Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

Great was the consternation on board when it was found that White Eagle, the terror of the settlements, had escaped, but though a search was made for him in every part of the ship, it was only too evident that he had obtained his freedom, and was at liberty to harass his enemies once more.

They had now reached the Ile d'Orleans, a huge island that lay in mid-stream, just below the great Falls of the Montmorency. Now piles of lofty cliffs fringed the northern bank of the river, rising sheer out of the water at high tide. Then they reached the mouth of the St. Charles River, while before them, crowning a lofty summit, with its churches and houses, ramparts and bastions, stood the city of Quebec.

The

Sapphire

 fired a salute, which was replied to by one of the forts, and the next moment she anchored beneath the frowning guns of the citadel–the Gibraltar of North America.

CHAPTER VII

OLD QUEBEC

The old town of Quebec in 1757 was a picturesque and romantic spot. Clusters of pretty white Canadian cottages, many of them surrounded by gardens and orchards, filled with apples, pears and vines, transplanted from Old France, lined the margins of the St. Charles River, and even the lower town, about the banks of the St. Lawrence. Half-a-hundred churches and convents already raised their spires heavenward. The upper town contained the governor's house, and many palatial edifices of timber and stone, while high over all, the frowning citadel crowned the lofty eminence, looking down upon town and river.

For over two hundred years the children of the French king had dwelt here, and no white men had as yet seriously disputed their possession of this mighty fortress, which was the key to half a continent; but the sands were running low. In her late wars with the sea-dogs of Britain, France had lost the command of the seas; her navies, her maritime commerce had been well-nigh destroyed, and the sea-girt island, where dwelt the sons of the Saxon and the Viking, had become the "Mistress of the Seas."

The penalty to be paid by France for this was shortly to be the cession of all her North American colonies to the victors, for she that had failed to command the narrow seas at home, could not hope to retain her Empire abroad. Thus has it ever been with the citadel of Mansoul; the heart of the Empire. Make these impregnable, and all is well. Weaken these, through slothfulness, carelessness or ease, and the borders of the Empire, like dead branches, are soon lopped away.

As our heroes were compelled to remain in Quebec for some nine months or more before they had an opportunity to leave, they did not grumble, but made the most of their time. For the first three months they were more or less the guests of Captain Alexandre, but after the

Sapphire

 put to sea again with a convoy, they entered the service of a Major Ridout, a retired army officer, who had become a fur-trader, which at that time was a very lucrative business, and entailed an adventurous career.

Major Ridout saw that they were two likely youths, who would be of great service, out in the wilds, collecting furs from the Indians. These distant tribes dwelt hundreds of leagues in the forests, far away on the shores of the great lakes, which at this time were practically unknown, save by a few bold and reckless adventurers, who frequently paid dearly for their temerity.

He promised them that when the spring unlocked the rivers and lakes, they should accompany him on his travels into the unknown forests and wilds of the interior, and as this was the only method that had as yet offered them a chance of earning a living or making a fortune, they gladly accepted it. They were also anxious to leave Quebec, as measures were already being concerted to prepare for a siege; for ugly rumours had come to hand that Admiral Boscawen in command of a British squadron had annihilated a French fleet, and captured a convoy destined for Quebec.

Every preparation, therefore, was made by General Montcalm and his assistants, lest they should be besieged by

ces Anglais perfides

. The lads were, therefore, doubly anxious to leave the city, lest they should be treated as prisoners of war, for refusing to take up arms against their countrymen.

During their stay here they had much leisure, and made many excursions about Quebec. Sometimes they paddled down stream in one of the major's canoes and visited the Ile of Orleans, or the Falls of Montmorency, or up the rapid stream of the River Charles, to visit some of the friendly Indians. One day they were returning down-stream from a visit to Cape Rouge, some leagues above the city, on the St. Lawrence, where they had been camping some three days, fishing for salmon and hunting the red deer, when suddenly, and without the slightest warning, a fearful yell burst from a point of the southern bank, scarce a hundred yards away.

"Indians!" exclaimed Jack, striking his paddle into the water with all his might.

"Iroquois!" said Jamie coolly.

A shower of bullets and a flight of arrows flicked up the water about the canoe.

"Pull for your life, Jamie! They've been lying in wait for us. Lucky we didn't land there as we had intended."

"Lucky indeed! They would have had our scalps by now, and they may have them yet. Look there! One, two, three canoes! coming as fast as they can. It's all over unless we can beat them."

They were in a tight corner. They had been warned that the Iroquois were watching the river above Quebec, but they had never dreamt that they were so near.

