Part 38 (1/2)
”And my men shall help you,” said Willet.
They carried the body of Jumonville into the chateau and put it on a bench, while the servants, remarkably composed, used as they were to scenes of violence, began at once to array it for the grave.
”Come into the Seigneur's room,” said Father Drouillard, and Robert and Willet followed him into the old man's chamber. M. de Chatillard lay silent and rigid. He, too, had gone on the longest of all journeys.
”His soul fled,” said Father Drouillard, ”when the battle outside was at its height, but his mind then was not here. It was far back in the past, three-quarters of a century since when Frontenac and Phipps fought before Quebec, and he was little more than a lad in the thick of the combat. I heard him say aloud: 'The Bostonnais are going. Quebec remains ours!' and in that happy moment his soul fled.”
”A good ending,” said Willet gravely, ”and I, one of the Bostonnais, am far from grudging him that felicity. Can my men help you with the burial, Father? We remain here for the rest of the night at least.”
”If you will,” said Father Drouillard.
Zeb Crane touched Robert on the arm a little later.
”Tayoga has come back,” he said.
”I didn't know he'd gone away,” said Robert surprised.
”He pursued Tandakora into the dark. Mebbe he thought Tododaho was wrong and that the time for him to settle score with the Ojibway had re'lly come. Any way he wuz off after him like an arrer from the bow.”
Robert went outside and found Tayoga standing quietly by the front door.
”Did you overtake him?” he asked.
”No,” replied the Onondaga. ”I knew that I could not, because Tododaho had not whispered to me that the time was at hand, but, since I had seen him and he was running away, I felt bound to pursue him. The legs of Tandakora are long, and he fled with incredible speed. I followed him to the landing of the next chateau, where he ran down the slope, leaped into a canoe, and disappeared into the mists and vapors that hang so heavily over the river. His time is not yet.”
”It seems not, but at any rate we inflicted a very thorough defeat upon him to-night. His band is annihilated.”
The bodies of all the fallen warriors were buried the next day, and decent burial was also given to Jumonville. But that of the Seigneur de Chatillard was still lying in state when Willet and the rangers left.
”If you wish,” said the hunter to Father Drouillard, ”I can procure you a pa.s.s through our lines, and you can return that way to the city. We don't make war on priests.”
”I thank you,” said Father Drouillard, ”but I do not need it. It is easy for me to go into Quebec, whenever I choose, but, for a day or two, my duty will lie here. To-morrow we bury the Seigneur, and after that must put this household in order. Though one of the Bostonnais, you are a good man, David Willet. Take care of yourself, and of the lad, Robert Lennox.”
The hunter promised and, saying farewell to the priest, they went back to Wolfe's camp, east of the Montmorency, across which stream De Levis lay facing them. During their absence a party of skirmishers had been cut off by St. Luc, and the whole British army had been disturbed by the activities of the daring Chevalier. But, on the other hand, Wolfe was recovering from a serious illness. The sound mind was finding for itself a sounder body, and he was full of ideas, all of the boldest kind, to take Quebec. If one plan failed he devised another. He thought of fording the Montmorency several miles above its mouth, and of attacking Montcalm in his Beauport camp while another force made a simultaneous attack upon him in front. He had a second scheme to cross the river, march along the edge of the St. Lawrence, and then scale the rock of Quebec, and a third for a general attack upon Montcalm's army in its Beauport intrenchments. And he had two or three more that were variations of the first three, but his generals, Murray, Monckton and Townshend, would not agree to any one of them, and he searched his fertile mind for still another.
But a brave general, even, might well have despaired. The siege made no apparent progress. Nothing could diminish the tremendous strength that nature had given to the position of Quebec, and the skill of Montcalm, Bougainville, and St. Luc met every emergency. Most ominous of all, the summer was waning. The colors that betoken autumn were deepening. Wolfe realized anew that the time for taking Quebec was shortening fast. The deep red appearing in the leaves spoke a language that could not be denied.
Robert, about this time, received an important letter from Benjamin Hardy. It came by way of Boston, Louisbourg and the St. Lawrence. It told him in the polite phrase of the day how glad he had been to hear from Master Jacobus Huysman that he was not dead, although Robert read easily between the lines and saw how genuine and deep was his joy. Mr.
Hardy saw in his escape from so many dangers the hand of providence, a direct interposition in his behalf. He said, from motives of prudence, no mention of Robert's return from the grave had been made to his acquaintances in New York, and Master Jacobus Huysman in Albany had been cautioned to say as little about it as possible. He deemed this wise, for the present, because those who had made the attempts upon his life would know nothing of their failure and so he would have nothing to fear from them. He was glad too, since he was sure to return to some field of the war, that he had joined the expedition against Quebec. The risk of battle there would be great, but it was likely that in so remote a theater of action he would be safe from his unknown enemies.
Mr. Hardy added that great hopes were centered on Wolfe's daring siege.
All the campaigns elsewhere were going well, at last. The full strength of the colonies was being exerted and England was making a mighty effort. Success must come. Everybody had confidence in Mr. Pitt, and in New York they were hopeful that the shadow, hovering so long in the north, would soon be dispelled forever.
In closing he said that when the campaign was over Robert must come to him in New York at once, and that Willet must come with him. His wild life in the woods must cease. Ample provision for his future would be made and he must develop the talents with which he was so obviously endowed.
The water was in Robert's eyes when he finished the letter. Aye, he read between the lines, and he read well. The old thought that he had friends, powerful friends, came to him with renewed strength. It was obvious that the New York merchant had a deep affection for him and was watching over him. It was true of Willet too, and also of Mr. Huysman.
His mind, as ever, turned to the problem of himself, and once more he felt that the solution was not far away.