How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

At a sign from the sergeant, the Indians raised their prisoner, and stood looking at him critically, wondering whether this pale face, of whom they had heard before, would fail now, or whether he would have sufficient courage to overcome his weakness. But they had little need to fear the result, for though Steve was weak, as weak and weary as a tired child, he had a determined spirit, and moreover felt intuitively as if this was the supreme moment of his life, as if his future, his safety in fact, depended upon his courage now. He set his teeth, placed his feet well apart, and stood erect, his face towering above that of Jules.

"The Hawk thanks the braves who carried him," he said, as steadily as he could. "They treated him honourably, and though he has no gift to make, he gives them thanks a thousand times."

"He is a man. We are satisfied," was the answer.

"He is more. He is a spy!"

Jules darted forward with a cry of delight, and snatched at Steve's skin cap, to the top of which was attached an eagle's crest.

"Tell me, sergeant," he said, swinging round with an air of triumph, "this prisoner was captured out on the ice. Had he a blanket?"

"Not when captured, monsieur. But all who supported him were dressed so. They had the appearance of Indians."

"Then this Hawk is a spy," shouted Jules. "He and his men came in this direction with one object. They came to spy, and in order to help them they dressed as Indians, knowing well that they would pass as such with a crest and a blanket about them, so long as the snow fell. This is a most important capture. See that this man is guarded well, and at dawn march out a firing party."

The sergeant brought his pike to his shoulder smartly as Jules swept a path to the door and departed. Steve watched him go, and then stared at the Indians and the soldiers and the backwoodsmen about him. He was too weak to take in the full significance of that last command, but vaguely wondered whether the firing party could be meant for him, and whether he was to be executed. And as he wondered, he listened to the chatter of those about him. It was evident that many of the backwoodsmen, rough and brutal men as many were, who had become tainted with the cruelty of the Indians, approved of the sentence. They crammed tobacco into their pipes and smoked furiously, while they acclaimed the decision of their leader with many an oath and with many a glance at the prisoner. Some of the regulars were of their opinion also, but not so the sergeant.

"Disguise! Spy!" he cried, some minutes later, having talked the matter over with some of his comrades. "This brave lad whom we have taken had no more idea of spying here than I have of setting a watch at Fort William Henry. I'll be bound that he and his friends knew of the messengers going to the English fort, and set a trap for them. They guessed that an Indian dress might help their plans, and adopted it. Why, the same is done here amongst ourselves. Even this commander of ours, who shouts into one's throat, and orders all as if they were dogs, dresses as a brave, ay, and goes out with a following of Hurons."

"Which does not alter the case as it stands, friend of the three stripes," answered one of the trappers. "This leader of ours, a backwoodsman like ourselves, fights in the garb that best suits him, chancing capture. This fool here decks himself out in feathers, and is captured. Both run the same risk. One is taken and shot as a natural course, while the other, the smarter man, you understand, lives to fight another day. As to shouting down a man's throat, there are some dull dogs who want a deal of that, and still remain dull."

For a little while it looked as if the two would come to blows, for the sergeant strode over to the trapper who had spoken, a flush of anger on his face. But evidently he thought better of the matter, turned to the Indians, and in a little while was accompanying Steve out of the hut. Borne on the shoulders of the braves, the prisoner was transferred to a second hut, where he was placed on a low couch.

"Whatever happens you shall have food and some attention, friend," said the sergeant. "I will leave the Indians to see to your wound, while I myself get you some victuals. Cheer up. You have still a friend or two left in the world."

He smiled kindly at our hero, and, taking a lamp, went out of the hut, speaking a few words to the Indians as he went. The latter at once set about tending to Steve's wound, for these sons of the lake and forest were for the most part excellent surgeons. One placed a jar over the fire, and blew at the embers till the flames roared round it. A second crept from the hut, to return some ten minutes later with some soft fleecy material, while beneath his arm he carried a bundle wrapped in bark. Opening the last, he disclosed a heap of dried leaves, which he commenced to pound between two stones, while some he even chewed. A little water was added to the mass, and the whole worked into a soft brown paste.