The Indians were gaining upon them, although they were flying rapidly downstream. They had ceased to yell now, for the city was only two leagues away, and they were straining every nerve to overtake the lads before they could reach safety. An occasional bullet struck the canoe, but they did not look around, for they could hear the splash of the Iroquois' paddles, and the sound seemed to come nearer and nearer.

"I can do no more, Jack! My arm's still painful from the wound," and Jamie drew in his paddle.

"Hold on, Jamie! Don't give in. In another five minutes we shall be out of danger. There's the little cove where we've landed many a time, just there on the northern bank. If we can only reach that spot, we can quickly climb up to the heights, and the Indians will not dare to follow us there. Hold on for another few minutes!"

This was the only chance that offered an escape from the foe, and Jamie, despite his wound, which at times of great exertion still pained him, put in his paddle again. They were running rapidly down under the precipitous northern bank now, and with a skilful twist of his paddle Jack sent the nose of the canoe quickly ashore, right up on the narrow strand, in the cove, at the foot of the cliffs.

The Indians had perceived their intentions, and with a loud yell had changed their course to prevent them and cut them off. The first canoe was not a dozen yards away, and in another three seconds would have been beached alongside theirs, when Jack seized his rifle and, without taking any precise arm, fired point-blank into the canoe. It was loaded with heavy buck-shot, and the Iroquois at the steering paddle received half the contents of it.

Nothing could have been better done had the aim been more skilfully taken. The paddle dropped helplessly from his hand, and the rapid current carried the canoe past the landing-point. A savage yell burst from every Indian within sight. The lads responded with a shout of defiance, and then, abandoning canoe, outfit, rifles and everything they possessed, they leapt from the boat and swiftly climbed the steep and narrow ascent, pulling themselves up by the roots and branches of trees that grew on this precipitous bank.

This clever and successful shot had gained them but a few seconds of time, but they reached the summit unharmed, and after a brief pursuit, the Indians, who were getting too near the settlements, retired and gave up the fruitless chase, and from the Heights of Abraham, as they looked down upon the river, they had the satisfaction of seeing their late enemies pursued in turn by a party of Algonquins, the active allies of the French.

Spring came at last, unlocking the rivers and the lakes, and the half-wild fur-traders, with their Indian guides, were already preparing to ascend the St. Lawrence, up past Mont Royale, and the Thousand Islands, across the great inland sea called Ontario, to the rude fort of Niagara.

Even here the fatiguing journey would not end, for after a brief respite, they must shoulder their packages, and carry their long birch-bark canoes over the rough portage that led past the mighty, thundering cataract of Niagara, near by the hunting-grounds of the fierce and warlike Senecas. Then they must place their canoes again on the upper reaches of the swift Niagara River, and from thence enter Lake Erie, pass the outposts of Presqu' Isle, Miami and Fort Detroit, to the rivers, the lakes and the forts beyond, where in the surrounding forests the red man in all his primeval simplicity hunted, fished, lived and died. Even to the far-off lands of the Kickapoos, the Ojibways and the Winnebagos these brave fur-traders often ventured, drawn partly by a desire for gain, and partly, no doubt, by the added spice of danger and adventure.

Such, then, was the adventure to which our heroes were committed, as soon as the rivers were clear of the dangerous ice-floes, and the Algonquin chief Wabeno arrived with a dozen of his braves to accompany them as guides and scouts. Here was a prospect of adventure which thrilled the lads, and they anxiously awaited the arrival of the chief, which was to be on the first day of the new moon. They were to have a share in the enterprise, as a reward of their services.

"Wake up, Jack! Here comes the chief, in all his warpaint, with moccasins and deer-skin hunting-shirt, and with a girdle of scalps hanging from his belt," cried Jamie one morning, rushing into the apartment that served them both for sleeping purposes.

"Hurrah!" cried his friend. "I'm coming. Are the canoes ready?"

"Yes, they're all loaded up and waiting in the river, by the lower town."

"Glad we're leaving Quebec at last, aren't you? By all the preparations that the Governor's pushing forward, there's going to be a dreadful fight here some day, and the side that wins will have Canada for a prize."

"So you want to be out of the fighting, do you, old boy? That isn't a bit like you."

"Ah, don't misunderstand me, old fellow. I mean that I don't want to be cooped up in here when the fighting takes place, because our fellows will be outside. I wouldn't mind a hand in the storming, fighting under the British flag, for although the French have been pretty good to us–at least, some of them–they didn't treat the rest of the

Duncan's

 crew too well, when they shipped them all back to England in that leaky old tub."

