The King's Warrant: A Story of Old and New France

by Alfred H. Engelbach

  CHAPTER VI.

  A Canadian winter, with the thermometer frequently standing at forty,and sometimes even fifty or sixty degrees below the freezing point ofFahrenheit, with its rivers completely blocked by ice and its fieldscovered by several feet of snow, puts a stop to most operations,whether mercantile or military. The winter of 1756 consequentlyafforded Isidore de Beaujardin, in his comfortable quarters atMontreal, complete leisure to reflect upon the incidents that hadoccurred during the last few months of his life, amongst which hisshort visit to Quebec occupied a prominent place in his reveries andmeditations.

  "A charming woman that Madame de Rocheval," so ran his thoughts attimes, "though a little too much of a matchmaker I should say, fromwhat I have heard of her latterly; but as my uncle says, she is notvery likely to succeed so far as poor Marguerite Lacroix is concerned.Now-a-days men of any position won't marry a girl without a farthing,especially if she is not good-looking, though I certainly cannot agreewith the baron or madame, who both seem to think her absolutely plain.Women, however, are never fair judges of female beauty, we all knowthat, though I rather wonder at my uncle's want of taste. Beautifulshe certainly is not--in the sense in which I might have understood theword a twelvemonth ago; but a little wear and tear in the world makesus look below the surface. I could envy a fellow now who had such agirl for his sister; it makes a man selfish and frivolous if he hasonly himself to think of. I don't believe I should have been guilty ofhalf the follies and extravagances which I am afraid I must own to if Ihad always had such a young loving thing at my side to lead me tobetter and gentler thoughts and ways. Well, I was not so favoured, somuch the worse for me. By the way, I suppose that as my uncle has nowentirely got over the effects of his wound, he will give up the notionof going back to France till next year. I am glad of it; for I don'tthink the baroness is likely to care much about having poor MargueriteLacroix on her hands, though it will be the very thing for Clotilde,who must be moped to death in that dismal old chateau, without any oneof her own age to associate with and no amusement of any kind, for theyare as poor as church mice, and must find it hard enough to keep upeven the small appearance they do make. I wonder when I shall go backto old France again! I thought when I left it that six months would bequite enough of this; but I really do not think it so bad after all,and now that I have got this staff appointment, why, I suppose I mustmake up my mind to stay, at all events for next year's campaign."

  So Isidore resigned himself to his fate; nay, when it came to his turnto have the option of carrying despatches to the king in person, heactually gave up the privilege in favour of a brother officer, who hadnot got over his old longing to spend New Year's Day in Paris. It isnot for us to say how far Colonel de Beaujardin may have beeninfluenced by the private knowledge that General Montcalm'shead-quarters were to be transferred for a time to Quebec. Such,however, was the case, and Isidore spent his New Year's Day under thehospitable roof of Madame de Rocheval.

