The Bastonnais
J >> John Lesperance >> The BastonnaisPages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22
THE BASTONNAIS:
TALE OF THE AMERICAN INVASION OF CANADA IN 1775-76.
BY
JOHN LESPERANCE.
TORONTO: BELFORD BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. 1877.
Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven, by BELFORD BROTHERS,
in the office of the Minister of Agriculture.
TORONTO: WILLIAMS, SLEETH & MACMILLAN, PRINTERS, 124 BAY STREET.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
THE GATHERING OF THE STORM.
CHAPTER
I. Blue Lights
II. Beyond the River
III. At the Chateau
IV. In Cathedral Square
V. Receiving Despatches
VI. Pauline's Tears
VII. Beautiful Rebel
VIII. The Hermit of Montmorenci
IX. The Wolf's Cry
X. The Casket
XI. The Spirit of the Waterfall
XII. Three Rivers
XIII. A Successful Mission
XIV. Crossing the Boats
XV. The Meeting of the Lovers
XVI. The Round Table
XVII. A Noble Reparation
XVIII. Roderick Hardinge
XIX. The Frightened Doves
XX. The Spectral Army
BOOK II.
THE THICKENING OF THE CLOUDS.
I. Zulma Sarpy
II. Fast and Loose
III. The Sheet-Iron Men
IV. Birch and Maple
V. On the Ramparts
VI. The Flag of Truce
VII. The Covered Bridge
VIII. Cary Singleton
IX. The Song of the Violin
X. Blood Thicker than Water
XI. Death in the Falls
XII. Advice and Warning
XIII. A Woman's Tactics
XIV. The Romance of Love
XV. On the High Road
XVI. An Epic March
XVII. O Gioventu Primavera Della Vita
XVIII. Braiding St Catherine's Tresses
XIX. Par Nobile
BOOK III.
THE BURSTING OF THE TEMPEST.
I. Quebec in 1775-76
II. Cary's Message
III. The Unremembered Brave
IV. Practical Love
V. Zulma and Batoche
VI. The Ball at the Castle
VII. The Attack of the Masks
VIII. Unconscious Greatness
IX. Pauline's Development
X. On the Citadel
XI. Horseman and Amazon
XII. Was it Design or Accident?
XIII. The Intendant's Palace
XIV. Little Blanche
XV. In Batoche's Cabin
XVI. A Painful Meeting
XVII. Nisi Dominus
XVIII. Last Days
XIX. Pres-de-Ville
XX. Sault-au-Matelot
BOOK IV.
AFTER THE STORM.
I. The Confessional
II. Blanche's Prophecy
III. The Prophecy Fulfilled
IV. Days of Suspense
V. The Invalid
VI. The Saving Stroke
VII. Donald's Fate
VIII. The Burdened Heart
IX. Ebb and Flow
X. On the Brink
XI. In the Vale of the Shadow of Death
XII. In the Fiery Furnace
XIII. Roderick's Last Battle
XIV. At Valcartier
XV. Friendship Stronger than Love
XVI. The Hour of Gloom
XVII. The Great Retreat
XVIII. Consummatum Est
XIX. Final Quintet
THE BASTONNAIS
BOOK I. THE GATHERING OF THE STORM.
I.
BLUE LIGHTS.
He stood leaning heavily on his carbine. High on his lonely perch, he
slowly promenaded his eye over the dusk landscape spread out before him.
It was the hour of midnight and a faint star-light barely outlined the
salient features of the scenery. Behind him wound the valley of the St.
Charles black with the shadows of pine and tamarac. Before him rose the
crags of Levis, and beyond were the level stretches of the Beauce. To
his left the waterfall of Montmorenci boomed and glistened. To his right
lay silent and deserted the Plains of Abraham, over which a vapor of
sanguine glory seemed to hover. Directly under him slept the ancient
city of Champlain. A few lights were visible in the Chateau of St Louis
where the Civil Governor resided, and in the guard-rooms of the Jesuit
barracks on Cathedral-square, but the rest of the capital was wrapped in
the solitude of gloom. Not a sound was heard in the narrow streets and
tortuous defiles of Lower Town. A solitary lamp swung from the bows of
the war-sloop in the river.
