Every foot of the original accommodation in the place was occupied, and many new huts had been built, but only as quarters for the military, so Roger and his party had to pitch camp on the edge of the town and sleep in their bivouacs. Normally the Longhunters would have gone off into the forest to shoot and trap game until they had collected as many pelts as they could carry back to
the lake and take down to Fort George for sale, but Roger now made them a handsome offer to accompany him and Mary westward as far as the St. Lawrence.
Next morning Ben Log succeeded in hiring a covered wagon with a half-breed driver. That afternoon, having loaded their tentage and freshly-bought stores, they set off on their ninety-mile trek along a trail that had developed into a rough road after convoys and troops had so frequently used it.
The forest trees were still bare of leaves, but Shorty who, although uneducated, was by instinct a naturalist, told Mary that in the autumn the turning leaves made a sea of gold and pointed out to her the different barks on giant hickories, beeches, maples, black walnuts, pines and silver birches. Many of the tree trunks were overgrown with moss and others half-smothered in tangles of ivy. He warned her against the latter, as much of it was poison ivy, and a very nasty rash would have resulted from touching it. Shorty could also tell the species of a bird from its cry, and quite frequently they saw jays, ravens, hawks, crows and catbirds sailing overhead.
On the fourth evening they, came to St. Regis, where the Sulpician Fathers had a mission which was part hospital and part school to which Indian Chiefs sent their sons to acquire a smattering of the white man's education. Two days later, Thursday, April 1st, they reached French Mills, now a fully-garrisoned American strongpoint within a short distance of the river. It had taken them nineteen days to get there from New York.
The Fort itself consisted of two square, two-storeyed block houses, with overhanging upper floors roofed with bark. These were connected by palisades made of high’ pointed and pitched stakes lashed securely together. The palisade enclosed a large area into which, in times of
trouble, settlers with their families and livestock could take refuge. It was entered by a single sally port. Now that French Mills had become a frontier post during active warfare, the palisaded enclosure was nowhere near large enough to accommodate the garrison. In consequence, a cantonment had grown up round it, consisting of long hutments for barracks, storehouses and stables. Some of the troops were being drilled and others carrying out fatigues. Among the latter were a number of Indians and, at a cookhouse, Mary noticed with interest a number of fur-clad women collecting rations.
As Roger and his party approached the sally port his heart and Mary's began to beat a little faster, for they both knew that this might prove the end of the road for them. By suffering considerable hardships and discomfort they had succeeded in getting to within a mile of the Canadian frontier. If they could now manage to get across it, they were as good as home.
But there can be many a slip 'twixt cup and lip. Roger had long since learned that Mary had a natural gift for calligraphy, and could even write in Elizabethan script: so a few days before they left New York he had bought a sheet of parchment and asked her to write on it in copperplate what appeared to be a letter of authority from the Department of Rivers and Forests stating that he was a surveyor.
When she had done so and he was about to sign it with a fictitious name, she stopped him and said :
'Would it not be better if we could secure the Minister's signature and I forged it?'
'Forged it?' he had repeated with a frown. 'Are you really capable of doing that ?'
'Oh yes,' she laughed. 'When I was at my academy, on quite a number of occasions I earned a little money by writing essays for lazy rich girls in hands that were near enough to pass as theirs.'
‘It would certainly make the document appear valid, and so save us from dire trouble if anyone to whom we showed it chanced to know the Minister's signature. But how could we get hold of it?' He asked and she had replied.
'You must recall that I bought an autograph book while we were in Stockholm, and that several members of the Royal family were gracious enough to sign it. I could add the signature of Mr. van Wyck, and copy from the draft he gave you last night that of Gouverneur Morris. I'd take my book to the Minister, get him to sign it, then copy his signature onto this document.'
Roger had agreed to Mary's plan and the following day she had succeeded in carrying it out.