They had now reached the lower part of the town, and were approaching the river by one of the narrow steep streets of which Quebec has so many, when Jamie, casting up a look at the frowning, embattled citadel, said–

"That place will want some storming! A handful of brave men, well supplied with ammunition and provisions, might sit tight up there for years, and defy the armies of the world."

"You're right, Jamie, and yet, I confess, I'd like to see another flag up there, wouldn't you?"

Turning to his companion, Jamie looked him full in the face, and replied–

"I would, Jack! And who knows? We may help to plant it there, some day. And, then, what would they think of us in Burnside?"

"Ah, they'd forget that they once put us in the lock-up for taking a few trout, and they'd all turn out to welcome us home; or if we died they'd put a tablet to our memory in the old church. Ha! ha!" laughed Jack.

At this point their conversation, which had been partly serious and partly jocular, was interrupted by a sound somewhat unusual at this early hour, for it was only about five o'clock in the morning, and the sun had not long been risen. Sounds of laughter and much shouting greeted them, and the next moment they turned a corner and came upon the

voyageurs

, as these rough, half-wild fur-traders are called. A dozen or so of rough but sturdy Canadians were bidding good-bye to their wives and sweethearts, though there seemed to be more excitement and laughter than tears and sadness of farewell. These men, hard as nails, used to the terrors of the wilderness, and the hardships of the forests, were dressed nearly like their Indian allies, who stood by–Wabeno and his braves.

They wore fur caps, deer-skin hunting-shirts, moccasins and leggings, worked by the Indian squaws. They were all armed with rifles and long hunting-knives, and one or two of them, who were probably half-castes, carried tomahawks as well. Moored to the bank close beside them were three very long canoes, loaded with all the requirements for a six months' trading outfit, and ready to start.

"

Ah, mes camarades! Voici ils vient

," cried Major Ridout, the leader of the expedition, and then in loud, ringing tones, he shouted, "

Aux bateaux!

"–"To the boats!"

In a moment the canoes were filled, Wabeno and three of his men entering the first, and the others distributing themselves as arranged. There were twenty-three all told, and the youths along with the leader, who was a genial man, of great experience, born of a Canadian father and a Scotch mother, entered the last boat, which was rather larger than the other two, and had several buffalo robes spread in the stern sheets.

The last good-bye was said, and to the stirring notes of a Canadian boat song, the rowers paddled away, and soon left their friends and their homes behind. Alas! how few of them were ever to see those homes or those friends again.

They were a merry party at present, however, and the Indians took turns with the hardy

voyageurs

, as they paddled quickly against the rapid stream. The canoes were very light, being made of birch bark, for they had to be carried over rough and sometimes long portages. Yet they were very strong and roomy, and at present were loaded so deeply that the water was only a few inches below the gunwales.

After two hours' hard work, pulling against the stream, the leader gave a quick, sharp command–

"

À terre! À terre!

"

This order to land for breakfast was obeyed with alacrity. Camp-fires were lit. The "billies" were soon boiling, and a hearty meal of pemmican and bread was washed down with a drink of water from the river. After an hour's rest, they continued their journey.

That night they camped on the northern bank, in a little clearing of the forest, about thirty miles above Quebec. They had hardly yet approached the danger zone, though small parties of the Iroquois did sometimes penetrate thus far. A watch was set, however, and campfires were permitted, and after supper the men chatted and laughed and smoked. Then a song was called for–a song with a chorus. And while the flames from the burning logs lit up the surrounding pines, one after another trolled forth a song, and the

voyageurs

 took up the chorus, till the woods resounded with their voices, and the creatures of the forest must have wondered what strange beings these were that disturbed their haunts.

The Indians looked on at all this merriment with stoic countenances, as though they disapproved of such light-heartedness, but at last one of the men cried out–

"Wabeno! Give us a war-dance!"

Instantly the expression of every Indian changed. Wabeno readily acceded to the request. A post was driven into the ground, and a circle formed around it. A few minutes sufficed to arrange their fluttering feathers and scalp-locks, and to paint their faces with red ochre and white lead. Then, suddenly, Wabeno, their chief, with a loud, blood-curdling yell, leapt into the circle, brandishing his tomahawk, and began reciting, in a fierce tone, all the deeds of prowess accomplished by himself and his ancestors.

A second warrior imitated his example, and then another, until at length the war-dance began in real earnest, and the whole pack of Indians were yelling and whooping, like so many demoniacs, hacking and tearing at the wooden post as though they were scalping an enemy. When they had thus worked themselves up into a frenzy, a final whoop from the chief ended the wild frolic, and instantly every warrior assumed a mask of boredom and indifference. A few minutes more, and all except the watch were fast asleep, wrapped in blankets or buffalo robes.

