than for me to tear your image from my heart. I can offer you, my little love, a name upon which no man can throw a shadow of dishonor, and a fair, sweet English home, among the rose-hedges of beautiful Kent, where my forefathers have dwelt since Harold rode to Hastings Field, and which needs only you, my pure Eve, to make it Paradise."

Beneath the girl's young, innocent maidenhood was the honesty of true womanliness, which despises all forms of duplicity and heartless coquetry. With a tearful seriousness dimming her usually serene joyousness of spirit, she interrupted him, endeavoring to withdraw her hand, as with distressed and frightened face raised to his she said:

"Captain Temple, I am only a simple girl, unversed in the great passions, which, I have heard, move men and women to happiness or misery, but I feel something of the worth of a true man's love, so will not by coy dallying coquet with your heart. It were more kindly far to tell you now that this you ask, I fear can never be. I grieve most sorely that I must say you nay, but trust me, there are more hapless fates than yours, whose love, though unrequited, is no mortal sin. I am not without gratitude that thus ye honor me, but I must pray you for this same love's sake, that you do not urge me more."

With face ashen white under his sailor bronze, and a break in his voice, he said, the words coming with difficulty:

"'Tis bitter, this death sentence to my love!—but a breaking heart must needs be borne with a man's courage—and be sure that you will ever be to me the fairest, sweetest thing this wide world holds!"

Lifting her trembling hands, and pressing them unresisted to his lips, he led her back to the salon and mingling with some of the departing guests, passed out into the quiet of the starlit street. A few rods from the threshold, a man, whom he recognized as the body-servant of the Governor, saluted and informed him that he was the bearer of a request that he report at once at headquarters. He immediately repaired thither, and on gaining the presence of the Commander, was surprised to find him fully dressed, and with evidence of having spent the night among the papers which were scattered around in a disorder betokening haste.

"Captain Temple," he said, "I have summoned you hither at this unusual hour, to ask that you render a service which can only be required at the hands of a brave man and an honorable gentleman. It is no less than a request that ye risk your life in accompanying me in my attempt to leave this town during the coming night."

Basil Temple, looking straight into his superior's eyes, answered, as he threw back his head with a dauntless bearing gained from twenty generations of brave Anglo-Saxon ancestors:

"Ye do me honor, Sir Guy, in making as a request that which is my highest duty and greatest privilege to perform. Believe me, sir, life is not so sweet a thing to me that I deem it aught beside the call of my country." Laying his hand upon his sword-hilt, he declared: "I hereby pledge my word, on the honor of an Englishman, and a sailor who has seen service with those to whom this land is under tribute of gratitude, that my life shall stand 'twixt yours and harm. Think ye that Basil Temple, who scaled the heights with Wolfe, and shared his risk to place our flag above them, will not face any odds to keep it there?"

No further words were spoken or questions asked, but the two men exchanged looks of trust, in the unspoken tenderness which can find no warmer expression of feeling between men of the undemonstrative natures of their race; but they understood that it was a pact which only death would break. Seated side by side, the plan of escape was given in its minutest details, and as daylight shone in through the crevices of the shutters, they separated to occupy the hours till nightfall in needful preparations, which were to be kept secret from all except those who were to assist in them, or to form the vice-regal escort.

A trustworthy boatman, whose devotion and fidelity were unquestioned, was to undertake the conduct of the expedition. He was a voyageur of a race of coureurs-du-bois, who had paddled the streams and trodden the forest paths of the North since the days of Verandrye. A hundred years of roving life in the woods and on the waters had made the family as wary, alert and keen as the Indians with whom they were so closely associated, and from whom they had learned skill in woodcraft and the secret of the trail. His great-grandsire had followed the ardent explorer, the Chevalier de La Salle, to the banks of the Mississippi and there saw him fall by a comrade's hand. Having refused to be a party to the mutinous and murderous work, he fled through the uncharted wilderness to the great lakes and Ville Marie, as Montreal was called in those early days.

Deserting her home and people, a beautiful young savage followed him to civilization, and became his wife, according to a custom which was common between the traders and trappers of New France and the native tribes.

