CHAPTER XXVI.
DICK'S JUDGMENT.
Two days later Amherst landed his troops at La Chine, marched themunopposed to Montreal, and encamped before the city on its westernside. Within the walls M. de Vaudreuil called a council of war.
Resistance was madness. From east, south, west, the Frenchcommanders--Bourlamaque, Bougainville, Roquemaure, Dumas, La Corne--had all fallen back, deserted by their militias. The provincial armyhad melted down to two hundred men; the troops of the line numberedscarce above two thousand. The city, crowded with non-combatantrefugees, held a bare fortnight's provisions. Its walls, built fordefence against Indians, could not stand against the guns whichAmherst was already dragging up from the river; its streets of woodenhouses awaited only the first shell to set them ablaze.
On the eastern side Murray was moving closer, to encamp for thesiege. To the south the tents of Haviland's army dotted the rivershore. Seventeen thousand British and British-Colonials ringed aboutall that remained of New France, ready to end her by stroke of swordif Vaudreuil would not by stroke of pen.
Next morning Bougainville sought Amherst's tent and presented a bulkypaper containing fifty-five articles of capitulation. Amherst readthem through, and came to the demand that the troops should march outwith arms, cannon, flags, and all the honours of war. "Inform theGovernor," he answered, "that the whole garrison of Montreal, andall other French troops in Canada, must lay down their arms, andundertake not to serve again in this war." Bougainville bore hismessage, and returned in a little while to remonstrate; but in vain.Then Levis tried his hand, sending his quartermaster-general to pleadagainst terms so humiliating--"terms," he wrote, "to which it willnot be possible for us to subscribe." Amherst replied curtly thatthe terms were harsh, and he had made them so intentionally; theymarked his sense of the conduct of the French throughout the war inexciting their Indian allies to atrocity and murder.
So Fort William Henry was avenged at length, in the humiliation ofgallant men; and human vengeance proved itself, perhaps, neither morenor less clumsy than usual.
Vaudreuil tried to exact that the English should, on their side, packoff their Indians. He represented that the townsfolk of Montrealstood in terror of being massacred. Again Amherst refused."No Frenchman," said he, "surrendering under treaty has ever sufferedoutrage from the Indians of our army." This was on the 7th ofSeptember.
Early on the 8th Vaudreuil yielded and signed the capitulation.Levis, in the name of the army, protested bitterly. "If the Marquisde Vaudreuil, through political motives, believes himself obliged tosurrender the colony at once, we beg his leave to withdraw with thetroops of the line to Isle Sainte-Helene, to maintain there, on ourown behalf, the honour of the King's arms." To this, of course, theGovernor could not listen. Before the hour of surrender the Frenchregiments burnt their flags.
On the southern shore of the St. Lawrence, in the deepest recess of asmall curving bay, the afternoon sun fell through a screen ofbulrushes upon a birch canoe and a naked man seated in the shallowsbeside it. In one hand he held out, level with his head, a lock ofhair, dark and long and matted, while the other sheared at it with arazor. The razor flashed as he turned it this way and that againstthe sun. On his shoulders and raised upper arm a few water-dropsglistened, for he had been swimming.
The severed locks fell into the stream that rippled beside himthrough the bulrush stems. Some found a channel at once and wereswept out of sight, others were caught against the stems and trailedout upon the current like queer water-flags. He laid the razor backin the canoe and, rising cautiously, looked about for a patch ofclear, untroubled water to serve him for a mirror; but small eddiesand cross-currents dimpled the surface everywhere, and his search wasnot a success. Next he fetched forth from the canoe an earthenwarepan with lye and charcoal, mixed a paste, and began to lather hishead briskly.
Twice he paused in his lathering. Before his shelter rolled thegreat river, almost two miles broad; and clear across that distance,from Montreal, came the sound of drums beating, bells ringing, menshouting and cheering. In the Place d'Armes, over yonder, Amherstwas parading his troops to receive the formal surrender of theMarquis de Vaudreuil. Murray and Haviland were there, leading theirbrigades, with Gage and Fraser and Burton; Carleton and Haldfmand andHowe--Howe of the Heights of Abraham, brother of him who fell in thewoods under Ticonderoga; the great Johnson of the Mohawk Valley, whomthe Iroquois obeyed; Rogers of the backwoods and his brothers,bravest of the brave; Schuyler and Lyman: and over against them,drinking the bitterest cup of their lives, Levis and Bourlamaque andBougainville, Dumas, Pouchot, and de la Corne--victors andvanquished, all the surviving heroes of the five years' struggle faceto face in the city square.
