How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

By now the wall which Steve had planned was almost completed, and he at once followed Jim's advice. The majority of the trappers were directed to lie down behind that portion which stood in front of the hollow, while the red-bearded Mac, Pete, and four others went on with the projection to the right, for there it would not matter much if they were seen. However, it is no easy matter to drag guns through a forest where the ground is rough and covered deeply with snow, and an hour more had passed before the head of the enemy's force emerged from the screen of trees which had hidden them from Steve and his men, and which had equally hidden the band of trappers from the French and their bloodthirsty Indians. When they did at length emerge, filing out from the mottled background one by one, Steve's men were in readiness. Those who were advancing to attack them could see only an eminence, getting steeper as it neared the top, and then suddenly erecting a big hummock, in which lay the hollow so strangely converted into a fort. Many had looked at this spot before, just as they did at other parts of the surrounding country in their daily search for stragglers and woodcutters from Fort William Henry. They had a general idea of its conformation, but the heavy fall of snow upset their calculations. They stared at the rise, looking in vain for the hollow and for sight of the trappers.

"Strange," exclaimed their leader, a tall French officer, who was wrapped in a fur coat, and whose head and ears were muffled in a thick skin cap.

"We had information that they went there last night. Our scout told us that they were busy cutting wood and roofing in some hollow. He saw that it was about to snow, and fearful of losing his way in the storm, he made back to the fort. But the same storm will have kept these trappers here, unless – unless."

"Unless they should have crept away this morning," said his subaltern quickly. "I will give an order to the Indians. The Hurons will tell us whether they are there or not."

A nod told him that he had his captain's permission, and within a minute a dozen blanketed forms had slid ahead of the force. Steve saw them toss their blankets to their comrades, and then, like hounds on the trail, their heads went closer to the snow-covered ground, their shoulders bent, and, separating, the Huron Indians went off across the snow at the edge of the forest at a pace which would have taxed the strength of the strongest European.

"Them cusses'll make round the place within a quarter of an hour, and ef a fox had made out, I reckon they'd know," growled Seth, as he watched from an embrasure. "My advice is lie low and puzzle 'em. Give 'em a chance to crawl nearer."

Steve gave a low whistle at once, while he lay at full length staring through an embrasure at the enemy below. And within a little while Jim and Pete and Mac were beside him. They came crawling along the cleared ground behind the wall, and presently were seated beside their young leader. As for the French and their Indians, they had seen not so much as a sign of the movement. For Steve was 'cute, and had the advantage of possessing trained trappers. When building their wall not a man had dared to step to the outside of it. They had taken the snow and thrown or swept it to their front, so that on the outside there was not so much as a mark. Then the two hours' labour had enabled them to run the wall some thirty yards to the right, while behind it there was a rough gallery, along which any man could crawl unseen.

"Now, boys," said Steve, as they threw themselves at his feet, "I propose that we take Seth's advice. We'll lie still as foxes till they begin to think that we have gone. Let them send their Indians up here, and all wait till I give a signal. That will be the best way in which to meet them. And in any case we all fire from the extreme right of the wall, unless they get so close that a rush is possible. Then we will collect. Has every man plenty of ammunition?"

"Heaps, Cap'n," answered Jim, "and the boys know what's to happen. In case they don't, we'll give 'em a warnin'. All are to wait for the signal."

They went crawling back to their stations on hands and knees, and presently Steve joined them at the extreme right of the wall. Here, within a space of ten yards, the whole band was collected, each man stretched full length on the rock and snow, his eye to a loophole, his head well hidden by the wall of snow, and his musket ready beside him. All were wrapped in rough fur coats, for the most part made of skins which they themselves had collected. Big, warm coon-skin caps covered their heads and ears, while each man had a pair of sack gloves secured to his neck by long strips of doe skin, so that he might discard the covering at any moment and move from his position without losing his gloves. Indeed this was a plan generally adopted in Canada and America in those days, and one which we know was made use of by the Japanese in their recent war with Russia.