With that far-away strain of Indian blood in his veins, the risk and romance of the expedition captured Bissette's fancy, and he willingly and hopefully assured the Governor that his craftiness would be more than a match for the most cunning Continental who ever wore blue-and-buff.

It was deemed inexpedient to use any vessel in transport which would be conspicuous enough to attract the attention of the enemy, and the amount of provisions would, of necessity, have to be exceedingly limited. To attempt to traverse a distance of one hundred and eighty miles in small open boats in the bleak month of November, without protection for the night, with the possibility of the severity of the Canadian winter's setting in at any hour, upon men unused to meet exposure, was a prospect which might daunt the bravest; but the greater the risk and need of endurance of hardship, the higher Bissette's spirits rose. As soon as the project was confided to him, he had sent a trusty messenger to Caughnawaga, an Indian village on the south side of the river, to tell an Iroquois, known outside his tribe as "Young Moose," that the Great Father at Montreal, Chief Carleton, required his help.

A few months before, "Young Moose" had been found wandering about the streets of the town, in a half-demented condition, with symptoms upon him of some impending malady. He was placed in shelter, and when it was found that he was suffering from the scourge of the red man—smallpox—by the humane order of General Carleton, he was given the same care and treatment which would have been accorded to one of his own soldiers, had he been the victim. The result was the undying gratitude of the savage, who would, if needful, have gone to the stake for his benefactor. Bissette, knowing that his untutored instincts would be of the utmost service in the navigation of the river, resolved to trust to his savage sense of honor, and enlist him in the cause. Everything being ready, as well as haste and circumstances permitted, with as little appearance of unusual preparation as possible, shortly after sundown a few boats were moored by the bank of the river, where the gardens of the Château ran down to its brink, and not far from the spot where two hundred and fifty years before the keel of Jacques Cartier's craft had grated on the shingle. As evening closed in, dull, leaden clouds hung heavily above, and cold gusts of rain fell, as if Nature were trying to increase the melancholy of the situation; the lights in the town flickering dimly through the mists. The deep, black waters, swirling in treacherous eddies and dangerous currents, in no small degree heightened the peril of the intended adventure. Great caution was observed to avoid attracting attention from the people of the town, whether they were in sympathy or not, as it was known that among the citizens there were at least some who, either from disaffection or a desire to be on the winning side, might take steps to frustrate the undertaking. A sense of fear might also be aroused if it were generally known that their official head was on the point of abandoning the post. In spite of all precautions, however, a suspicion of something unusual was in the air, and in certain quarters the situation was fully understood; so that in the dreary night, a band of heavy-hearted men and frightened women followed the small party that were directing their steps to the ill-provisioned, frail little fleet, tossing at its moorings.

Some of the Governors of Canada have, in their time, set up a semi-regal state in their equipages, with liveried and powdered footmen, postilions and outriders; but that little company had no suggestion of aught save sore discomfort and perturbation. In front walked what appeared to be a peasant fisherman, apparently embarking after disposing of his morning's catch to the habitants and townspeople in the riverside market, to return to some little log cabin where his wife would have the home-made candle lighted in the four-paned window and a savory fricassée of deer meat ready for her bonhomme when he returned cold and hungry from his journey.

It was, however, no simple St. Lawrence fisherman, but the noble knight, Sir Guy Carleton, Commander-in-Chief of the forces of Canada, where he stood for the majesty of the king. Despite his abhorrence at the seeming humiliation of the disguise, and the indignity it suggested in thus habiting, he had, with the utmost reluctance, assumed it: setting aside his personal feelings, if so by his own humiliation his country could be the better served. As he took his seat in the small craft, with Bissette in the prow, oars in hand, only eyes sharpened by the most acute suspicion could recognize him under the homespun of the fisher-folk of the river.

Next followed, similarly attired, Captain Basil Temple, Lieutenant Malcolm Fraser, and lastly, the Indian ally. The other boats were also quickly filled, in each of which had been placed a scanty supply of food and ammunition.

