How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

"Steve, my lad, these are uncertain times, and – and I might not have a chance of coming back. If I should not, there is a lot that you should learn in the next few years. Things you have never dreamed of. If I am not back in a year, if anything happens to me, just go to this address and hand in this letter. There it is. Now, I'm going."

It was not the backwoods fashion to take long in preparing for a journey, and so it happened that Tom Mainwaring set out for the Alleghany within half an hour of his conversation with Steve. They parted some ten miles from the log hut, Tom turning his face for the coast, while our hero stepped back to the settlement. And there for a little more than a month he went on quietly with the usual routine. He fished and shot and laid in a store of corn and dried bear's meat for the coming winter, the grinning Sammy looking after the log hut when he was away. Now and again, too, Mac and Jim would come over and spend an evening with him, while Steve would return the visit. For within ten miles of the hut there were some fifteen families, and it was the custom for all to visit one another.

And so the days passed uneventfully till one bright morning in late September, when there was a crispness in the air which denoted the coming winter. A shout from Sammy brought Steve to the door of the log hut.

"Marse Steve," he cried. "There's people sure on the water. They's comin' dis way."

Two canoes were being paddled down the river, and as Steve looked they turned towards the bank, with the evident intention of putting in at the rough landing stage where his own canoes lay.

"They are strangers," said Steve at once, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun. "There are three white men in the first canoe, and three Indians in the second. I think that they have come from the French settlements."

He went to the buck horns over which his gun was suspended, and slung the weapon across his shoulders. Then he took his bullet pouch, his powder horn and tomahawk, and issued from the hut. By this time the strangers had landed, and as Steve walked down towards them the three white men moved towards a giant tree which grew within a few paces of the bank, a tree which stood alone amidst a host of blackened stumps; for when Tom had first come to the place virgin forest covered the land, and he had expended much labour in clearing it.

"What can they be doing?" wondered Steve, seeing the three halt at the foot of the tree and lift an object against the trunk. "They seem to be nailing something to the tree."

A few minutes later he arrived within a couple of yards of the group, and at once unslung his rifle, for with a start he recognised one of the strangers. It was Jules Lapon, dressed now in the hunting costume worn by French and English backwoodsmen alike.

"Bon jour, monsieur," said Jules, swinging round and greeting Steve with a cool and satirical smile. "I wish you a fine day and prosperity. You will be pleased to look at this notice, and afterwards you will take steps to move."

He pointed to the tree and stood aside, watching Steve with an expression which boded little good, and which seemed to combine malice and triumph. Our hero stepped closer and stared at the strip of tin which the Frenchman had pointed out. It was nailed to the bark of the tree, and bore in high relief the arms of France, while beneath, stamped on to the metal, were the following words, in the English language:

"In the name of Louis XV., King of France and of the Continent beyond the sea, we, Louis Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de Saint-Véran, Captain-General of the Forces in North America, and others of the King's servants, renew our possession of this land. We warn all who are not good and faithful subjects of France to depart peacefully and without delay."

There was a date and a rough signature underneath, while at the foot of the tree lay a leaden disc, with a somewhat similar inscription, destined to be buried there so that there might not be wanting evidence in the future to prove the aims and aspirations of France and her king. Nor was this the first time that Steve had looked at such a disc. Some while before he had come upon another, nearer the great lakes, and he had heard that the French had placed many more in different parts.

"You will observe his Majesty's wishes," said Jules Lapon, with an irritating smile of triumph which brought a flush of anger to Steve's cheek. "The orders are that you depart peacefully and without delay. You will go this evening. To-morrow I and my Indians will come to your hut and the place will be France. Comprenez vous? Bien!"

Steve could have struck the rascally Frenchman, so great was his anger. Moreover, when he recollected that it was this same ruffianly foreigner who but a few weeks before had hunted himself and his friends with his band of cut-throats, he felt that he would be almost justified in shooting him where he stood. Then, too, there was this preposterous demand. For three miles on either hand the land belonged to Tom Mainwaring. He had paid dues for it to a land company, and he had settled the place. His labour had cleared the forest till there was sufficient open space to grow corn. The hut was his, the bank of the river, and a stretch on the far side lying opposite the hut. Steve's gorge rose at the thought that a Frenchman should order him to give up his own belongings, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself. He bit his lip, stared at the tin placard, and then swung round on the Frenchman, a cool smile on his lips.