But the document's acceptance by the Commanding Officer at French Mills still entailed one very nasty risk. If at his Headquarters there were trained mapmakers, it would soon be realised that Roger was entirely ignorant about such work. Suspicion of his bona-fides would be aroused, a careful watch kept on them, which would prevent their crossing into Canada, and a letter of enquiry about them dispatched to New York. It would emerge that the document was a forgery and further enquiries elicit the fact that they were English. They would then be arrested and charged with having come up to the war zone as spies.
Striving to hide their apprehensions under a calm, unconcerned manner, they walked towards the Fort, eager yet fearful to learn what Fate had in store for them.
7
Disaster
A sentry, smoking a pipe, was lounging by the entrance to the sally port. Roger asked him where his commanding officer could be found. The man jerked his thumb toward the nearer of the blockhouses. 'Colonel Jason be yonder.'
Leaving the Longhunters outside, Roger and Mary entered the stockade. After further enquiries they located the Colonel in one of the buildings, sitting with another officer at a rough, plank table in a back room. It had a dirt floor, was sour-smelling and dim, the only light coming from loopholes in two of the walls. The uniforms of the two officers were dark blue serge, with dull red facings, worn and grease-stained. They were sorting through a small pile of papers, but, greatly to Roger's relief, there were no maps to be seen, or other evidence that this was a military headquarters similar to those he was accustomed to frequent in Europe.
Bowing politely, he took a paper from his pocket, handed it to the elder of the officers and said, 'My name, Sir, is Roger Brook. Permit me to present my wife. These are my credentials.'
As Mary curtseyed, the two men stood up and bowed. The Colonel, who was grey-haired, with a lined face, took the paper.
At Roger's dictation Mary had headed it, 'To whom it may concern,' then written :
( Mr. Roger Brook of this city is a qualified surveyor in the employ of my department, and his wife is his assistant. This is to request that every assistance shall be given to them to carry out their work and, where possible, accommodation be provided for them/
Beneath this she had forged the signature of Andrew Stapleton—the name of the Minister concerned—then had carefully printed underneath: DEPARTMENT OF RIVERS AND FORESTS.
For a long moment they waited in acute suspense while Colonel Jason read it He then looked up and, to their immense relief, showed no suspicion that the document might be a forgery. 'Well, Mr. Brook,' he said. 'What can I do for you?'
'As you must be aware, Sir,' Roger replied, 'the maps of this remote part of New York State are most indifferent. I have been sent here to make better ones. If you can provide my wife and me with accommodation we should be most grateful. And rations. For the latter I am, of course, quite willing to pay, as they will be charged to my department.'
The Colonel nodded. 'That's no great problem. The fort itself is fuller than a barrel of herrings; but, as you'll have seen, we've built scores of shacks nearby. Long huts for the men and cabins for the officers and some of the wives who've been living here witii them all winter. But now the fighting'll soon start again, several of the ladies have already left.'
With a wave of his hand toward the other officer, he added, 'This is Captain Dayho. He'll take you along and allot you quarters.'
The Brooks exchanged bows with Dayho, then thanked the Colonel. All had gone smoothly and th
ey could now hope that within a few days they would be across the river.
The Captain, a sprightly, youngish man with bushy side-whiskers, escorted them to the sally port, where Roger presented Ben Log and Shorty to him. Accompanied by the two Longhunters, they walked for some distance through dirty slush along a path to a large clearing in which there were a score or more of cabins. Most of them were still occupied, but several had been abandoned, the wives having left and their husbands having moved into one of the long huts reserved for officers. After looking into several, Mary chose one which had been left in a cleaner condition than the others. It was furnished only with a broad, leathermesh bed on which there was a thin palliasse stuffed with straw, a rough-hewn table, several empty packing cases that could be used either to sit on or keep spare clothes in, and an iron brazier.