  The first two or three days that Isidore passed at Quebec weresingularly happy ones. Some months had now elapsed since the death ofCaptain Lacroix, and Marguerite had regained much of her naturalcheerfulness, which seemed all the more bright and winning for theshade of melancholy that occasionally came over her at the thought ofher lonely and dependent position in the world. Isidore had fewacquaintances there, and did not care to add to their number; at firsthis visits at the house of Madame de Rocheval were as frequent as hecould decorously make them. As it happened, Marguerite was more thanan ordinary proficient on the harpsichord, whilst the young marquis,who had a singularly fine voice, and had had the advantage of the bestmasters that Paris could boast of, sang with a taste and feeling seldommet with; and this afforded a fair excuse for prolonging his visitsbeyond the ordinary limits. It is like enough that, notwithstandingthe vast and absolutely impassable distance which their respectivepositions would have placed between them in Old France, the most nobleand wealthy young Marquis de Beaujardin would have offered his hand tothe penniless orphan of a man who could not write the "de" of gentlebirth before his name: one untoward circumstance alone, perhaps,prevented this; Madame de Rocheval, who was very fond of Marguerite,could not help feeling what a masterly stroke it would be on her partif she could but catch for her a husband of such rank and fortune, soshe at once began to do all she could to bring about the hoped-forresult. Unfortunately for all parties, madame's zeal outran her usualdiscretion, and no sooner did poor Marguerite perceive, or think thatshe perceived, the covert designs of her friend than her sensitivedelicacy recoiled from doing anything that might seem like aiding orabetting such a scheme. She constrained herself to assume a cold andformal manner, so unnatural to her that Isidore, as men are apt enoughto do, grew vexed and annoyed at a treatment which he knew wasundeserved, and soon began to think there was more affectation aboutMademoiselle Lacroix than he had at first imagined. Then he, too,suddenly discovered from some little circumstance or other that he wasthe object of a studied scheme to make a catch of him, and thisnaturally irritated him still more. His pride revolted at the thoughtthat he who had been admired and courted by the highest and the noblesteven at the Pompadour's own magnificent fetes and receptions should beentrapped by a mere matchmaker at an out-of-the-way little place likethis. So he put on a rather grand and haughty air the next time hecalled, for which Marguerite not only thought him very silly, but eventold him so. That afternoon he took his leave, alleging that he had toreturn to Montreal early the next morning. Yet when he had quitted thehouse his heart smote him, and when he passed Madame de Rocheval's thenext day he stopped his cariole and went in just to ask if Margueritehad any message for her guardian, the Baron de Valricour, at Montreal.She was alone, and the fact that she had been in tears was sounmistakably apparent that Isidore was led to express a hope that nomisfortune had occurred to distress her.

  "I was mourning over the loss of a friend," said she; "I have so few inthe world that I can scarce afford to lose one, and least of all suchan one as Monsieur de Beaujardin has been to me."

  Isidore felt that he had been guilty of a very mean but common fault invisiting on Marguerite the ill-humour he had felt at something, inwhich not she but some one else was to blame.

  "Forgive me," said he, at once; "I am, indeed, ashamed to think that Ibehaved like a fool, or even worse, in giving just cause of offence toone who has every claim to very different treatment at my hands. I wasan idiot--I was not myself, or----"

  "Yes, yes, let it be so," exclaimed Marguerite, smiling through hertears and extending her hand to him. "Let it be so; you were indeednot your own self, so I will forget the stranger of yesterday, and onlyremember the courteous Colonel Beaujardin to whom I owe so much."

  The entrance of Madame de Rocheval here brought this brief colloquy toan end, and Isidore once more bade adieu and took his departure.Perhaps he would have altered his arrangements and remained stilllonger at Quebec; but this he could not well do with any show ofself-respect, and he was soon on his road to Montreal. It is, however,most certainly the fact that he gave up the intention, which he hadformed on the previous evening, of throwing up his commission andreturning to France, and he now once more made up his mind to stay inCanada, and see out the campaign of 1757.

  The opening of the new year found the British Government resolved toprosecute the war in Canada with unprecedented vigour. An attack onLouisburg was to be the great feature of the campaign. Upwards oftwenty thousand regular troops from England co-operating with immenselevies raised in America, and large bodies of allied Indians,constituted the force to be arrayed against France in the New World,whilst a splendid fleet, counting no less than twenty ships of theline, under the command of Admiral Holborne, was to carry on theoperations by sea. They made a bad beginning, however, for nearly halfthe year had slipped away before the fleet put to sea, and the end wasa complete and disastrous failure. Owing to the incapacity of thecommander-in-chief the time was simply wasted in marchings andcounter-marchings, and continuall
y embarking, disembarking, andre-embarking the troops. At sea a terrible hurricane scattered theships, of which many were wrecked and lost, while the rest, more orless shattered, made their way back to England as they best could.