He stood leaning heavily on his carbine. To have judged merely from his
attitude, one would have said that he was doing soldier's duty with only
a mechanical vigilance. But such was not the case. Never was sentry set
upon watch of heavier responsibility, and never was watch kept with
keener observation. Eye, ear, brain--the whole being was absorbed in
duty. Not a sight escaped him--from the changes of cloud in the lowering
sky over the offing, to the deepening of shadows in the alley of Wolfe's
Cove. Not a sound passed unheard--from the fluttering wing of the
sparrow that had built its winter nest in the guns of the battery, to
the swift dash of the chipmunk over the brown glacis of the
fortifications. Standing there on the loftiest point of the loftiest
citadel in America, his martial form detached from its bleak
surroundings, and clearly defined, like a block of sculptured marble,
against the dark horizon--silent, alone and watchful--he was the
representative and custodian of British power in Canada in the hour of a
dread crisis. He felt the position and bore himself accordingly.
Roderick Hardinge was a high-spirited young fellow. He belonged to the
handful of militia which guarded the city of Quebec, and he resented the
imputations which had been continually cast, during the preceding two
months, on the efficiency of that body. He knew that the Americans had
carried everything before them in the upper part of the Colony. Schuyler
had occupied Isle-aux-Noix without striking a blow. Five hundred
regulars and one hundred volunteers had surrendered at St. Johns.
Bedell, of New Hampshire, had captured Chambly, with immense stores of
provisions and war material. Montgomery was marching with his whole army
against Montreal. The garrison of that city was too feeble to sustain an
attack and must yield to the enemy. Then would come the turn of Quebec.
Indeed, it was well known that Quebec was the objective point of the
American expedition. As the fall of Quebec had secured the conquest of
New France by the British in 1759, so the capture of Quebec was expected
to secure the conquest of Canada by the Americans in the winter of
1775-76. This was perfectly understood by the Continental Congress at
Philadelphia. The plan of campaign was traced out with this view for
General Schuyler, and when that officer resigned the command, owing to
illness, after his success at St. Johns, Montgomery took up the same
idea and determined to carry it out. From Montreal he addressed a letter
to Congress in which he said pithily: "till Quebec is taken, Canada is
unconquered."
Roderick Hardinge was painfully aware that the authorities of Quebec had
little or no confidence in the ability of the militia for the purposes
of defence. It was necessary in the interest of that body, as well as in
the interest of the city, that this prejudice should be exploded.
Hardinge undertook to do it. No time was to be lost. In a fortnight
Quebec might be invested. He set to work with the assistance of only one
tried companion. Their project was kept a profound secret even from the
commander of the corps.
It was the night of the 6th November, 1775. Hardinge left headquarters
unnoticed and unattended, and proceeded at once to the furthest outpost
of the citadel. He was hailed by the sentinel and gave the countersign.
Then, addressing the soldier by name--the man belonged to his
regiment--he ordered him to hand over his musket. No questions were
asked and no explanations were given. Hardinge was an officer, and the
simple militiaman saw no other course than obedience. If he had any
curiosity or suspicion, both were relieved by the further order to keep
out of sight, but within hailing distance, until his services should be
required. The signal was to be a whistle.
Roderick Hardinge remained on guard from ten till twelve. As we have
seen, he was sharply observant of everything that lay before him. But
there was one point of the horizon to which his eye more assiduously
turned. It was the high road leading from Levis over the table-land of
the Beauce back to the forests. It was evidently from this direction
that the object of his watch was to appear. And he was not disappointed.
Just as the first stroke of twelve sounded from the turret of Notre-Dame
Cathedral, a blue light shot into the air from a point on this road, not
more than a hundred yards from the river bank.