In utter silence, and with heads bared in spite of the falling rain, the parties separated, those left on land returning with slow steps and hearts filled with misgivings as to the fate of the adventurous little band, upon whose wisdom and discretion the future of the king's Canadian dominions hung. As the boats moved clear of the landing, for the better deception of any stray onlooker Bissette broke out into a few lines of a familiar song, which had been sung for a hundred years and more by the boatmen and hunters of the rivers and forests, from Labrador to the foothills of the Rockies.

Where they had stood a few minutes before, a figure of a man loomed up, who, by a peculiarity of his gait, was recognized as one who was known to have openly expressed sympathy with the Revolutionists in the colonies. Peering through the darkness, he curiously scanned the boats and their occupants; but as Bissette sang louder than before in his usual care-free manner the well-known words:

"Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule"—

he knew it to be the voice and manner of the "Wild Pigeon," as Bissette was called from the quickness of his speech and movements, and he shouted:

"A safe voyage, Antoine!"—to which Bissette replied, as he rapidly widened the distance between them:

"Thank you, my good frien', au revoir!"

With arms grimly folded, Sir Guy watched the dip of the oars, and the lights along the shore growing fainter, as they passed between the islands which there dotted the river's course. He looked with stern pain at the fort, where, but a few weeks before, he had lodged Ethan Allan, the "Green Mountain Boy," and from which he had sent him in irons to an English prison, and above which, he doubted not, the pennant of the Revolution would, ere another sunset, be waving. The swift current, which there marked the river bed, assisted the rowers in their efforts to pass out of sight, and soon nothing but the black sky above and the blacker waters below surrounded them, the banks on either side being almost invisible. Slowly the hours passed; the channel narrowed and widened, and the most critical portion was reached. As they were compelled to draw nearer the shore, a light gleamed out over the water, appearing to move from place to place. Like all the fisher-folk of the river and gulf, Bissette was imbued with many quaint fancies and beliefs, which had their origin in the folklore of the peasantry of France. He watched the light with anxiety, his cheerfulness suddenly deserting him and giving way before his superstitious fears.

With oars poised, awe-struck, he whispered, in the broken English he had learned among the British sailors on the wharves:

"Oh, Holy Virgin, see dat light—it is le feu follet—what you call dat in English?—'will-o'-de-wisp'? It was dere dat poor Joe Gauthier drown hees'lf las' year. I'm 'fraid me—sapristi!—it mean no good for us for sure!"—and crossing himself devoutly, he repeated, with voice and hands trembling, a prayer to the Virgin: "Ave Sanctissima, ora pro nobis."

Notwithstanding his terror, he was forced to move closer to the bank, when an abrupt turn into a small bay revealed a camp-fire, the light of which glinting on a bayonet, scattered his fears of the supernatural, as he recognized no ghostly foe, but an outpost of the Continental Army. By preconcerted signs, a touch on the shoulder was passed along, and at the signal each lay flat in the bottom of the boat, and Bissette and the Indian, paddling softly and dexterously with their hands, were imitated by their companions in danger.

A quick challenge rang out over the water, but in the semi-darkness, the apparently empty canoes were mistaken for floating logs of timber, which frequently drifted down with the stream at that season of the year.

The night passed in cold discomfort, and at last, towards dawn, a conference resulted in the conclusion that an attempt must be made to land at some point on the north shore and find harborage. Bissette accordingly headed his boat towards a little village where he frequently spent his winters when the river navigation was closed.

Near the bank lived a friend, whose guilelessness would never think of questioning the honesty of purpose of any one in Antoine Bissette's company, and under whose roof lodging and shelter might be found for the hours of daylight, which already showed signs of breaking. After an hour's pull he saw the smoke of his friend's fire, and thoughts of rest and comfort in the little cabin cheered the belated travelers in their cold, wet garments. As they touched land, Bissette jumped ashore, and was followed by the others as quickly as their stiffened limbs would permit. He led the way, and was soon presenting his friends to his good Jean Baptiste, to whom he explained that they would like to spend the day by his fire, as one of them—pointing to Sir Guy—was too fatigued to proceed without rest. Taking his black pipe from his mouth, Baptiste volubly bade them welcome, and with shrugs of the shoulders and gestures of approval handed them into the warm kitchen, and drew out the home-made chairs for their accommodation. Being a trapper in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, he had gained a slight knowledge of English, so in a mixture of both languages he exclaimed, as he clapped his thigh:

"Oui, oui, Antoine, an' my good Marie will soon have a dish of fish steaming hot, an' bread fit, for sure, for King Louis hees'lf," and he pointed to a three-legged kettle on the crane from which a savory steam was escaping.