  The one success of the year was gained by the French, and it wasunfortunately attended by horrors that will never be forgotten. Thecapture of Fort William Henry, and the massacre which followed it, isan oft-told tale, to which allusion needs only to be made here so faras it bears on the fortunes of our young French soldier. Abandoned atthe most critical juncture by Colonel Webb, the brave but unfortunateMunro was compelled to surrender the place to Montcalm, with thestipulation that the garrison, numbering about two thousand men, shouldbe allowed to march out unmolested. Whilst they were doing so,however, the Indian allies of the French fell upon them with all therelentless fury of their savage race. A panic seized upon the wretchedvictims, and then ensued a scene of slaughter such as defiesdescription. In vain did Montcalm interpose; the respect and even lovewith which the Indians had come to regard him availed nothing. At theimminent risk of his own life he rushed in and strove to stay thecarnage, but to no purpose; those of the ill-fated garrison of FortWilliam Henry who escaped from the knives and tomahawks of theirvengeful foes, found their way to Fort Edward, or some other place ofsafety.

  In this matter the conduct of Montcalm and his officers is wholly freefrom blame. Many of the latter, like their chief, exposed their livesin their endeavour to save those whom they were bound to protect as faras in them lay. Amongst the foremost of these was Isidore deBeaujardin, and at one moment his life was in the greatest peril. AnEnglish soldier who had been thrown down in the rush was just about torise, when a gigantic Indian, yelling out the dreaded war-whoop, dartedtowards him. Isidore sprang between them. With a sweep of histomahawk the maddened savage sent de Beaujardin's small sword flyinginto the air. The weapon of the Indian was already uplifted for thedeadly stroke when a strange fantastically-dressed figure passed,noiselessly but swiftly, between the two combatants, and then the redskin fell back, the fierce expression of his face changing to one ofawe, if not of terror. Then came another rush, in which Isidorereceived a slight wound, and then by degrees the French regularssucceeded in forcing back the Indians, but, unhappily, not until theirpurpose had been but too thoroughly effected.

  Isidore's wound did not prove serious, and in the course of a fortnighthe had nearly recovered from its effects, but he had mentioned it in aletter to his father, and the consequence was an urgent injunction,almost amounting to an order, that he should at once return home. Thisdid not reach him, however, until near the end of October, and it is byno means improbable that he would have made his recovery an excuse fordisregarding his father's wishes but for other circumstances. It hadbecome necessary for Madame de Rocheval to visit the old country, andMonsieur de Valricour had resolved to avail himself of that opportunityto send Marguerite to France, in order that she might take up her abodeunder his roof and find there the home which he had promised to herdying father to provide for her. This may or may not have influencedyoung Beaujardin; at all events he wrote to his father a letterintimating a dutiful compliance with the order for his return, andafter resigning his appointment as aide-de-camp he made hisarrangements for his departure. Finding no immediate opportunity ofgoing down from Montreal to Quebec by the St. Lawrence, he resolved totravel on horseback, and, after selecting a steady servant to accompanyhim, he bade adieu to his old quarters and set out for Quebec.

  Of all the glories of nature on this earth there is perhaps not one sogorgeous as that expanse of wooded plain and slope and mountain, cladin the magnificently varied tints of the Canadian fall of the year,which met the eyes of Isidore when, towards the end of his journey, hereined up his horse upon an elevated spot on the banks of the St.Lawrence, a few miles above Quebec. Some three hundred feet below, thebroad and noble river glided along between precipitous heights, thered-brown tint of which, interspersed with masses of clustering shrubs,glowed in the yet warm autumn sun, whilst beyond it to the south, andaway for miles to the north, were spread out great undulating tracts,bounded by picturesque ranges of lofty mountains, whose waving lines nopen or pencil can adequately describe. The maple, the sumach, and manyother forest trees, all changing their hues in the warm dry atmospherepeculiar to the climate, presented everywhere a combination of brightcolour beyond the most fantastic flight of imagination, in which everytint, from pale sea-green to dusky olive, from palest primrose throughorange and scarlet to deepest crimson, were blended together with aharmony which the hand of nature can alone produce. The utterstillness that reigned around, and the marvellous distinctness withwhich the most distant objects stood out through the transparentatmosphere, gave a strange and dream-like character to the scene thatinsensibly led him who looked upon it into that mysterious phase ofmind in which we seem to be living over again some moments of a formerlife. Even the voice of yonder sturdy woodsman, who has just appearedabove the brow of the hill, seems to set in vibration the slumberingchord of some memory of things past; yes, and he is vehementlydeclaiming to the comely matron who trudges beside him about therascality of that fellow Cadet, the most rapacious of the greedyunderlings of Monsieur the Intendant! Truly it is no other than ourfriend Jean Baptiste Boulanger, who is just hot from a visit to Quebecon some business pertaining to his craft, and whose fond and faithfulBibi has come to meet him by the way.