Smiling at Mary, Dayho said, 'Not much of a place for a lady like you, Ma'am, but it's the best we can do. There's a woodstack behind this row of cabins, from which you can collect logs for your fire, and any of the other ladies in the clearing will tell you where you can draw your rations. As you are from New York, I fear you will find social life here very dull. Colonel Jason takes the view that parties should be discouraged, as they distract his officers from their dooties.'
Turning to Roger, he went on, 'You suggested paying for your rations, Sir, but that is quite unnecessary. And we shall be happy to make you an honorary member of our Mess whenever you care to come to it. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back, as we are exceptionally hard at it preparing for the new campaign.'
When he had left them Shorty went round to the woodstack, collected some logs and got a fire going in the brazier, while Ben Log went to fetch the covered wagon. They unloaded all their belongings, then Roger paid off the half-breed driver.
The Longhunters realised that now Roger and Mary had been installed in the camp they would no longer need their services so, after a drink of spruce all round, the good-byes were said. Roger offered them a bonus on the sum agreed, but smilingly they refused to take it, declaring that it had been a privilege and a pleasure to escort such a gay and uncomplaining little lady as Mary on a trek. Not to be outdone, she kissed them both on their bearded cheeks. Then, with their long, loping stride, these two of Nature's gentlemen went on their way.
After distributing their things about the cabin and arranging it as comfortably as possible, Roger and Mary went out to make acquaintance with their nearest neighbours. The men were on duty with their troops and there were only a few, furclad women about. They were all of a type that Americans describe as very 'ornary', and a little over-awed by Mary's ladylike appearance, which she could not disguise; but they were pleasant and helpful about telling of the life of the camp.
That evening Roger tactfully acted on Captain Dayho's invitation to make use of the Officers' Mess, and spent an hour or so drinking with several of the members to whom Dayho introduced him. As he had expected, only the few seniors were regulars, the others being Militia and mostly farmers or storekeepers from small up-country towns. Nearly all of them wished the war soon over, as their hearts were not in it, and Roger felt sorry for them because they obviously knew next to nothing about soldiering and could not hope to stand up against equal numbers of well-disciplined British troops.
When he got back to the cabin he found that Mary had succeeded in making a stew from some venison left them by the Longhunters, but it had proved a far from pleasant task, as the only means of cooking was the brazier and there was no chimney, only a hole in the roof to let out the smoke. The cabin was half-filled with it, and her eyes were smarting painfully.
She had also had an unnerving experience when going to the woodpile for more logs. Strange noises were coming from it, and she had feared they were from some wild animal. But she had been reassured by another woman coming up, who laughed at her, then told her it was only a chipmunk and quite harmless.
Anxious to get away as soon as possible from these comfortless conditions, they went out early the following morn-, ing, armed with Roger's theodolite and a book for making notes. On reaching the river they found, to their disappointment, that the bank there was a sheer cliff nearly a hundred feet deep, and that the river below was only partly frozen with, between the ice along both banks, a raging torrent caused by the melting snow.
Pretending to take observations now and then, they made their way upstream for several miles, only to find that, although dangerous-looking paths wound down the cliff here and there, at no place was it possible to cross the river. Next day they explored the territory in the opposite direction, but met with no better fortune. At one place there was a tangle of rocks where it would have been possible in summer to cross by scrambling from one to another, but now the rocks were half-submerged in clouds of white, foaming water cascading over them.
Their third day being a Sunday, convention prohibited them from appearing to do any work but, after attending service they went for a long walk. At dusk, tired and depressed, they were about to re-enter the camp when, just outside it, they came upon a group of men. In the centre was an Indian and standing round him were half a dozen soldiers. As Roger and Mary approached they saw that he was a youngish man and, by the scarlet feather that dangled from his scalp-lock, a brave. His furs had been taken from him, one of the soldiers had put a noose of rope over his head, while another threw the other end over the low branch of a big tree. Although the native was half-naked in the biting cold, and obviously about to be hanged, he stood erect and unmoving, his proud face showing no trace of fear.