Meanwhile the enemy had halted on the fringe of the encircling forest, and stood there about the guns, within six hundred yards of their object. And as they stood the twelve Huron Indians stole softly away over the snow, till at length they had completely covered the circle. There was a movement then amongst their comrades, and presently the teams of men hauling the guns strained at the tackle, and dragged the ponderous weapons into the forest. At the same time a hundred of the Indians broke from the ranks with wild whoops, and began to move towards the mound.

"They know as well as we do that we're here," growled Jim, as he stared through his loophole. "Them critters'll come within range jest to tempt us. But they won't dare to rush right up. Trust 'em for that. They ain't much good at chargin', and no Injun's goin' to throw away his life for nothin'."

"The French will give them a lead perhaps," said Steve. "When they find that we do not move, and their own Indians will not approach closer, it is probable that they will come themselves to see whether we are actually here."

"Jest because no Frenchie, and no white man for the matter of that, who ain't had experience hisself can believe the 'cuteness of the Injuns, Cap'n. Some of 'em who air new to the backwoods and to the trail, reckon they're mighty 'cute theirselves when they've been a month only in the country. They don't reckon that nothin', not even the print of a bird escapes the eye of a brave. Ef they do give the Injuns a lead, why – "

"It's our turn, boys," sang out Mac. "Sure, haven't we suffered? Haven't our people been shot down and scalped. Haven't the women and childer been driven from their homes. Sure, now's the toime of our loives."

"If all goes as we hope," Steve ventured. "There are the guns to be thought of."

They continued chatting in low voices while the hundred or more Indians discarded their blankets or coats, and with muskets at the trail came sidling up towards the mound on their snowshoes. Presently the smooth and unbroken expanse of snow below which had met the eyes of the trappers early that morning was scored and seamed by hundreds of marks and lines, the prints of the snowshoes. The figures of the Indians, too, dwarfed before by the distance, were now far clearer, for they were within two hundred yards of the hollow. Steve and his friends watched as they gathered together for a while and discussed matters. Then one of the Hurons, a gigantic fellow, broke from his comrades and came stalking up the rise, his musket over his shoulder, his tomahawk in his hand, and a wily and determined look on his sharply-cut mahogany features.

"It air an old trick that," growled Jim. "Maybe he's given offence to some of his tribe. Perhaps he ain't been so forward in the battle as he should ha' been. So he's took the first opportunity of doin' somethin' out o' the way to prove as he ain't a coward. Ef he walks right up, as he well may do – "

"Not a man must move," said Steve sharply and with decision. "Recollect that we are placed high above them, and that the ground slopes very steeply, even from the front face of the wall, so that if a man wishes to look over and see us he must actually reach the wall. Not a man must lift a finger till that Indian actually sees us and shouts. Then it will be time."

A whispered warning was passed down the ranks, and all squinted through their loopholes, watching the hulking figure of the Indian as he ascended. It appeared indeed as if he was determined to sacrifice himself, and would actually clamber up to the wall and over it in his eagerness to be killed or to discover the enemy. He advanced without a waver till within forty yards of Steve and his men, and then, for the first time, they saw him hesitate. He paused, looked round at his comrades, now too far away to support him, and then deliberately lifted his musket to his shoulder, pointed the barrel at the mound above him, and pressed the trigger, sending a bullet thudding into the snow. When the smoke blew away, he was still there, standing now to his full height, his eagles' feathers trailing to his waist, his scalp locks, with which his leggings were fringed, fluttering in the wind, and his hideously painted face turned towards the hollow.

"Listen pale faces," he called out in his sing-song style, as if he were addressing a meeting of braves. "I am here to summon you to come down and be our prisoners. I swear that no harm shall befall you."

He was silent for a while, and stood staring up at the hummock as if expecting an answer.

"Ef only I might," whispered Jim, his face aglow at the thought, and his huge brown fist clenched. "Ef only I dared shoot the skunk where he stands. Harm! As ef we didn't all know that an Injun's word ain't worth a row of chips. As ef one of them critters could ever keep his fingers off a white man when he got the chance! Don't me and every boy here know well that a man might jest as well, ay, and better, far better, too, put a barrel to his head and draw a trigger rather than fall a prisoner. None of yer Indian prisoners fer me. Huntin' Jim ken tell a tale or two o' pale face men and women, and children, too, the villains has burned and tortured to death by inches!"