Suddenly the Indian struck an attitude of attention, and in a few minutes the others heard a sound from without. A rattle of arms startled Bissette to his feet, and glancing through the window, he saw a party of American troops advancing to the door, who in a moment filed into the kitchen with the evident intention of billeting themselves for breakfast.

Bissette, with a leisurely swagger, went up to the chimney-corner, and giving his host a signal to be silent, with a rough shake on the shoulder of Sir Guy, who had fallen fast asleep on a settle by the hearth, he shouted to him as if he were a comrade of the lumber camp:

"Wake up, Pierre! you lazy dog, let us be on the move. Pardieu! you have snored long enough, and now must make room for these good gentilhommes, who no doubt already know as well as we the flavor of Marie's good bouillon."

Though so suddenly and roughly roused, Sir Guy understood, and entered at once into the by-play, and drowsily rubbing his eyes, hid his features until reaching the outside of the house, where with apparent indifference and unconcern he followed the others to the boats. Without having had a chance to taste the food, whose savoury seasoning still lingered on their senses, and with but a fraction of the journey performed, a heavy silence fell upon the party.

Two hours passed, when the Iroquois, grunting an exclamation, pointed around a slight bend in the shore, where appeared a small but well-built brig. It was impossible to pass unobserved, so trusting to their disguise, they rowed alongside, when it was found to be manned by a British crew, by whom they were cheerfully received on board. A favoring breeze springing up, sails were set, and two days later they dropped anchor below the City on the Rock. After the perils of the journey, the sight of the grey bastions and strong gates lying in the golden light of the autumn morning made it seem to them as veritable a city of refuge as was ancient Shechem to the manslayer. With cheerful alacrity the refugees took to their boats to effect a landing. A few half-drunken sailors, returning from a night's carousal in Lower Town, staggered past just as they touched the shore. Elbowing what they took to be a timid fisherman, one of them, with a rough laugh, slapped the Governor familiarly on the back, and calling to his companions, said:

"Heigh ho! my hearties, here's a pretty lot of lubbers coming ashore after a night's fishing, and not a fin aboard. Somewhat's amiss here! Heave to, my lads; let's search their lockers and see if they have not stowed away in yonder hulk some good tobacco of Virginia or rare old Kentucky whiskey."

"That I will, Tom," said the one nearest to the speaker, "for if they are trying to hoodwink His Majesty, it's Jack Tar's bounden and plain duty to confiscate the stuff in the name of the king. What do you say, my lads, to heaving the whole crew of them into the water, as they did the good British tea in the bay at Boston town; for by the cut of their jib I take them to be Yankee spies, or smugglers. I have an old score of my own to settle with the whole tribe, for cuts on my back from the hand of one of them, that I'll carry till I go to Davy Jones' locker." In a drunken rage at the memory of forty lashes he had received at a whipping-post, he swaggered up to Fraser, and giving him a blow, shouted:

"Give an account of yourselves, my masters, or by yonder rag floating from the main-topsail of the stout ship Vulture there in port, we'll hang every man o' ye from the yard-arm, or flog ye lashed to the mast before ye can count a score."

One of the party landing, and among the first to step ashore, going up to the sailors and raising his cap, which had been drawn down over his eyes, revealed to their astonished gaze the captain of the Vulture. The suddenness of the encounter immediately sobered them, and pulling their forelocks, and with an uneasy hitch at their belts, they looked awkwardly at each other, expecting to be at once sent to the lock-up and put in irons.

In a few curt words Captain Temple told them that he was in the escort of the Governor-General of the Province, who wished to pass unrecognized to Castle St. Louis on the Citadel.

