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
"With care, it will be well," said Silver Fox, as Jim turned to him as
if to ask for his decision. "See, my brother, behind the smoke there
will be the sky, and it is clear and white. If dry chips are used
there will be a little white smoke perhaps, but none that is dark. We
can keep fire within the fort once it has been set alight. Truly, you
pale faces think of strange things. Where my brothers and I would have
set our wigwams in the thickest forest, there seeking protection from
the snow and keen winter winds, you come hither and burrow like foxes.
You make one big wigwam where we should have seen no opportunity of
doing so, and as I look on and smoke you erect a fort which is strong
against attack, which is a watch-tower from which you can see every
foot of the lakes, and which also is a comfortable lair in which the
firelight can be seen, and where we may huddle about the warmth, and
smoke and think. Truly there is no understanding you men who have come
so strangely from over the water."
The tall Indian brave wrapped his blanket still closer about his
figure, and gazed out at the huge panorama stretched before him.
There lay the glistening surface of the two lakes, now clad with ice
from end to end, and fringed all about by continuous forest, which
grew up to the banks and cast there a deep shadow, which looked
black against the white of the ice. And away in the distance the
faint reflection from another long expanse of frozen water, Lake
Champlain, called after that famous Frenchman who had done so much
for New France, and who had founded Quebec. It, too, was clad in a
garment of white, snow hanging to the trees, and in the dull wintry
green of the pines, which grew thickly there. For background there
was the blue haze of the Adirondacks and the Green Mountains, now
the favourite haunt of thousands of holiday-seeking Americans. And
still farther to the north, buried in the dull horizon and behind it,
lay the Richelieu river, with its few forts, and its _seigneuries_,
where the _gentilhommes_ of this new colony, the lately-constructed
noblesse, sat in their palisaded houses watching as their _habitants_
cooked their food or went a-hunting. Then it was that these noblesse
might don doe-skin leggings, shirt, and moccasins, and clad in the
thick fur coats, with hoods, worn by the Indians of Canada, and with
thick mittens slung about their necks, might venture into the forest
with the _habitants_ and enjoy all the excitement of the chase. Yes,
they could hunt and fight, but work, never! Each one was the seigneur,
and the lords of Old and New France never blistered their palms nor
dirtied their fingers.
"We're almost ready," said Steve, as he stood beside the tall Silver
Fox, staring out at the scene below. "What we want now is a wall of
snow here in front. How are we to set about building it?"
"It's as easy as fallin'," answered Jim at once. "Look up there,
Cap'n."
He pointed to the leaden sky above, and held his hand up for a minute.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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