"The Hawk will let us see and tend this wound, well knowing that we have had experience," said the chief who had already shown his friendly spirit. "We will carry you close to the fire, so that you will feel no cold. That is well. The Hawk has won our favour. He does not flinch at the prospect of a death which would be an eternal dishonour to even the most cowardly brave. Fear not. There are men here who will see that this indignity is not allowed. If die you must, there are other and nobler ways of taking the life of a prisoner."

Little did the fine fellow know what pangs he was causing our hero, for to Steve, if he were condemned to die as a spy, shooting would be infinitely preferable to the death by torture which the Indians would inflict. He knew their customs well, and he told himself over and over again that it would be better far to stand for one brief minute and face the muskets than to be feasted for a day or more by these braves, to be petted and praised by them, knowing full well that all the while their preparations were being completed for the orgie of the morrow, when all their diabolical ingenuity would be called into play to provide a slow death for him, which in their opinion was alone worthy of a warrior. Ugh! The very idea made him shiver.

"You are cold. Cover our brother with the skin again," said the chief. "Now, let us remove the shirt, and see what harm has come to him."

Very gently they cut the leather shirt away and removed his clothing till the wound was uncovered. By then the water in the jar placed over the fire was comfortably hot, and with some of this and a portion of the fleecy material the chief bathed the place till the nature of the injury could be seen.

"Ah! The bullet struck beneath the arm, Hawk, and ran round the ribs. It is here. I feel it beneath my fingers."

The chief ran the tips of his fine fingers over the ribs, and traced the direction of the bullet from the entrance wound to the spot where the hard mass could be felt to move under the skin.

"Some water, brother," he demanded. "Nay, hotter than that. Heat it till it bubbles."

He sat patiently beside Steve while the jar was placed on the fire again. And presently, when the water was boiling, he strode over to it, and plunged the blade of his keen hunting knife deep into the contents.

"The Hawk has felt pain before," he said. "He will not flinch. The bullet shall be within my hand in less time than it takes to count the fingers. Lie so. Now, Hawk."

Steve shut his teeth again, and never so much as winced as the keen blade, wielded by a dexterous hand, cut down on the bullet. It was extracted in a few seconds, and when Steve opened his eyes, there it was in the chief's hand.

"Good," grunted the brave. "The worst is done. We will dress the wound now."

Once more he had recourse to the jar of water. A wide piece of doe skin was steeped in the boiling water first, and then, having been wrung out, was made the receptacle for the brown paste already prepared. The skin was then folded round, screwed up at the ends, and again plunged into the water, and left there for a couple of minutes.

"It is ready," said the chief. "Squeeze the mass dry, and bring the skin to me."

Up to that moment the wound had been smarting, particularly that portion where the Indian had made use of his knife. But a minute later, after the hot brown paste had been applied and covered by a pad of the fleecy material, the pain disappeared, and Steve felt huge relief. He was carefully bound up with long strips of doe skin, his shirt replaced, and in a little while he was lying back on the couch, expressing thanks to the Indians.

"Here is the food, and you look as if you could enjoy it," said the sergeant, entering a little later. "Come, drink this stuff. It is hot and steaming, and will put warmth into your body."

The kind-hearted fellow sat down and watched his prisoner eat and drink. Then he propped his head up on the couch, drew the rug well over him, and sat staring thoughtfully at his figure till Steve's eyes closed and he slept.

"A fine lad, and one who fights stoutly for a lost cause," murmured the sergeant, as he watched the sleeper. "To look at him as he lies there, one could take him for one of our country, though he is bigger and stouter than we are built. And he speaks French, too. Yes, I remember that. It struck me as strange when I heard him answer this Jules Lapon. Can it be that he is partly French, his mother perhaps being one of our land? There have been many such marriages, and often they have turned out well."

For a little while he lapsed into silence again, till his eye caught the gleam of a long, thin streak of light which was pushing its way through a chink in the roughly fashioned door. It was dawn, the hour for the firing party, and the sergeant rose at once to his feet.

"We shall see," he said aloud, as he moved towards the door, but still kept an eye on Steve. "This lad is a brave one, and I am taken with him. That is strange now, for up to this an Englishman has been to me, as to all my comrades, just an Englishman, fit to be slain if need be. I have pitied them often, to be sure, for it is hard to see them given over to these braves. But it is necessary to keep the Indians in good temper, and, therefore, what is necessary should not be grumbled at. Why is it that this young Hawk has gained my goodwill?"