With zeal and heartiness they at once hastened to assist the tired refugees to land, and by a winding path around the face of the cliff led them to the fort that frowned above. Reaching it, and with no further need of disguise or subterfuge, Sir Guy again assumed his position as commander of the army, and proceeded to make a last and desperate resistance to the foes already lurking within sight of the walls. When the news spread throughout the garrison that Carleton had arrived at the town to take direction of the defences against the threatened bombardment, and to prevent its capture, a wave of courage and determination to resist to the last extremity took possession of every citizen and soldier within the walls; but in Montreal, the departure of the vice-regal party, when it became known, resulted in a panic of apprehension and utter hopelessness. A council was there convened to consider what was the best attitude to assume on the appearance of the enemy. Monsieur de Lérie and other hot-headed spirits advocated resistance, but Colonel Davenant counselled throwing open the gates, after having, through a deputation of reputable citizens, come to the best possible terms. What the result of such a parley would be was a matter of much uneasiness, and the sudden clang of a church bell for vespers, or a horseman riding rapidly through the streets, made the frightened women clasp their children in their arms for shelter, and pale-faced men start to the doors to listen anxiously for sounds of alarm. Family plate and jewels were carefully concealed in safe hiding-places in the underground vaults or cellars with which every house was furnished, and each householder strengthened his shutters, bars and bolts. Every man capable of bearing arms was drilled, ammunition was served out, food stored, and the town as fast as possible placed in the state of a city prepared for a siege.

In the De Lérie mansion domestic clouds added to the general gloom. Thérèse, who usually danced and sang about the house like a bird, flitted uneasily from room to room, complaining to her mother that everything was so dreary and lonely, for thrice had she called her dear Phyllis to come and walk with her on the garden paths, as the day was bright for the season, but she ever made excuse that she had no heart for pleasure more.

"I tell her," she said, "that I for one refuse to be frightened because the soldiers of that handsome Monsieur George Washington should come marching into our town. It will be so romantic to be captive like ladies of the olden time besieged in their castles. At the siege of Calais, you must remember, in the time of our good King John, how the wives and daughters besought clemency for their lords from the Plantagenet Prince; so we will melt our enemies' hearts with our tears and beauty. I hope to find that they have more sentiment and sensibility than these English officers, who are so stiff and formal in their manners that I am always ill at ease in their company. And even our own French—ah! they are not now like the chevaliers and lovers we read of in the dramas of Molière—who thought themselves happy to be permitted to die for their lady-loves. They forget how to court nowadays, it seems to me, and only think of what good bargains they can make, and seem not to remember that a pretty girl likes to know that they care more for her favor than the price of pelts or the prospect of the crops along the river!"

"You forget that your brother is a Frenchman, child!" said her mother reprovingly.

"The worst of all is that my Leon has so suddenly changed! Were he already a monk in serge and sandals, he could not seem to be further above me—his little sister—to whom now in a few days at most he must make his adieux. If my silly, light-hearted ways are distasteful to one who is about to take vows, why should he also shun our dear Phyllis, who is all sweetness and whom we love as a sister?" was the fretful complaint.

"You misjudge your brother, Thérèse; he is never ungentle in word or act, especially to women; for he comes of a knightly, chivalrous race," protested his mother with increased irritation.

"Well, only this morning after matins in the Church of Notre Dame, when I put my arm in his, as I have done a hundred times before, and thinking to please him, said: 'We will go and seek Phyllis,' he suddenly drew away from me coldly and frowned so darkly that my poor heart quaked with fear. The sacristan, as he passed, looked strangely at us on seeing his discourteous manners, and as he heard him mutter angrily: 'Vade retro, Satanas!' which I find to be the Latin for 'Get thee behind me, Satan.' Why he should liken me to the devil, who do try to say my aves regularly, fast on holy days, and for penance wore all last week my darkest clothes, when I so love gay petticoats and bright bow-knots, is past my understanding! Ah! the world seems sadly out of joint!" she exclaimed, sighing discontentedly.

