My heart was big with foreboding the last evening we spent together, and it required an effort almost beyond my powers to refrain from taking him into my arms and telling him he was my son. I almost persuaded myself that my life was so wretched, so lonely, so hopeless, that I would be justified in so doing. But for some reason or other I did not, why, I cannot pretend to say, and I saw him march proudly off at daybreak the next morning with my secret still untold. I wondered if any one would be equally faithful to me.

Such a weary month of January I never pa.s.sed, for no one knew the danger of these miserable, skulking little war parties better than I; and to add to this there was my distrust of Sarennes eating at my heart every time I tried to make little of my fears.

What wonder was it, when the door of my room opened after a quiet knock, one stormy afternoon, and the dark face of the Canadian appeared, that I sprang to my feet and demanded, savagely: "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"He was taken," he answered, quietly, "and I am here to answer for him."

There was such a dignity in his bearing, such a sensibility in his look, that I was melted at once, and my murderous suspicion put to flight.

"A thousand pardons, monsieur, for my rudeness. I have been anxious day and night for the boy. Tell me what has happened."

He told the story simply, and I could not doubt that he told it truly. It was the ordinary incident, common to these wretched marauding parties, an attempted surprise, a couple of men lost, my poor boy wounded and captured before the baffled coureurs de bois could attempt a rescue.

When Sarennes left me with some words of sympathy, I was suffering only what hundreds of fathers have suffered before me. That it was common was no alleviation to my pain.

CHAPTER X

"HE WHO SOWS HATRED SHALL GATHER RUE"

Sarennes had taken himself off again to gather fresh laurels in ambuscade and retreat, the alternatives which compose the whole science of la pet.i.te guerre, and I had but little to remind me of my loss save the constant ache at my heart when I was alone, a position I strove by every means possible to avoid.

That Sarennes was desirous of making some reparation for his injury towards me, was proved by a letter from him dated in March, and written from his mother's house at Beaulieu:

"Chevalier,--There is an Englishwoman staying here who claims to be your wife. What do you wish me to do in the matter? I am ready to oblige you in any way.

"Sarennes."

I have never made any pretension to a fort.i.tude other than that which any honourable gentleman of my standing might claim. I was still sore under this last stroke of undeserved misfortune which had so cruelly deprived me of Kit, and I could not but look on his mother as at least the indirect cause of my loss. Under these feelings I delivered the following to the Indian runner:

"Monsieur,--If you have any regard for me, keep the lady claiming to be my wife at such distance that I may never set eyes on her again. Should she be in want, I will gladly reimburse you for any expenditure you may make on her account.

"Le Chev. Maxwell."

We now come to events on which the antiquary and the student might demand a larger attention and notice than I shall devote to them.

I have been too prominent an actor in the drama of the downfall of New France to write on the subject with that calmness and impartiality with which I try to view all matters; and I leave it to the gentleman who has pa.s.sed his lifetime at his desk, undisturbed by any greater explosion than that of wifely indignation at his late hours and waste of otherwise valuable ink and paper, to relate the battles he has never seen and weigh the interests he cannot understand.

In January we had positive intelligence that the English would make a descent in force at the earliest possible moment in the spring.

On the first day of June we saw from our ramparts the sails of their fleet spreading over the horizon, and by the eighth they attempted their descent by land.

We made such defence as seemed possible at the time, but, like all unsuccessful efforts, it has been severely criticised since, chiefly by "the gentleman at his desk."

As we lay in position at our post at La Cormorandiere, hourly expecting the landing of the enemy, it was reported by our surgeon-general, M. Guerin, that we were utterly without provision of lint, brandy, and other necessities for the wounded. A messenger was instantly despatched with a requisition to the Commissary, but he returned with a message from Prevost saying, "There are none of these articles in the King's magazines; if the English force our intrenchments, it will be their business to take care of the wounded; if, on the other hand, we are successful, we shall have time enough to attend to them."

Our colonel, M. de St. Julhien, read this heartless reply aloud, amid the deepest execrations on the part of our officers, and then turning to me, said, "Here, Chevalier, I understand there is no love lost between you and this creature. I commission you to see that these requirements are fulfilled by the morning." And he sate down and wrote an order on the Commissary to "deliver to the Chevalier Maxwell such stores as he may demand for the use of the Company d'Artois."

Armed with this authority, I set forth at once, and arriving at the town about eight o'clock, made my way to the Commissary's house and demanded him with scant ceremony.