Roused by the sight, Roderick straightened himself up, snatched his
carbine from his left side, threw it up on his right shoulder and
presented arms.
The sixth stroke of midnight was just heard, when a second blue light
darted skyward, but this time fully fifty yards nearer. The man who
fired it was evidently running toward the river.
Roderick made a step forward and uttered a low cry.
The last stroke of the twelve had hardly been heard, when a third light
whizzed up from the very brink of the river.
Roderick turned briskly round and gave a shrill whistle. The faithful
soldier, whose watch he had assumed, immediately rushed forward, had his
musket thrust back into his hands, with an injunction from Hardinge to
keep silence. The latter had barely time to recede into the darkness
when the relief-guard, consisting of a corporal and two privates, came
to the spot and the usual formality of changing sentries was gone
through.
II.
BEYOND THE RIVER.
With a throbbing heart, Roderick Hardinge walked rapidly over the brow
of the citadel into Upper Town. He glanced up at the Chateau as he
passed, but the lights which were visible there two hours before, were
now extinguished, and the Governor was sleeping without a dream of the
mischief that was riding out upon the city that night. He passed through
the Square and overhead the wassail of the officers over their wine and
cards. He answered the challenge of the sentinel at the gate which
guarded the heights of Mountain Hill, and doubled his pace down that
winding declivity. The old hill has been the scene of many an historic
incident, but surely of none more momentous than this midnight walk of
Roderick Hardinge. Along the dark, narrow streets of Lower Town,
stumbling over stones and sinking into cavities. Not a soul on the way.
Not a sign of life in the square, black warehouses, with their
barricades of sheet-iron doors and windows.
In twenty minutes, the young officer had reached the river at the point
where now stands the Grand Trunk wharf. A boat with two oars lay at his
feet. Without a moment's hesitation he stepped into it, unfastened the
chain that held it to the bank, threw the oars into their locks, and,
with a vigorous stroke, turned the boat's nose to the south shore. As he
did this, his eye glanced upward at the city. There it stood above him,
silent and unconscious. The gigantic rock of Cape Diamond towered over
him as if exultant in its own strength, and in mockery of his
forebodings. He rowed under the stern of the war-sloop. A solitary
lantern hung from her bows, but no watchman hailed him from her
quarter.
"The Horse Jockey is evidently a myth for them all," he murmured. "But
he will soon be found a terrible reality, and it's Roddy Hardinge will
tell them so."
The St. Lawrence is not so wide above Quebec as it is at other places
along its course, and in a quarter of an hour, the oarsman had reached
his destination. As the keel of his boat grated on the sands, a man
stepped forward to meet him. The officer sprang out and slapped him on
the shoulder.
"Good old boy, Donald."
"Thanks to you, maister."
"Punctual to a minute, as usual, Donald."
"Aye, sir, but 'twas a close scratch. The horse, I fear, feels it mair
than I do."
"No doubt, no doubt. Rode much?"
"Nigh on ten hours, sir, and nae slackened rein."
"Oh, but my heart leaped, Donald, when I saw your first rocket. I could
hardly believe my eyes."
"Just saved my distance, maister. If I had broken a gairth, I would have
been too late. But it's dune, sir."
"Yes, old friend, and well done."
The two men then entered upon a long and earnest conference, speaking in
low tones. From the animated manner of the old man and the frequent
exclamations of the younger, it was evident that important information
was being communicated by the one to the other. During a pause in the
conversation, Donald produced a small paper parcel which he handed to
Roderick Hardinge.
"'Twas stuckit in the seat o' my saddle, maister," said he, "an I wadna
hae lost it for the warld."
Roderick wrapped the parcel in his bandanna, and carefully placed it in
his breast pocket, after which he buttoned his coat to the chin.
At the end of half an hour, the two men prepared to separate.
"I will now hurry across," said Roderick. "And you, Donald, return to
the inn. You must need rest terribly."
"Twa hours or sae will set me to richts, sir."
"And your horse?"
"He's knockit up for gude, sir."