"'Twas that your brother would have you remember that 'tis not fitting that one vowed to celibacy should seek a woman's companionship; and never till this moment have I realized that our little Phyllis is no longer a child. But if the manners of our compatriots appear so brusque to you, what may we look for from these men of this New England, as they call it; whose sires, many of them, were so straight-laced that even so much as smiling on the Sundays, hearkening to a song-bird, or smelling of a flower on the way to worship, was deemed a mortal sin. Their solemn visages, too, were in proper keeping with their sad-hued garments; the men in hats like sugar-loaves, with doublets of coarse brown cloth, their only extravagance of fashion being broad, white linen collars; and the women, in their dove-colored gowns and plain caps, in no wise livelier than they. I have been told that even their sailors, who are not always apt to remember their litanies when out of sight of the church steeples, changed their morning and evening watches by the singing of hymns and psalm-tunes. With their bare meeting-houses and solemn feasts, a very different kind of folk were they, rebels even then against their king, to the loyal, courtly Frenchmen who first settled this land. Coming hither to escape the worldly gaieties of the cavaliers of Charles Stuart's court, they were in a sense banished, and in no wise like de Champlain, de Frontenac, and other chevaliers who sailed from our dear France with the great Bourbon seals upon their commissions!" remonstrated Madame de Lérie, with something of scorn.

"This might all be even as you say, but 'tis said, too, that many of these Colonials boast of their descent from those same cavaliers of merry King Charles's time, who left the court for the forests of Virginia; driven across the sea for love and service of their king. They are a race of brave and gallant gentlemen, and not by any means commonplace planters and traders. They drive in great coaches, drawn by four or six horses, and live in lordly fashion, ordering their households and estates in their southern lowlands like those of their gentle ancestry."

"And now that I think of it," she continued, "our own de Champlain, although an Indian fighter, was almost as much a religieux as the Puritans themselves. In his day Quebec, they say, was a shrine, and instead of ordinary converse about hunting and conquest and toasting pretty women, histories of the martyrs and lives of the saints were read around at his table, as in a monk's refectory, the chapel bell ringing from morning until night. Whatever they may do in that prim Boston town, I have heard that the Virginians at least dance with grace and skill, and dress like gentle folk; and this Washington, 'tis said, is more a king than many who have worn a crown. I remember to have heard it said that my father fought hand to hand with him on the sore field at Fort du Quesne, when the British prisoners vowed that, though the victory lay with us, if that stupid General Braddock had taken counsel with Colonel Washington, the young Virginian under him, the day would have fallen out otherwise than it did." Throwing back her curls from her flushed face, she added, hotly: "I would his troops were even now knocking at our gates!"

"Ah! traitor child, would you have an alien flag float o'er our city walls?" asked her mother in startled disapprobation.

"Is not this three-crossed flag of England that waves over our dear New France an alien flag to us, mother?" Thérèse exclaimed, her black eyes flashing. "I, of French blood, whose noble line goes back to that brave knight who served with Charlemagne, care not for any standard save the lilied flag of France, which they have here trailed low in the dust. All others are alike to me!"

"My dear child," her mother said sadly, "I fear this pride of birth and race will but embitter what it cannot mend."

"I am fairly devoured with ennui in this dull town, and shall welcome anything that will break the sense of weariness, and the foolish dread of what may be a happy change. Are we not truly prisoners now within these narrow walls? We cannot pass without the gates to ramble in the woods, but a rude soldier points his gun, and demands some foolish password, which I invariably forget, or stupidly get wrong. Only yesterday, when I should, as I was told, have given the password of the day to the sentry, and repeated the words, 'Good King George,' I blundered, and said instead, 'Good George Washington!' And as to driving in the moonlight by the river to where the white rapids of Lachine foam and boil above the sunken rocks, that is not to be so much as thought of even, lest I should be caught and carried off to New York or Boston by some of these bluecoats. I protest I would scarce have the wish to refuse a romance so very tempting and novel these dull times, had I the chance; and which I may, for as that English play-writer, Master William Shakespeare, of Stratford, hath well said, 'Beauty provoketh thieves more than gold,'" she continued perversely.