Thus passed the days and nights, until after they had passed the small fort of Mont Royale. Then the merriment ceased, for they were in an enemy's country. The watch was doubled every evening, and fires were left unlit, or extinguished as soon as possible. Once or twice, suspecting the near presence of an enemy, they slept in the canoes.

When they had passed the rapids of La Chine and Long Sault, several Indian scouts were thrown out in advance, along either bank, in order to prevent a sudden attack from an ambushed foe. All went well for some days, although the subdued manner of the

voyageurs

, and the keen alertness of the redskins, created an uneasy feeling in the minds of the youths. Towards sunset one afternoon Jack, who had been examining the river bank some distance ahead of the first canoe, suddenly exclaimed–

"Look! Wabeno is signalling! What has he seen?"

CHAPTER VIII

THE NIGHT-WATCH

Quickly the canoes were drawn to the bank and hidden amongst the overhanging bushes. A moment later a rustling was heard amongst the branches, and Wabeno stood before them.

"What has my red brother seen?" asked the major.

"Wabeno has seen the trail of a serpent!" replied the chief.

"Had the serpent moccasins?"

"Yes! The moccasins of the Iroquois."

"Humph! How many?"

The Algonquin held up seven fingers, to indicate how many footprints he had seen.

"'Tis only a small scalping party, then, which has passed this way. We'd better camp here for the night."

Wabeno insisted, however, that there was probably a larger party of Iroquois in the neighbourhood, and was for resting only until sunset, and then travelling rapidly through the night in order to reach the lakes as soon as possible. He seemed to think, also, that for several days past they had been watched by the scouts of the enemy.

As the chief spoke he looked keenly at the forest on the other side of the stream, as though he would like to read some fatal secret which that dense, virgin growth held inviolate; then, without further words, he turned and disappeared into the forest, as though to join his scouts.

"His words seem rather ominous, Jamie," said Jack, when he had gone, and they were busying themselves making fast the canoes and unloading a few things.

"Yes, I'm sorry that the major paid so little attention to his words. He seems to think that they are only a small band of marauding Indians who have recently crossed the river, and that if they do attack us we shall be more than a match for them. Well, let's hope he's right."

"There's something wrong, and I like not the redskin's uneasiness, old fellow. He scents danger, though he won't press his opinions upon the leader. He believes it's more than a scalping party, but he evidently thinks he's a match for Iroquois cunning."

"Did you notice the way he looked across the river? I wonder if that's the quarter he suspects? But come, we must lend the men a hand, for 'twill be dark in a few minutes," said Jamie.

Major Ridout took every precaution, however, against a surprise attack. All the Indians except two were sent into the forest to keep a strict watch. A few trees were felled and a rude abattis constructed, which instilled a certain amount of security into each mind.

Then darkness fell, and one by one the men stretched themselves on the ground and slept, with their rifles beside them. The two comrades, however, still talked in whispers as they lay rolled in their blankets.

"Just look at the men, Jack! How quiet they all are to-night? No noise, no singing or dancing this time. 'Tis my belief that we're in a tight corner, and if the Iroquois manage to get in past the scouts, there won't be a scalp left on any of us at daybreak."

"Never mind, we can only die once. The scouts are sure to give us warning, and then we'll sell our lives dearly. We've been in many a scrape before, old fellow, and we've always pulled through. There seems to be a Providence over us."

"Why, yes, it seems so. Do you remember the fight with the French cruiser?"

"Shall I ever forget it? I thought every moment would be my last when the broadsides opened upon us."

"Hush! What was that?"

The hoot of an owl was distinctly heard twice, and a moment afterwards it was answered by the call of the night-raven. The first call seemed to come from the depth of the forest on the other side of the river.

Scarcely had the last sound died away when the two Indians who remained in the camp, though apparently fast asleep, sprang to their feet, seized their rifles and disappeared into the thicket. Several of the men half raised themselves, looked around, and then lay down once more.

For a moment the boys listened in silence, their faces turned first to the deep gloom of the forest shades, half expecting to hear from thence the deadly whoop of the fierce Iroquois, and to see the rush of savage warriors upon the sleeping camp, then they looked suspiciously across the stream that flowed at their feet.

Overhead the stars shone brightly, and the placid stream reflected their fiery points on its broad bosom. Now and again its mirrored surface was broken by the splash of the salmon and the large river-trout.

"'Twas only a bird after all, Jack. Let us go to sleep. See, the men are sleeping peacefully."

"If 'twas only a bird, then why did the Indians leave to join the scouts?"