He appeared with but little delay, and I caught sight of the bright face of Madame, alight with curiosity, behind him, though he clapped the door to sharply enough.

"Well, Monsieur le Lieutenant"--he took a petty spite in disregarding my t.i.tle of Chevalier--"what brings you here away from your post?"

"Only the definite intention, M. le Commissaire, of seeing that you obey orders. I require stores for my colonel; there is his order, and if you try any of your devil's tricks with me, sir, I will make no more of running you through than I would a rat."

He turned as white as a piece of dried plaster.

"Come, sir, none of your shuffling. I want an answer at once."

"You'll get no answer from me, sir, other than I have sent. I have no stores; the magazines are empty."

"I know you to be a thief, M. le Commissaire, and it is no great stretch of imagination to believe you a liar. Show me your vaults."

"Very well, very well. We shall see who is right. We shall see who is a liar," and he started off with alacrity.

"Wait, sir! Where are you going?"

"Only into the next room to get my keys."

"Very well; I'll go with you," and I followed him into the next room.

Here we found Madame on tiptoe with excitement and curiosity.

"Where are you going? What is the matter?" she asked, quickly.

"None of your business!" roared her husband, with his usual brutality.

"Only into the vault to look for stores." I answered, throwing as much feeling into the commonplace answer as was possible.

Prevost provided himself with a lanthorn and led the way through the pa.s.sage and down the steps leading to the cellars, muttering and scolding to himself, for he dared not make a complaint to which I might reply, until we reached the outer door. This he unlocked, and I discovered a long pa.s.sage, evidently underground, for the air struck me as damp and chill as we traversed it, to the entrance of the princ.i.p.al vault, which he opened.

"There! See for yourself if I have not told the truth. It is as empty as death!" and as he spake he held the lanthorn high.

Bat this did not satisfy me. I was determined to take nothing for granted until I had personally proved the truth of his protestations.

"Give me the light," I said, taking it from him as I entered.

"Willingly." he replied; but I had not taken a dozen steps before I heard a clang, the quick turn of a key, and found I was a prisoner, trapped like a rat by the man I most hated and despised.

At first I was inclined to laugh, for the turn was not without its cleverness, but the inclination was quickly stifled as I realized what such a situation might mean to one in my position.

A foreign officer failing to be at his post when about to meet his own countrymen face to face, would be a default open to such construction as filled me with dismay--a construction which the wretch who had trapped me would use every means to convert into the blackest of certainties. When the first feeling of dismay had pa.s.sed I made a careful examination of my prison, but the result brought no encouragement. The vault, which was an outer one, was only provided with two heavy doors, the one by which I had entered, and the other doubtless leading to another vault. There was not a sign of any window or opening, and the walls were covered with a white coating of fungus. In one corner was some useless household lumber, and against the wall stood a wooden coffer like those in well-to-do farmers' houses at home; save for these odds and ends, the place was indeed empty; in so far, at least, my gentleman had not lied.

I placed my lanthorn on the floor, and seating myself on the chest, tried to form some plan of action. There was no use in attempting to attract attention by raising an outcry, for I was certainly underground, cut off by the long pa.s.sage from the house. If I made a fire the smoke could not escape, and I should only gain suffocation for my pains. There was absolutely no escape that I could further by my unaided effort. Dreadful as this thought was, I was tortured by others infinitely worse; by phantasms that the future might well convert into horrid realities.

With a too-ready imagination I framed the crafty charges which my enemy would prefer against me. No sense of shame would prevent him from distorting my innocent relations towards his wife into a treacherous attempt upon his honour; he would no doubt trump up some suggestive story of my presence in his house. My unsupported statement of my imprisonment must stand against his specious tale--the word of the accused against that of the injured husband, and he an official with powerful backing. The ridiculous trap into which I had so stupidly fallen would be difficult to explain without derision at any time, but now it was a time of actual war, when any infraction of duty would be punished with the severest penalty; nothing short of death would be a sufficient excuse for my failure to return to my post.

I pictured myself, an alien--for a foreigner is always an alien no matter what his merit or service may be--fighting for life against the malevolence of a virulent enemy, contending too against that monstrous perversion of justice which so often sways a court-martial --composed as it is of men little qualified by training for impartial judgment--towards the severest interpretation where an officer without influence is concerned, to win a cheap applause from outsiders and inferiors.