"Hush! He's going to speak again," whispered Steve, nudging the irate backwoodsman. "Perhaps he thinks after all that we are not here."

"Thinks, Cap'n! He knows jest as well as you or me. He ain't a fool. None of them varmint air."

"You do not speak, pale faces," came the sing-song voice again. "Listen, all who lie hidden before me. I give you one more invitation from the white men who lead us. Descend and there shall be no harm."

Once more he waited, while many a hand went to the muskets and many a face scowled at the tall Indian.

"Then, listen again," he went on. "I and my brothers know that you are there, hiding like foxes. If you will not descend, then show yourselves, fight like men, and let it be a combat with tomahawks. See, I am here, the Giant Oak, known throughout the great lakes for strength and endurance. I have fired my shot, and here I will wait for your leader to come forth and do battle with me."

Silence. The silence of the grave alone greeted the brave who had dared to come so close to the hollow. As Steve stared down at him, he saw that the Indian was making good use of every second, for his keen eyes searched every foot of the snow-clad slope above him, looked into every tiny hollow, and sought to discover a footmark, something to tell him the exact position of the men whom his experience told him were there. But nature had done her work well enough. The heavy fall of snow had covered every trace, and the astuteness of the trappers had done the rest. The man looked baffled and desperate. He caught at his powder horn, charged his musket, primed the lock, and once more sent a bullet thudding into the snow. Then, jeering aloud and throwing every sort of insult at the heads of the hidden enemy, he turned and slid down the hummock, watched by many a pair of eyes.

"And lucky for him," said Jim. "Now there'll be a bother. They'll put their heads together, and there'll be a palaver. The French'll try to make 'em charge, and likely enough the critters will come a little closer. Then, ef they haven't moved us, them Frenchies'll try a rush."

"When we shall break the silence," said Steve. "Look, there are the guns."

Jim was an old Indian fighter, and what he had prophesied took place. For while the Indians gathered together, and could be seen talking and being harangued by some French officers, the two guns which had so long been out of sight suddenly appeared at the edge of the forest, and this time within an easy three hundred yards' range. There they were dismounted, and Steve's men watched the gunners ram in their charges and train the weapons on the slope.

"A combined movement," said Steve easily, a determined smile on his lips. "They will endeavour to distract our attention while their comrades charge. Ah, there go the Indians. Pass the word. Let every man remember that not a trigger is to be drawn till I give the signal."

It was just as well that he reissued the warning, for it is hard work for men itching to retaliate and suffering under the knowledge of many cruel wrongs, to lie and listen to the patter and thud and whistle of large calibre bullets without sending their own leaden messengers back. However, the backwoodsmen knew what was wanted, and they lay like logs as the Indians drew nearer and nearer, firing as they came. Often and often those trained shots, who had lived their lives in the woods, could have picked off one of their old enemies. But they refrained, though many a growl escaped them. Then came the guns. A column of smoke belched of a sudden from the fringe of the forest, and a ball thudded against the rocky wall behind, bringing down a mass of frozen débris. A second missile struck the very summit of the hummock, was caught as it were by the snow, and with all the venom taken out of it and its pace retarded, went rolling down the far side.

"Jest a little gentle play," smiled Jim grimly. "Let 'em send their cannon balls. Reckon they won't hurt us. But them Frenchies air gettin' ready to charge."

It was as he said, for as Steve looked through the round opening made in the bank of snow, he saw some fifty dark figures emerge from the trees beside the guns, and throw off their heavier clothing. They were French regulars for the most part, as was shown by their blue and white uniform. But there was a sprinkling of coureurs de bois amongst them, bold men of the forest, who had long ago demonstrated their capacity for this class of work.

"We'll not be in a hurry," said Steve. "It is harder work to charge up a hillock, which after all may be untenanted, than it is to dash up while bullets swish past, and while the shouts and cheers of comrades help to keep up one's courage. Not a shot, boys, till you hear my musket. Ah, here they come, and the guns are starting again."

