The Bastonnais: Tale of the American Invasion of Canada in 1775-76 — John Shaqi
The Bastonnais: Tale of the American Invasion of Canada in 1775-76Lespérance, John
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The Bastonnais: Tale of the American Invasion of Canada in 1775-76
Lespérance, John
Canadian Invasion, 1775-1776 -- Fiction
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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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