"Then get another and the best you can find. Here are fifty sovereigns.
Use them freely in His Majesty's name."
Donald bowed loyally and low.
"I will be awake and awa' a gude hour before dawn, maister Roddy. The
sunrise will see me weel oot o' the settlements."
"And we meet here again at midnight."
"Depend upon it, sir, unless the rapscallion rebels should catch and
hang me up to one of the tall aiks o' the Chaudiere."
"Never fear, Donald; a traitor's death was never meant for an old
soldier of the King, like you."
The young officer entered his boat and immediately bent to the oars. The
old servant walked up the hill leading to Levis, and was soon lost in
the darkness.
III.
AT THE CHATEAU.
Roderick reached the north shore in safety. He fastened his boat to the
same green, water-worn bulwark from which he had loosened it not more
than an hour before. He walked up to the city along the same route which
he had previously followed. Nothing had changed. Everything was
profoundly quiescent. Every body was still asleep. If he courted
secrecy, he must have been content, for it was evident that no one had
been a witness of his strange proceedings.
When he got within the gates of Upper Town, his pace slackened
perceptibly. It was not hesitation, but deliberation. He paused a moment
in front of the barracks. The lights in the officers' quarters were out
and no sound came from the mess-room. This circumstance seemed to deter
him from entering, and he continued on his way direct to the Chateau St.
Louis. Having passed the guard satisfactorily, he rapped loudly at the
main portal. An orderly who was sleeping in his clothes, on a lounge in
the vestibule, sprang to his feet at once snatching up his dark lantern
from behind the door, and opened. Throwing the light upon the face of
his visitor, he exclaimed--
"Halloa, Hardinge, what the deuce brings you here at this disreputable
hour? Come in; it's blasted cold."
"I want to see His Excellency."
"Surely not just now? He was ailing last evening and retired early. I
don't think he would fancy being drummed up before daylight."
"Very sorry, but I must see him."
"Some little scrape, eh? Want the old gentleman to get you out of it
before the town has wind of it," said the orderly, who by this time was
thoroughly awake and disposed to be in good humor.
"Something far more serious, Simpson, I am concerned to say. You know I
would not call here at such an hour without the most urgent cause. I
really must see the Governor and at once."
This was said without any signs of impatience, but in so earnest a way,
that the orderly, who knew his friend well, felt that the summons could
not be denied. He, therefore, proceeded at once to have the Governor
awakened. With more celerity than either of the young men had looked
for, that official rose, dressed and stepped into his ante-chamber where
he sent for Hardinge to meet him. After a few words of apology, the
latter unfolded to His Excellency the object of his visit. He stated
that while every body in the city was busying himself about the invasion
of the Colony from the west, by the Continental army under Montgomery,
the other invading column from the east, under Arnold, was almost
completely lost sight of. For his part, he declared that he considered
it the more dangerous of the twain. It was composed of some very choice
troops, had been organized under the eye of Washington himself, and was
commanded by a dashing fellow. In addition to his other qualities,
Arnold had the incalculable advantage of a personal knowledge of the
city from several visits which he had quite lately paid it for
commercial purposes. The people of Quebec seemed completely to ignore
Arnold's expedition. They had a notion that it was or would be submerged
somewhere among the cascades of the Kennebec, or, at least, that it
would never succeed in penetrating so far as the frontier at Sertigan.
The Governor wrapped his dressing gown more closely about him, threw his
head back on the pillow of his arm-chair, and gave vent to a little yawn
or two, as if in gentle wonder whether it were worth while to rouse him
from his slumbers for the sake of all this information with which he was
quite familiar already. But the Governor was a patient, courteous
gentleman, and could not believe that even a militia officer would
presume so far on his good nature as to come to him at such an hour,
unless he had really something of definite importance to communicate.