He was of a reflective turn of mind, this French sergeant, and stood again with his hand on the latch of the door, staring hard at Steve and thinking aloud.

"Peste take it! Why is this? Ah! It must be this Jules Lapon. I have hated him ever since he came to us, and more so now that he is our commandant in the absence of the colonel. He is a hard man, or else he would never order the execution of a white prisoner without some sort of trial. I doubt that he has the power. The colonel could intervene, if only he were not chained to his bed with a broken thigh. Mon Dieu!"

He strode across the floor of beaten and frozen earth, and shook the sleeper vigorously. His face was flushed, and there was an air of excitement about him.

"Pardon, monsieur, but I wish to ask a question. Monsieur, you are awake, and I ask pardon for disturbing you. But this is a matter of importance."

Steve opened his eyes wearily, and acknowledged the presence of the sergeant somewhat peevishly, for he had been enjoying a most refreshing and dreamless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, stared at the sergeant, and then caught sight of the streak of light penetrating through the door. Then his senses returned with a rush, and he remembered.

"The dawn, sergeant," he said. "Then this Jules Lapon will carry out his purpose. I am ready. Help me to get to my feet."

"Not now, monsieur. I am about to go for the firing party, but wish to ask an important question. Tell me, was it you who aided monsieur le colonel, Colonel St. Arnould de Prossen, till a week ago the commandant of this force?"

He waited for the answer eagerly, as if his own life depended on it, and gave a cry of joy as Steve replied that it was he who had found the unfortunate soldier, and who had had him carried on to the lake and handed over to his friends.

"Then rest easy, monsieur. I go to the colonel, and we shall see if this firing party assembles. Sleep again. Have I not said that you have many friends? Even the Indians would save you now, not because they wish to reserve you for torture, but because you have shown bravery and much honour to themselves."

He pressed Steve gently back on to the couch, and raced from the hut. A few minutes later he was knocking at the door of his colonel's quarters, thumping on the logs with an energy which brought shouts of anger from within, and very soon afterwards the squat figure of a French soldier servant came to the door.

"Peste!" he exclaimed. "Are you mad, sergeant, to come and beat so on the commandant's door? Go away before it is light enough for me to recognise you. Go, I say, or I shall know you, and then there will be trouble."

"Give way. I have important information for the colonel. Let me pass," gasped the sergeant, thrusting the man aside and pushing his way into the hut. A moment or two later he was confronting the wounded officer, and for some ten minutes the two were closeted together, much to the amazement of the soldier servant.

"There, there, Armand, you must leave us," said the colonel, as his valet rushed in after the sergeant with the intention of ejecting the intruder. "Our friend has news for me. Withdraw. Come again when I knock, and have no fear. Our friend is in his sober senses."

"I am glad that you have come to me, sergeant," he said, at the end of their interview. "Glad to think there are some here who have kind hearts still after all this bitter warfare. Not for worlds would I have this lad injured, for he behaved with noble generosity to me. Go now, summon your firing party, and march the squad to the hut where this prisoner lies. If any dare give you an order to proceed with this unjust and cruel execution, show this note. Though I am wounded and incapable at the moment, I am still nominally, if not actively, in command, and I will have my orders obeyed. Go, and I will follow presently."

Half an hour later Steve awoke to the fact that men were gathering outside the hut in which he lay. He could hear the tramp of their boots on the frozen ground, and the ring of their muskets as they stood at ease. The voice of the sergeant came to his ears as he gave the commands. "Attention! Shoulder your pieces! Stand steady there, lads, for Monsieur Jules Lapon comes to inspect you."

The door was thrown open, a gust of freezing air swept the apartment, and there was Jules, muffled in furs, his face haggard and weary as if he had some great weight on his mind which had kept him wakeful since the arrival of the prisoner, two bright, hectic spots on his cheeks and staring, blood-shot eyes which seemed to denote a fever. And despite the cruel smile now on his lips, it wanted no acute observer to see that this young man, with all his bravado, was hesitating as to his course of action, not out of compassion for the prisoner, but for fear of what might happen to himself. However, the sight of Steve's calm face settled the question.

"You are ready, sergeant?" he asked curtly. "Good. Then bring out the prisoner. There is a wall yonder, where you will set him up and shoot him promptly. He is a dog and a spy, and should thank us for giving him bullets instead of a noose."