_Hi motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta_--the half of NorthAmerica was changing hands at this moment, and how a bare two miles'distance diminished it all! What child's play it made of therattling drums! From his shelter John a Cleeve could see almost thewhole of the city's river front--all of it, indeed, but a furlong ortwo at its western end; and the clean atmosphere showed up even theloopholes pierced in the outer walls of the great Seminary.Above the old-fashioned square bastions of the citadel a white flagfloated; and that this flag bore a red cross instead of the goldenlilies it had borne yesterday was the one and only sign, not easilydiscerned, of a reversal in the fates of two nations. The steeplesand turrets of Montreal, the old windmill, the belfry andhigh-pitched roof of Notre Dame de Bonsecours, the massed buildingsof the Seminary and the Hotel Dieu, the spire of the Jesuits, roseagainst the green shaggy slopes of the mountain, and over themountain the sky paled tranquilly toward evening. Sky, mountain,forests, mirrored belfry and broad rolling river--a permanent peaceseemed to rest on them all.
Half a mile down-stream, where Haviland's camp began, the men of thenearest picket were playing chuck-farthing. Duty deprived them ofthe spectacle in the Place d'Armes, and thus, as soldiers, theysolaced themselves. Through the bulrush stems John heard theirvoices and laughter.
A canoe came drifting down the river, across the opening of thelittle creek. A man sat in it with his paddle laid across his knees;and as the stream bore him past, his eyes scanned the water inshore.John recognised Bateese at once; but Bateese, after a glance, went byunheeding. It was no living man he sought.
John finished his lathering at leisure, waded out beyond the rushesand cast himself forward into deep water. He swam a few strokes,ducked his head, dived, and swam on again; turned on his back andfloated, staring up into the sky; breasted the strong current andswam against it, fighting it in sheer lightness of heart. Boyhoodcame back to him with his cleansing, and a boyish memory--of an hourbetween sunset and moonrise; of a Devonshire lane, where the harvestwagons had left wisps of hay dangling from the honeysuckles; of atriangular patch of turf at the end of the lane, and a whitewashedMeeting-House with windows open, and through the windows a hymnpouring forth upon the Sabbath twilight--
"Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all his sons away . . ."
An ever-rolling stream! It would bear him down, and the generalsyonder, victors and vanquished, drums and trumpets, hopes andtriumphs and despair--overwhelming, making equal the greater with theless. But meanwhile, how good to be alive and a man, to swim andbreast it! So this river, if he fought it, would out-tire him, sweephim away and roll on unheeding, majestic, careless of life and oftime. But for this moment he commanded it. Let his new life bringwhat it might, this hour the river should be his servant, shouldprepare and wash him clean, body and soul. He lifted his head,shaking the water from his eyes, and the very volume of the lustralflood contented him. He felt the strong current pressing against hisarms, and longed to embrace it all. And again, tickled by theabsurdity of his fancies, he lay on his back and laughed up at thesky.
He swam to shore, flung himself down, and panted. Across the river,by the landing-stage beneath the citadel, a band was playing downHaviland's brigade to its boats; and one of the boa
ts was bringing aman whom John had great need to meet. When the sun had dried andwarmed him, he dressed at leisure, putting on a suit complete, withstriped shirt, socks, and cowhide boots purchased from a watersidetrader across the river and paid for with the last of his moneysearned in the wilderness. The boots, though a world too wide,cramped him painfully; and he walked up and down the bank for aminute or two, to get accustomed to them, before strolling down tomeet the challenge of the pickets.
They were men of the 17th, and John inquired for their adjutant.They pointed to the returning boats. The corporal in charge of thepicket, taking note of his clothes, asked if he belonged to Loring'sbateau-men, and John answered that he had come down with them throughthe falls.