He had watched the French gunners sponging out their pieces, and now crouched a little lower as a ball came hurtling overhead with a scream, and expending all its force against the soft cushion of snow lying on the hummock above, dropped backwards like a stone, and fell with a thud at his feet.

"Sure, 'tis one of thim bhoys as could give ye a gentle little knock, so it would," sang out Mac, while the trappers laughed heartily. "I'll be afther axing ye, Mr. Frenchie down there, to aim to the rhight a bhit, for Mac here don't like thim pellets, and there's Huntin' Jim as is afeared of the beauties."

There was another laugh at that, a low, noiseless laugh for these men knew that sounds travelled easily and far on such a frosty day. Then all fixed their eyes on the gathering of Frenchmen below, and watched as they advanced towards the hillock, taking their time, for they wished to have all their breath for the more difficult part of their task.

"Ef they'd only hurry," growled Jim. "They're delayin' so much that it makes me jumpy. 'Sides, it's goin' to snow agin, and that'd help 'em."

Indeed, as he spoke, a few flakes came sidling noiselessly through the air, while the clear sparkling light was rapidly shut out by the masses of heavy clouds which were gathering above. Heavy snow might, indeed, be expected, and would help to hide the attackers as they came. Nor were the French slow to recognise that fact. While the guns went on with their bombardment, pitching balls now to the right and then to the left, and on one occasion clean into the hollow, the party who had gathered and moved out to storm the hillock halted and shouted to one another. Ten minutes later as the snow-flakes came tumbling heavily and the wind whirled them across the white expanse below, the Frenchmen started again, and, raising loud shouts, dashed forward as fast as their snow-shoes would carry them. Arriving at the steeper part of the hillock they kicked their shoes away, and in a trice were scrambling up, their muskets slung over their shoulders and tomahawks or cutlasses in their hands.

It was a tense moment for all behind the wall, and even the oldest trapper there felt his heart thumping against his ribs and his pulses throbbing with unusual force. Steve's men lay as if they were dead, each man stretched behind a loop-hole, and every muzzle held just within the opening. The dark figures below became a little more clear amidst the whirling snow-flakes, their shouts grew rapidly closer, and far sooner than Steve had expected they were within easy range. But still he held his hand till only thirty yards divided the combatants.

Bang! Crash! His own piece bellowed noisily, and in an instant a volley burst from the defenders, spitting flames and smoke and leaden bullets into the Frenchmen. There was a shout of consternation, and some dozen of the attackers fell backwards and went sliding down the steep sides of the hill, carrying an avalanche of snow with them, till they reached a more level portion, where their bodies came to a rest. Behind them they left many a dark stain on what had been a beautifully white carpet, stains which the falling flakes did their utmost to cover, as if they were ashamed of this handiwork.

"We have drawn their fire. We have the birds. Charge, mes enfants!"

A slim, short officer, dressed in blue and white uniform, and minus his hat, which had been shot from his head, stood erect for an instant, waving his sword and the pistol he carried in his other hand. Then, turning to face the wall from which the stinging hail of bullets had come so suddenly, he leaped at it, and in a little while was desperately striving to clamber over it.

"Men on the extreme right reload muskets," sang out Steve. "The others use clubbed muskets or tomahawks."

There was no time for more, for the remainder of the attackers had now joined their leader and were already within a few paces of the wall. As Steve leaped to his feet and swung his ponderous musket butt over his shoulder twenty of the enemy were within a couple of yards of him, and in an instant the pistol of the leader was pointing at his head, there was the flash of powder in the pan, a sharp report, and a strange feeling under his cap. The cap rose of a sudden, spun round, and fell at his feet, while Steve grabbed for one brief instant at his scalp and at the locks of hair which had been so neatly shorn from it. Up went his butt, he swung it over his head and brought it down with a crash which broke the Frenchman's guard, wrenched his sword out of his hand, and sent him rolling backwards doubled up like a ball.

"On to 'em, boys. See the Cap'n. Drive 'em back same as he did."

It was Pete's voice which burst in on the babel of shouts which had broken from attackers and defenders, while the burly backwoodsman himself leaped over the wall, his musket swinging over his head and the butt swaying this way and that, clearing a path on every side.