He, therefore, did not interrupt his visitor. Roderick Hardinge
continued to say that, fearing lest Arnold should pounce like a vulture
upon the city while most of the troops of the Colony were with General
Carleton, near Montreal, and in the Richelieu peninsula, and while,
consequently, it was in an almost defenceless condition, he had
determined to find out for himself all the facts connected with his
approach. It might be presumption, on his part, but he had not full
confidence in the few reports on this head which had reached the city,
and wished to satisfy himself from more personal sources.
Here His Excellency smiled a little at the ingenuous confession of the
subaltern, but a moment later, he opened his eyes very wide, when
Roderick told him in minute detail all the circumstances which we have
narrated in the preceding chapters.
"Your man, Donald, is thoroughly reliable?" queried the
Lieutenant-Governor.
"I answer for him as I would for myself. He was an old servant of my
father's all through his campaigns."
"He says that Arnold has crossed the line?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"And that he is actually marching on Quebec?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"And that he is within----?"
"Sixty miles of the city."
The Lieutenant-Governor plucked his velvet bonnet from his head and
flung it on the table.
"Did you say sixty miles?"
"Sixty miles, sir."
His Excellency quietly took up his cap, set it on his head, threw
himself back in his seat, placed his elbows on the elbows of the chair,
closed his palms together perpendicularly, moved them up and down before
his lips, and with his eyes cast to the ceiling, entered upon this
little calculation.
"Sixty miles. At the rate of fifteen miles a day, it will take Mr.
Arnold four days to reach Levis. This is the seventh, is it not? Then,
on the eleventh, we may expect that gentleman's visit."
"Arnold will make two forced marches of thirty miles each, Your
Excellency, and arrive opposite this city in two days. This is the
seventh; on the ninth, we shall see his vanguard on the heights of
Levis."
"Ho! Ho! And is that the way the jolly rebel is carrying on? He must
have had a wonderful run of luck all at once. The last we heard from
him, his men had mutinied and were about to disband."
"That was because they were starving."
"And have they been filled, forsooth?"
"They have, sir."
"By whom?"
"By our own people at Sertigan and further along the Chaudiere."
"But horses? They are known to have lost them all in the wilderness."
"They have been replaced."
"Not by our own people, surely."
"Yes, sir, by our own people."
"Impossible. Our poor farmers have been robbed and plundered by these
rascals."
"Excuse me, Your Excellency, but these rascals pay and pay largely for
whatever they require."
"In coin?"
"No, sir, in paper."
"Their Continental paper?"
"The same."
"Rags, vile rags."
"That may be. But our farmers accept them all the same and freely."
Roderick here produced the small parcel which he had deposited in his
breast pocket, and having unfolded it, drew forth several slips which he
handed to His Excellency. They were specimens of American currency, and
receipts signed by Arnold and others of his officers for cattle and
provisions obtained from Canadian farmers.
"Indeed," continued the young officer, "Your Excellency will excuse me
for saying that, from all the information in my possession--information
upon which I insist that you can implicitly rely--it is beyond question
that the population, through which the invading column has passed and is
passing, is favourable to their cause. A trumpery proclamation written
by General Washington himself, and translated into French, has been
distributed among them, and they have been carried away by its fine
sentences about liberty and independence. These facts account for all
the misleading and false reports which we have hitherto received
concerning the expedition. We have been purposely and systematically
kept in the dark in regard to it. Left to itself, Arnold's army would
have disbanded through insubordination, or perished of starvation and
hardship in the wilderness. Comforted and replenished by His Majesty's
own subjects, it is now marching with threatening front toward Quebec."
"Traitors to the King in the outlying districts cannot unfortunately be
so easily reached as those who lie more immediately under our eyes. But
their time will come yet. Meanwhile, we have to keep a sharp watch over
disaffection and treason within the walls of this very city," said the
Lieutenant-Governor with great earnestness and very perceptible warmth.
"This parcel may probably assist Your Excellency in doing so," replied
Hardinge, at the same time delivering the remainder of the package which
he had received from Donald.
"What have we here?" questioned the Governor, while unfastening the
strings which bound the parcel.