"A nice mess you made of it up yonder," was the corporal's comment."Two days we were on fatigue duty picking up the bodies you sent downto us, and burying them. Only just now a fellow came along in acanoe--a half-witted kind of Canadian. Said he was searching for hisbrother."
"Yes," said John, "I saw him go by. I know the man."
"Hell of a lot of brother he's likely to find. We've tidied up thewhole length of the camp front. But there's corpses yet, a mile ortwo below, they say. I sent him down to take his pick."
He put a question or two about the catastrophe. "Scandalous sort ofbungle," he pronounced it, being alike ignorant of the strength ofthe rapids, and fain, as an honest soldier of Haviland's army, totake a discrediting view of anything done by Amherst's. He waxedvery scornful indeed.
"Now _we_ was allowing you didn't find the stream fast enough, by theway you kept us cooling our heels here." Perceiving that John wasindisposed to quarrel, he went wearily back to his chuck-farthing.
John sat down and waited, scanning the boats as they drew to shore.Dick, whom he had left an ensign, was now adjutant of the 17th.This meant, of course, that he had done creditably and made himselffelt. It meant certain promotion, too; Dick being the very man, asadjutant, to lick a regiment into shape. John could not helppondering a little, by contrast, on his own career, but without anytinge of jealousy or envy. Dick owed nothing to luck; would honestlyearn or justify any favour that Fortune might grant.
The young adjutant, stepping ashore, swung round on his heel to callan order to the crowding boats. His voice, albeit John thrilled tothe sound of it, was not the voice he remembered. It had hardenedsomehow. And his face, when John caught sight of it in profile, wasnot the face of a man on the sunny side of favour. It was manlier,more resolute perhaps than of old, but it had put on reserve andshowed even some discontent in the set of the chin--a handsome faceyet, and youthful, and full of eager strength; but with a shadow onit (thought John) that it had not worn in the days when DickMontgomery took his young ease in Sion and criticised men andgenerals.
He was handling the disembarkation well. Clearly, too, his menrespected and liked him. But (thought John again) who could helploving him? John had not bargained for the rush of tenderness thatshook him as he stood there unperceived, and left him trembling.For a moment he longed only to escape; and then, mastered by animpulse, scarce knowing what he did, stepped forward and touched hiscousin's arm.
"Dick!" he said softly.
Montgomery turned, cast a sharp glance at him, and fell back staring.
"_You!_" John saw the lips form the word, but no sound came.He himself was watching Dick's eyes.
Yes, as incredulity passed, joy kindled in them, and the oldaffection. For once in his life Richard Montgomery fairly brokedown.
"Jack!"--he stretched out both hands. "We heard--You were not amongthe prisoners--" His voice stammered to a halt: his eyes brimmed.
"Come, and hear all about it. Oh, Dick, Dick, 'tis good to see yourface again!"
They linked arms, and Dick suffered John to lead him back to thecanoe among the rushes.
"My mother . . . ?" asked John, halting there by the brink.
"You haven't heard?" Dick turned his face and stared away across theriver.
"I have heard nothing. . . . Is she dead?"
Dick bent his head gravely. "A year since. . . . Your brother Philipwrote the news to me. It was sudden: just a failure of the heart, hesaid. She had known of the danger for years, but concealed it."
John seated himself on the bank, and gazed out over the river for aminute or so in silence. "She believed me dead, of course?" hebegan, but did not ask how the blow had affected her. Likely enoughDick would not know. "Is there any more bad news?" he asked atlength.
"None. Your brother is well, and there's another child born.The a Cleeves are not coming to an end just yet. No more questions,Jack, until you've told me all about yourself!"
He settled down to listen, and John, propping himself on an elbow,began his tale.
Twice or thrice during the narrative Dick furrowed his brows inperplexity. When, however, John came to tell of his second year'ssojourn with the Ojibways, he sat up with a jerk and stared at hiscousin in a blank dismay.
"But, good Lord! You said just now that this fellow--thisMenehwehna--had promised to help you back to the army, as soon asSpring came. Did he break his word, then?"
"No! he would have kept his word. But I didn't want to return."