  Isidore and his _quondam_ guide were both glad to meet again. Cadetand his doings were instantly and utterly forgotten, and de Beaujardincould not help being pleased to find that the Canadian had taken somuch interest in him that he already knew from the inquiries he hadmade all about the young soldier's movements, his wound, and otherincidents of the past year. His request that Isidore would honour hishumble dwelling with a visit was so pressing that the latter consentedto do so, and, sending his servant forward to prepare for his arrivalsomewhat later at Quebec, he accompanied Boulanger and his wife totheir cottage, which stood at some little distance from the road.Great was Bibi's anxiety to do honour to their noble guest, and notless great her delight at the commendations he bestowed, not only onthe order and tidiness of her little _menage_, but also on her threechubby little children, who, notwithstanding divers and sundry privateinjunctions to the contrary, would occasionally come to the front andgaze open-mouthed and awestruck at so uncommon a visitor. At lengthIsidore rose to pursue his journey; Boulanger would fain haveaccompanied him, but this he would not permit, and, after taking theCanadian's directions for regaining the road by a bridle path throughthe wood in which the cottage was situated, he bade adieu to the honestcouple and galloped away.

  The ground was more broken than he had expected, and he was soonobliged to rein up his horse. As he did so he thought he heard arustling in the underwood at no great distance, but it was not untilthe same thing had occurred two or three times that the thought crossedhis mind that some one might be following him. Yet, after all, itmight be nothing more than a stray lynx or some such animal, though itseemed strange that it should move when he moved and stop when hestopped. At length he gained the road, and would probably haveforgotten the incident altogether had he not accidentally cast a lookbehind him, when he saw a dark figure amongst the trees just at thepoint where he had quitted the wood. It disappeared, however, almostinstantly, leaving Isidore in some doubt whether it might not have beenBoulanger, who, notwithstanding his expressed wish, might possibly havedesired to see him safely on the road. At all events he saw no more ofit, and riding on soon found himself once more within the greatCanadian fortress.

  In the evening he paid a visit to Madame de Rocheval, when he learnedthat that lady intended to embark for France in about a fortnight,taking Marguerite with her, and there was some talk of the possibilityof his going by the same vessel. He did not remain long, however, butpromised to call again the next day. On the following afternoon hepaid his friends a more lengthened visit, and, at his request,Marguerite presently sat d
own to the harpsichord, as she had been usedto do of old, to play to him some music she had recently received fromFrance, and amongst these were some canzonets and other vocal pieceswhich she begged Isidore to sing.