"You are joking," he said in French, causing Jules to start backwards in surprise. "Surely you are playing with me, just as you and your band of Indians played with our hunting party in the neighbourhood of Albany. That was a sad joke, monsieur. I fear that we were too much in earnest."

It was Steve's turn to laugh, for there was no doubt that the Frenchman was utterly taken aback. He staggered, flushed to the roots of his hair, and gripped at his tomahawk.

"You lie," he gasped. "I lead a band of redskins near Albany! You lie, I say!"

"You say so, monsieur," replied Steve calmly, with a smile which maddened Jules. "Yes, it is you who say that, and I hear. But my eyes are good. I know that you led that band. It was I who saw you in the camp which you had hidden in the forest."

"You saw the camp, and I was in it? And you say that it was near Albany? Monsieur is mad, or he does not know how to tell the truth."

Jules mastered his rage and mortification and made a bold attempt to deceive the young colonist. After all, he thought, it was more than possible that this Steve might have seen him there. But then Frenchmen were much alike, and the glimpse he had obtained could have been but a glimpse after all: and besides, Jules reflected, at that time he was dressed as an Indian.

"Does monsieur think that I am a bird?" he demanded brazenly. "I have lands to look to across the river, and how can I be there and at Albany?"

"I hardly think you could be in two places so far apart, at one and the same time," answered Steve, his temper well in hand now. "After all, it is sufficient for me to know that you were in that camp in the woods at Albany, where Hunting Jim and I saw you distinctly. That was a long chase, Monsieur Jules, and I fancy it must have been somewhat of a surprise to you and your men to come across so small a band prepared to make a fight of it. Your men must have been discontented. I believe we killed ten at least."

This time he left no doubt in the Frenchman's mind that his rascality was discovered, and as Steve looked down at him he saw a gleam of malice light up the eyes of the ruffian, a gleam which seemed to say, "I will kill you at the first opportunity, Steve Mainwaring." Then Jules Lapon suddenly changed his intentions, a smile of triumph wreathed his face, and he pointed to the placard on the tree.

"After all, monsieur, it is not a question of men who have been killed, or of my presence at Albany," he said easily. "It is a question of this notice. You have read it?"

"I have."

"Then you will obey?"

"If I do not? Supposing I stay?"

"Monsieur, you see this whistle?" Jules took a whistle, made of horn, from his belt, and held it before Steve's eyes. "You observe that little toy, monsieur? Ah. Now I will tell you. Supposing you are so rash as to stay, I shall blow that whistle, and within an hour the far shore of the river will be darkened by the boats of my friends."

"Cut-throat Indians, monsieur," said Steve.

"You will be careful to describe my friends properly," cried Jules, making an obvious effort to control his anger. "I was saying that the Indians would come. They would hound you and your friends out of this settlement, and, after that, who can keep a check upon them?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked significantly at his two comrades.

"Only the men with the guns," answered Steve. "I know your Indians, monsieur, and I know also that they have ravaged our settlements cruelly. But for all your threats, I will not give up my father's property. He was here long before the French had advanced south of Lake Erie. He paid for this land, and he has expended labour upon it. It is his. No king of France or his servants shall demand it of him or of me."

Steve looked the three Frenchmen calmly in the eyes, and then stepped up to the tree. Plunging his hunting knife under the sheet of tin, he levered it from the bark, and, tearing it free of the nail, threw it into the river.

"That is what I think of your demand and of your placard, Jules Lapon," he said, "and I promise that if you come with your Indians and drive me away, I and my father will hound you off the place. For a time we English may be beaten back. But, mark my words, we shall regain our own again, and you will be defeated."

There was a shout as he went to the tree and tossed the inscription into the water. Then no sooner had he spoken than Jules sprang at him with an oath.