"You didn't--want--to return!" Dick repeated the words slowly,trying to grasp them. "Man alive, were you clean mad? Don't you seewhat cards you held? Oh," he groaned, "you're not going on to tellme that you threw them away--the chance of a life-time!"
"I don't see," answered John simply.
Dick sprang up and paced the bank with his hands clenched, halflifted. "God! if such a chance had fallen to _me_! You hadintercepted two dispatches, one of which might have hurried theFrench up from Montreal here to save Fort Frontenac. Wherever youcould, you bungled; but you rode on the full tide of luck. And evenwhen you tumbled in love with this girl--oh, you needn't deny it!--even when you walked straight into the pitfall that ninety-nine menin a hundred would have seen and avoided--your very folly pulled youout of the mess! You escaped, by her grace, having foiled twodispatches and possessed your self of knowledge that might have savedAmherst from wasting ten minutes where he wasted two days. And nowyou stare at me when I tell you that you held the chance of alifetime! Why, man, you could have asked what promotion you willed!Some men have luck--!" Speech failed him and he cast himself down atfull length on the turf again. "Go on," he commanded grimly.
And John resumed, but in another, colder tone. The rest of thestory he told perfunctorily, omitting all mention of the fighton the flagstaff tower and telling no more than was needful of thelast adventure of the rapids. Either he or Dick had changed.Having begun, he persevered, but now without hope to make himselfunderstood.
"Did ever man have such luck?" grumbled Dick. "You have madeyourself a deserter. You did all you could to earn being shot; youwalked back, and again did all you could to leave Amherst no otherchoice but to shoot you. And, again, you blunder into saving half anarmy! Have you seen Amherst?"
"He sent for me at La Chine, to reward me."
"You told him all, of course?"
"I did--or almost all!"
"Then, since he has not shot you, I presume you are now restored tothe Forty-sixth, and become the just pride of the regiment?"
Dick's voice had become bitter with a bitterness at which Johnwondered; but all his answer was:
"Look at these clothes. They will tell you if I am restored to theForty-sixth."
"So that was more than Amherst could bring himself to stomach?"
"On the contrary, he gave me my choice. But I am resigning mycommission."
"Eh? Well, I suppose your monstrous luck with the dispatches hadearned you his leniency. You told him of Fort Frontenac, I presume?"
"I did not tell him of that. But someone else had taken care that heshould learn something of it."
"The girl? You don't mean to tell me that your luck stepped in onceagain?"
"Mademoiselle Diane must have guessed that I meant to tell theGene
ral all. She left a sealed letter which he opened in mypresence. As for my luck," continued John--and now it was his turnto speak bitterly--"you may think how I value it when I tell you howthe letter ended. With the General's help, it said, she was hidingherself for ever; and as a man of honour I must neither seek her norhope for sight of her again."
And Dick's comment finally proved to John that between them these twoyears had fixed a gulf impassable. "Well, and you ought to respecther wishes," he said. "She interfered to save you, if ever a womansaved a man." He was striding to and fro again on the bank."And what will you do now?" he demanded, halting suddenly.
"The General thinks Murray will be the new Governor, and promises torecommend me to him. There's work to be done in reducing theoutlying French forts and bringing the Indians to reason. Probably Ishall be sent west."
"You mean to live your life out in Canada?"
"I do."
"Tell me at least that you have given up hope of this girl."
John flushed. "I shall never seek her," he answered. "But whilelife lasts I shall not give up hope of seeing her once again."
"And I am waiting for my captaincy," said Dick grimly; "who with lessthan half your luck would have commanded a regiment!"
He swung about suddenly to confront a corporal--John's criticalfriend of the picket--who had come up the bank seeking him.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the corporal, saluting, "but there's aCanadian below that has found a corpse along-shore, and wants to buryhim on his own account."
"That will be Bateese Guyon," said John. They walked together downthe shore to the spot where Bateese bent over his brother.
"This is the man," said he, "who led us through the Roches Fendues.Respect his dead body, Dick."
"I hope," said Dick, half-lifting his hat as he stood by the corpse,"I can respect a man who did a brave deed and died for his country."