  Those who should best understand these matters say that the tenor isthe most common voice with men. It may be so, but certainly the rarestof all voices met with in perfection is the tenor of that marvellousenchanting quality that thrills the very soul of the listener with itsheavenly vibrations. Such a voice was that of Isidore de Beaujardin,and the instruction he had received from the best masters at Parisenabled him to use it with uncommon taste and skill. He was justconcluding an air of Stradella's, in which the melody andinstrumentation alike were perfect, and in which a simple yet statelygrandeur alternated with the most touching plaintiveness, when hebecame aware that some one near to him was sobbing violently. It wasnot Marguerite, that was certain, though a tear did just then drop onthe hand that touched the harpsichord so charmingly. He turned in somesurprise, and there kneeling beside him, with her face buried in herhands, he beheld a young girl whom, although her features wereconcealed from him, he recognised at once; it was Amoahmeh. Even asIsidore ceased, the girl's emotion utterly overpowered her, and sheburst into an uncontrollable flood of tears. Marguerite rose hastily,while at the same moment Madame de Rocheval entered the room, and withthe assistance of a domestic they carried Amoahmeh to an adjoiningapartment, where, as Isidore could plainly hear, the strange anddistressing paroxysm continued unabated notwithstanding every effort tosoothe and calm the troubled spirit.

  Presently Marguerite returned. "It is a most singular thing," saidshe. "This poor Indian girl was found in an exhausted and faintingstate on the steps of our house last evening some time after you hadleft. Madame de Rocheval had her brought in and attended to, but whenshe revived and had somewhat recovered we found that she had evidentlylost her reason. 'Some one,' she said, 'had told her where they were,but that she had forgotten, and had come to pray of him to tell heronce again.' We could not understand what she meant. Madame deRocheval sent for the doctor to consult him as to what could be donefor her, but we suddenly missed her, and saw no more of her until shereappeared just now in this strange way."

  "Poor child!" exclaimed Isidore, greatly moved. "She is no stranger tome; indeed, once at least, if not twice, I have owed my life to her.But it is a long story, and I must not keep you from a holy duty.To-morrow you shall hear all. In the meantime I know it is not needfulfor me to commend this unfortunate and afflicted one to yourcompassionate care."

  On reaching his apartments, Isidore found that a courier had justarrived from Montreal with despatches, accompanied by the most urgentorders that he should carry them to Paris without delay. A shipappointed to sail from Quebec on the following morning was evenindicated to him as the one in which he was to take his passage withoutfail. This was particularly annoying under all circumstances, and atfirst Isidore was inclined to demur, or even to refuse compliance; buton a little reflection he saw that for many reasons this was not to bethought of, and he accordingly decided to carry out his orders. On thefollowing morning he was an early visitor at Madame de Rocheval's, andhis first inquiry was after poor Amoahmeh. To his amazement he learntthat the doctor who had been sent for on the preceding day hadsucceeded, though with much difficulty and after a long time, inallaying the girl's excitement, and that she had then dropped into adeep sleep, apparently from sheer exhaustion. She had awoke thatmorning calm and quiet, and the doctor, who was with her at the time,had gradually, and to his extreme astonishment, discovered that herreason, which had in fact given way two or three years previously amidthe horrors of an Indian raid, had partially if not entirely returned.The strangeness of all around her and her inability to recollect anyrecent events had, however, plainly begun to distress her, and thedoctor, fearing a relapse, had given the strictest injunctions thatonly one person, namely, Madame de Rocheval, should on any account bepermitted to see her. With this and other precautions he was notwithout hope that her recovery might be ultimately insured, and heattributed it entirely to the strong emotion and subsequent revulsionof feeling caused by the power and pathos with which the young soldierhad given the soul-stirring and touching melody of the great master.

  It was a source of the liveliest satisfaction to young de Beaujardin tobe able to look forward to Amoahmeh's complete restoration to reason,and he could only regret that he could not be allowed to see her andexpress his good wishes. His last hours at Quebec, however, weredevoted to making arrangements with Boulanger to receive her under hisroof as soon as she should be well enough to be removed, which thedoctor hoped would be the case before Madame de Rocheval's departure.Finally Isidore took leave of his friends, and with the warmlyexpressed wish that he and Marguerite might soon meet again in OldFrance--a wish which she echoed with her heart, if not with herlips--he bade adieu once more to Quebec.

  Tailpiece to Chapter VI]