Halting beside the group, Roger asked the sergeant in charge. 'Why are you about to hang this man?'
'Because 'e's a dirty spy, Sirre,' replied the N.G.O. 'We roped him in this mornin' an' we're wise to 'is tribe. 'E comes from over thar, across the river.'
Mary's heart was wrung with pity for the impassive brave, and she exclaimed to Roger, 'Can we do nothing to save him?'
Not wishing to show pity in front of the American soldiers for one of their enemies, she had spoken in French. Immediately the Indian was galvanised into speech. In the French patois that was the lingua franca of the Indians in Canada, his dark eyes flashing, he cried:
'I beg your help! I am a Christian. The rich furs you wear and those of he who is with you tell me that he is a great Chief. Beautiful lady, I implore you. I implore you do not stand by and let them take my life.'
Roger well knew that hanging was the normal penalty for any spy who was caught, but he also felt a natural pity for this brave man. Suddenly, he had had an inspiration, and said to the sergeant:
'As I am not one of your officers, I cannot give you an order; but I can give you a very good reason why you should not yet hang this fellow. He tells me he is a Christian. As you probably know, nearly all Indian Christians in Canada have been converted by the Fathers. He is therefore a Roman Catholic. As such he naturally wishes to make confession before he dies, and receive absolution for his sins. It is only reasonable that he should be kept prisoner for a few days until one of the priests from St. Regis can be brought up here to perform the last rites for him.'
There ensued an argument between Roger and the sergeant, but one of the soldiers happened to be a Catholic, and broke in strongly to support Roger's contention; so it was decided that the prisoner should be taken to the fort and brought before the Commandant for his decision.
After a wait of half an hour the grey-haired Colonel Jason received them and listened to what Roger had to say. As the Colonel could speak no French and wished to interrogate the Indian, Roger acted as interpreter. It transpired that the man was a Cree Indian named Leaping Squirrel. He was twenty-four years old and son of a Sagamore who ruled over many lesser Chiefs. At the age of fourteen his father had sent him to the Jesuit mission at Caughnawaga, near Montreal. There he had been baptised and remained for two years, learning to read and write in French, and about the life of Jesus Christ. To prove his assertion he recited the Lord's Prayer and some pa
ssages from the Gospels.
There could be no doubt that he had been sent across the river to get some idea of the strength of the American forces in that area, so the Colonel was in no mood to show him mercy; but he did agree to grant a reprieve until a Catholic priest could be brought up from St. Regis to hear the man's confession.
Roger then said, 'That may take a week or more, Sir. In the meantime would you allow me to take charge of him? As a servant he could relieve my wife for a while of some of the menial tasks, to which she is unaccustomed. Moreover, since he must know a good deal about the territory in this neighbourhood, I have no doubt that he would be willing, out of gratitude, to help me with my surveying.'
The Colonel considered for a moment. As the Brooks were supposed to be Americans, they had agreed when leaving New York that Mary should be known as Mrs. Brook instead of Lady Mary. But on his visits to the Mess Roger had casually mentioned that he had been a friend for many years of Gouverneur Morris, and named several other prominent New Yorkers he had met while a guest of the van Wycks. In consequence the Colonel had come to regard him as a man with influence, whose wishes it would be wise to humour. Looking up, he said:
'Mr. Brook, realising that your wife is a lady of quality, I should have liked to provide her with a servant. But to do so would have been unfair to the wives of my officers, who have to fend for themselves. However, I see no reason why you should not have the use of this man while he remains with us. In the daytime, of course, you will be armed, so could shoot him if he attempts to escape. But what of the nights? I have no other prisoners as yet, every room in the fort is occupied, and I am loath to spare men to stand guard over him in a cabin.'
Roger swiftly countered that by saying, 'If he is given back his furs, Sir, he is used to sleeping in the open. He would be as much a prisoner if he dosses down within the compound as he would be in a cell, for without help he could not possibly climb out over the palisade.'
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