"You defy us. You defy me!" he shouted. "Then listen to this, you Englishman. Go now. I will give you a minute. If you are not then out of sight I will shoot you. Yes, I will shoot you as I had hoped to do up on the Mohawk. And after that I shall live in your cabin."

He threw all secrecy to the winds, and lifting his musket presented it at Steve's head. Indeed, for an instant or two it looked as if he would have shot him down on the spot.

"You see that I am ready," he shouted, as he looked along the sights. "Run for your life."

Steve was cornered. To turn and obey the command given him was the most natural thing under the circumstances, and it may be wondered that he did not do so. But he knew the methods of the backwoods, and was well acquainted with the reputation of this Frenchman.

"He will shoot me as I walk," he thought. "I will stay and face him. After all, one can dodge a bullet sometimes if one keeps one's eye on the weapon. Monsieur, I will stay here. Get into your canoe and retire," he said sternly. "I also will shoot you if you do not lower that musket."

There was a shout of surprise and anger from the two who accompanied Jules, and they at once sprang forward and lifted their muskets, levelling the barrels at Steve's head. And there for a moment they stood, Steve holding his ground stubbornly, while the Frenchmen looked along their sights as if they were about to shoot at the defenceless figure standing before them. Then the scene was unexpectedly interrupted.

"That air enough. Put them shootin' irons down. Do yer hear?" A gruff voice suddenly burst from the edge of the forest, some twenty paces away, and the tall gaunt figure of Hunting Jim appeared amidst the leaves, the autumn tints matching strangely with the colour of his hunting shirt and his leggings. "Drop yer guns, and git!"

No wonder that the Frenchmen started, that Steve swung round with a cry of delight. For not a sound had warned the disputants of the approach of the trapper. He stood there, outlined grimly amidst the leaves, for all the world as if he had sprung out of the ground. His musket was gripped in his hands, while the long shining barrels of two other weapons protruded from the trees on either hand.

"Yer see, we ain't quite alone," he said hoarsely, "and ef them guns ain't down in a jiffy – ah! that air well for yer. Now Jules Lapon, murderer and robber, I reckon you can git, you and the hul crowd. Ef we had shot yer down as yer stood, we'd have done what was right, and p'raps we'd have saved a hangman a bad job one of these days. Git, that's the order!"

The tables were suddenly turned with a vengeance. Steve, standing there bravely with three barrels presented at him, suddenly found himself looking into three very startled faces. The Frenchmen stepped backward involuntarily, and lowered their weapons as Jim began to speak. Then, unable to face the guns which were directed at them, they glanced at one another swiftly, turned, and made off at a run to their canoe.

"Stop! Jest drop them muskets. That air the ticket. Now put yer knives and tomahawks down, and Jules Lapon, you as wanted to get our scalps over by Albany, jest hook that ere whistle out'er yer belt. Now yer can go, and jest remember this. When we meet again there won't be no warnin'. It'll be shoot at sight. Don't ax fer nor expect no favors."

Jim watched with a grim smile of triumph as the three disconsolate Frenchmen put down their weapons and embarked. Then he and his comrades emerged and took up their stations beside Steve, staring out at the canoe as it stole away from the bank. More than a minute passed before Steve turned to look at those who had come so opportunely to his help. Beside the lanky form of Jim was Mac, his beard flaming in the sun, his broad hand gripping the stock of his musket, and a look of bitterness on his usually jolly features. On the other side, impassive as was his custom and the habit of his race, his head thrown forward and the feathers of his head-dress trailing down over his shoulders, was Silver Fox, alert and vigilant, his eye following every movement of the Frenchmen.

"Bad cess to the blackguards," cried Mac, a note of unusual bitterness in his tones. "They kin hunt me and you, Jim, and young Steve here too if they like, but faith whin they come to huntin' the women and childer it makes me blood boil. For why can't they lave us alone? What have we done to the bastes to set thim agin the whole of us?"

"You've got land," answered Jim shortly. "That's what you've got. You've gone and put yer broad carcass in the way of this here King of France. Steve, reckon this placard air worth keepin'."