How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and QuebecBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
History
How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction
"Sure we'll rush 'em," burst in Mac, his red beard trembling, so
greatly was he excited. "Give the word, sor, and bedad, 'tis mesilf as
will charge all alone. Them Frenchies'll never stand."
"Perhaps not. But we must make sure. We must drive them off and allow
sufficient time in which to spike the guns. Now, look here, Mac. If
we charge them, hold your fire whatever you do. Use the butt or your
tomahawk. If they bolt, then sit down and watch for their return. I
shall use my axe to drive in the spikes."
There was no need for further arrangement, and so they set off again,
this time turning sharp to their left in the direction of the guns.
For the cannon still bellowed at intervals, and on one occasion, when
the wind blew the whirling flakes aside for a moment, Steve saw the
flash distinctly. In a little while the two were bent almost double,
for they were within earshot, and presently they halted behind an
enormous oak, for the guns were in sight, half-a-dozen dim figures
working about them, sometimes in view and sometimes blotted out
altogether by the snow. But there were others there also. As Steve
and Mac stared at the place, endeavouring to make out the precise
surroundings, they became aware that other figures were silently
gathering, that the space behind the guns was being filled by a
company of blanketed men, from whose scalp locks fell a crest of
trailing feathers. The red and white and blue painted faces showed up
through the storm, and soon there could not be a doubt that the Indian
allies of the French were there. Suddenly a tall figure appeared
amongst them and a voice was heard.
"Your chief," said the French officer in his own tongue. "Good. You
can understand me and tell your friends. The snow falls heavily,
chief."
"It falls," was the response, in passable French.
"And hides us from these pale faces. Now is the time for Hurons to
strike with their tomahawks. Let them climb to the back of this
hummock and fall upon the pale faces from there. We who have just been
beaten back will attack from the front."
There was a minute or more of delay while the Huron chief turned to
his comrades. Then he swept round and faced the French officer.
"It is well," he said. "In a short while we shall be there. Will you
and your men crawl forward now and wait for our shouts. Then charge,
and it may happen that you will find us in possession and these men
all slain and scalped."
The officer nodded curtly, and then as Steve and Mac looked on, the
band of Indians tossed their blankets aside as formerly and went off
in single file. Steve was still gaping with astonishment and dismay as
the figure of the last disappeared in the forest.
"They are off to surprise the back of the fort," he whispered. "The
question now is, whether we ought to return so as to warn our friends,
or whether we should stay."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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