"I can't say. Perhaps 'twas only a private call for extra scouts. You know the call to arms is the howl of the coyote, repeated twice. Besides, 'tisn't likely that the enemy will get through the scouts without being seen. An Indian is all eyes, even in the dark."

The boys laid down again, but though Jamie was soon asleep Jack remained awake, gazing up at those bright twinkling points, and listening acutely for any sound that might come. Once or twice he raised himself and looked around.

A ripple in mid-stream caught his attention. While in the starlight he gazed upon it, it seemed to come nearer. Then another ripple, and another, that spread themselves out wider and wider, and in the middle of the disturbed area there appeared a tiny speck, as though a swimmer were breasting the stream. But even as he watched it, it disappeared and was lost in the darkness.

Five minutes–ten minutes passed, but the speck, whatever it was, did not reappear. What could it be? It would be foolish to alarm the camp prematurely, so he would just creep down to the water's edge and make sure. He threw off his blanket and crawled along through the reeds and willows. He had nearly reached the water when a rustling amongst the reeds caused his heart to cease beating for an instant. What could it be?

Two glaring eyeballs, that glowed like fire, were fixed upon his, not six feet away. Jack instinctively felt for his pistol, when, horror of horrors, he had left it beside the embers of the fire. He drew his hunting-knife from its sheath, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon those glaring eye-balls; when the wild creature, evidently a wolf, attracted to the river by thirst, suddenly uttered a snarl, turned tail and made off.

"Thank God!" he gasped. "Better a wolf than an Indian." For though naturally a brave lad this sudden apparition had given him a shock that made the perspiration stand out like beads on his forehead, but he quickly recovered himself and crept down to the edge of the stream.

He could just make out the dark, indistinct outline of the forest on the opposite bank, but no ripples or dark objects were visible. Then he looked down-stream, but nothing could he see.

"I must have been deceived. What a good thing I didn't alarm the camp! How they would have laughed at me," he muttered.

Just then, however, he cast his eyes upstream. As he did so, he started again. A long, dark shadow, like a log or a canoe, half-way across, seemed to be drifting towards the northern shore on which they were camped. It was not more than two hundred yards away. It seemed to crawl along, then close behind it he saw a similar object, and still another.

What were the scouts doing? Had they been betrayed? What could they be, but canoes–Indians? Then the enemy must be crossing over, and he raised his voice for one mighty shout of–

"Iroquois."

But even as he uttered that startling cry the fierce howl of the coyote, repeated twice, the signal to alarm the camp, came from the woods, and the crack of a rifle awoke a hundred echoes and roused the men to a sense of their danger.

Even as for an instant he lingered beside the river-bank a blood-curdling yell, the war-whoop of the Iroquois, rang across the stream and echoed and re-echoed through the forest. A dozen rifles spattered out their leaden hail, for the conflict had begun at last.

Jack rushed back into the camp and found Major Ridout and the men already in position behind the logs, prepared to receive the enemy as soon as they should burst through that thin line of Algonquin scouts.

"Hullo, Jack!" cried Jamie. "Where have you been? I feared that you were a prisoner. Have you been scouting too?"

"Why, yes! That is, I couldn't sleep, and I thought I saw a curious object in mid-stream and went down to see what it was."

"And what did you find?"

"Well, I could no longer see it when I got there, but just as I was coming away I happened to look up-stream, and I saw three canoes crossing over from the southern bank.

"I wonder why the chief did not discover them before. He seems to have been watching the forest instead of the river! Hullo! What's this?"

The sounds of a desperate struggle, a hand-to-hand fight in the bushes a few yards away, attracted their attention. It was too dark, however, to see anything as yet, although the dawn would be upon them shortly.

"Stand ready, lads!" cried their leader, and every man levelled his rifle in the direction whence the sounds came.

The next moment a wounded Algonquin rushed into the camp, leaping over the abattis, and then rolled over on the ground dead. He was fearfully gashed, and it was evident that an attempt had even been made to scalp him. How he had escaped was a marvel. The yells and war-whoops had ceased now, and for a brief space even the rifles had ceased to speak, and there was a dead silence. The men waited impatiently behind that rude barricade, reserving their fire.

Suddenly a sharp, short, piercing scream, broken short, fell upon their ears, as though a mortal wound had been given and received.

"Ah, Wabeno! That is the end of Wabeno!" exclaimed one of the men.

It was indeed Wabeno who uttered that scream, and it was both his war-cry and his death-cry, for at that instant he had met in single combat the Iroquois chief, and the tomahawk of the greatest warrior within a hundred leagues of the lakes, had sunk into his brain and stretched him lifeless.

"Now the Algonquins will scatter like the leaves of the fore