"Letters from Colonel Arnold to General Schuyler, the original commander
of the army of invasion. Arnold will be surprised, if not chagrined, to
learn that Schuyler has been succeeded by Montgomery."
"Ah! I see. Well, as these letters are not addressed to General
Montgomery, and as Gen. Schuyler has left the country, it will be no
breach of etiquette on our part if we open them. No doubt they will
furnish very interesting reading. And these?"
"They are letters from Arnold to several prominent citizens of Quebec."
"Impossible."
"Your Excellency will please read the addresses."
The Governor examined the superscriptions one by one, and in silence,
while he made his comments in an undertone.
"Mr. L.--It does not surprise me."
"Mr. F.--I shall inquire into it."
"Mr. O.--As likely as not."
"Mr. R.--Must be some mistake. He is too big a fool to take sides one
way or the other."
"Mr. G.--His wife will have to decide that matter for him."
"Mr. X.--I'll give him a commission, and he'll be all right."
"Mr. N.--I don't believe a word of it."
"Mr. H.--Loose fish. He was false to France under Montcalm. He may be
false to England under Carleton."
And so on through a dozen more. At length he came upon the twentieth
address, when he exclaimed:
"Mr. B.--Impossible! My best friend! But what if it were true? Who knows
what these dark days may bring about? B--! B--! I will see to it at
once."
Saying which, he flung all the letters on the table, and striving to
master his excitement, turned towards Roderick Hardinge, and asked:
"Have you anything else to say to me, my young friend?"
"Nothing more, sir, unless it be to apologize for having occupied so
much of your time, and especially at this hour."
"Never mind that. If what you have told me is all true, the information
is incalculable in importance. I shall lose no time in acting, and shall
not forget you, nor your old servant. I will send out scouts at once,
and proceed myself to the examination of these letters which you have
placed in my hands. The situation is grave, young man. You have done
well, and to show you how much I appreciate your conduct, I intend
employing you on a further mission. You have not slept this night?"
"No, Your Excellency."
"It is now half-past five. Go and rest till noon. At that hour come to me
with the best saddle horse in your regiment. I will give you your
instructions then."
Roderick Hardinge gave the salute and took his departure just as the
first streaks of dawn lighted the sky.
No one accosted him in the vestibule. The sentinel at the entrance did
not even notice him. He walked straight to the barracks. As he crossed
the Cathedral-square, a graceful hooded figure glided past him and
entered into the old church. It was pretty Pauline Belmont. Roderick
recognized her, and turned to speak to her, but she had disappeared
under the arcade. Alas! if either of them had known.
IV.
IN CATHEDRAL SQUARE.
There was a notable stir in Quebec on the morning of the 7th November,
1775. The inhabitants who had retired to their houses, the evening
before, in the security of ignorance, rose the next day with the vague
certainty of an impending portent. There was electricity in the air. The
atmosphere was charged with moral as well as material clouds. People
opened their windows and looked out anxiously. They stood on their
doorsteps as if timorous to go forward. They gathered in knots on the
street corners and conferred in low tones. There was nothing definite
known. Nobody had seen anything. Nobody had heard anything. Yet all
manner of wild stories circulated through the crowds. Strange fires were
said to have burned in the sky during the night. A phantom sentinel had
kept watch on the citadel, a spectral waterman had crossed the river
with muffled oars, a shadowy horseman from the forest had dashed through
Levis, and his foaming steed had fallen dead on the water's edge. Those
who disbelieved might see the corse of the animal in a sand-quarry not a
hundred yards from where he fell. And there was more. A mysterious
visitor had called upon the Governor in the small hours. A long
conference had taken place between them. The Governor was in a towering
rage, and the stranger had departed upon another errand as singular as
that which had brought him to the Chateau. These and other more
fantastic rumors flew from mouth to mouth and from one end of the city
to the other. It is wonderful how near the truth of things above them
the ignorant crowd can come, and how powerful is the instinct of great
events in vulgar minds. By ten o'clock Quebec was in an uproar, and
Cathedral-square was full of people.