Matilda Montgomerie Or The Prophecy Fulfilled Part 20

It was a picturesque sight to those who lingered on the banks of the Detroit, to watch the movement of that ma.s.s of guns, ammunition, cars and sledges, preceding the regular march of the troops, as the whole crossed the firm but rumbling ice, at the head of the now deserted Island of Bois Blanc. Nor was this at all lessened in effect by the wild and irregular movements of the Indians, who, advancing by twos and threes, but more often singly, and bounding nimbly yet tortuously, along the vast white field with which the outline of their swarthy forms contrasted, called up at the outset, the idea of a legion of devils.

It was during one of the coldest mornings in January, that this little army bivouaced on the banks of a small rivulet, distant little more than a league from the position which had been taken up by the Americans. So unexpected and rapid had been the advance of the expedition, that not the slightest suspicion appeared to be entertained by the Americans even of its departure; and from information brought at a late hour by the Indian scouts, who had been dispatched at nightfall to observe their motions, it was gathered that, so far from apprehending or being prepared for an attack, all was quiet in their camp, in which the customary night-fires were then burning. Thus favored by the false security of their enemies, the British force, after partaking of their rude but substantial meal, and preparing their arms, laid themselves down to rest in their accoutrements and great coats; their heads reclining on whatever elevation, however small, presented itself, and their feet half buried in the embers of the fires they had with difficulty kindled on the frozen ground, from which the snow had been removed--all sanguine of success, and all more or less endeavoring to s.n.a.t.c.h, amid the nipping frost to which their upper persons were exposed, a few hours of sleep prior to the final advance, which was to take place an hour before dawn.

In the midst of the general desolateness of aspect which encompa.s.sed all, there were few privations endured by the men that were not equally shared by their officers. A solitary and deserted log hut was the only thing in the shape of a human habitation within the bivouac, and this had been secured as the headquarters of the General and his staff--all besides had no other canopy than the clear starry heavens, or, here and there, the leafless and unsheltering branches of some forest tree--and yet, around one large and blazing fire, which continued to be fed at intervals by ma.s.ses of half-decayed wood, that, divested of their snow, lay simmering and drying before it, was frequently to be heard the joyous yet suppressed laugh, and piquant sally, as of men whose spirits no temporary hardship or concern for the eventful future could effectually suppress.

During the whole of the march, Raymond had evinced a seriousness of demeanor by no means common to him, and although he had made one of the party in the general bivouac, he had scarcely opened his lips, except to reply to the most direct questions. A renewed attack at first drew from him no comment, although it was evident he felt greatly pained; but when he had finished smoking his cigar, he raised himself, not without difficulty, from the ground, and began with a seriousness of manner that, being unusual, not a little surprised them, "Gentlemen, you have long been pleased to select me as your b.u.t.t."

"Of course," hastily interrupted Captain Molineux, hazarding his pun, "we naturally select you for what you most resemble."

"Captain Molineux--gentlemen!" resumed Raymond, with greater emphasis.

"He is getting warm on the subject," observed Middlemore. "Have a care, Molineux, that the b.u.t.t does not _churn_ until in the end it becomes the _b.u.t.ter_."

"Ha! ha! ha!" vociferated St. Clair, "good, excellent, the best you ever made, Middlemore."

"Gentlemen!" persevered Raymond, in a tone, and with a gesture, of impatience, "this trifling will be deeply regretted by you all to-morrow; I repeat," he pursued, when he found he had at length succeeded in procuring silence, "you have long been pleased to select me as your b.u.t.t, and while this was confined to my personal appearance, painful as I have sometimes found your humor, I could still endure it; but when I perceive those whom I have looked upon as friends and brothers, casting imputations upon my courage, I may be excused for feeling offended. You have succeeded in wounding my heart, and some of you will regret the hour when you did so. Another, perhaps, would adopt a different course, but I am not disposed to return evil for evil. I wish to believe, that in all your taunts upon this subject you have merely indulged your bantering humor--but not the less have you pained an honest heart. To-morrow will prove that you have grievously wronged me, and I am mistaken if you will not deeply regret it."

So saying, he hurried away across the snow towards a distant fire, which lighted the ruder bivouac of the adjutant and quartermaster, and was there seen to seat himself with the air of one who has composed himself for the night.

"What a silly fellow, to take the thing so seriously!" said Molineux, half vexed at himself, half moved by the reproachful tone of Raymond's address.

"For G.o.d's sake, Grantham, call him back. Tell him we are ready to make any--every atonement for our offence," urged St. Clair.

"And I will promise never to utter another pun at his expense as long as I live," added Middlemore.

But before Henry Grantham, who had been a pained and silent witness of the scene, and who had already risen with a view to follow the wounded Raymond, could take a single step on his mission of peace, the low roll of the drum, summoning to fall in, warned them that the hour of action had already arrived, and each, quitting his fire, hastened to the more immediate and pressing duties of a.s.sembling his men, and carefully examining into the state of their appointments.

In ten minutes from the beating of the _reveille_--considerably shorn of its wonted proportions, as the occasion demanded--the bivouac had been abandoned, and the little army again upon their march. What remained to be traversed of the s.p.a.ce that separated them from the enemy, was an alternation of plain and open forest, but so completely in juxtaposition, that the head of the column had time to clear one wood and enter a second before its rear could disengage itself from the first. The effect of this, by the dim and peculiar light reflected from the snow across which they moved, was picturesque in the extreme, nor was the interest diminished by the utter silence that had pervaded every part of the little army, the measured tramp of whose march, mingled with the hollow and unavoidable rumbling of the light guns, being the only sounds to be heard amid that ma.s.s of living matter. The Indians, with the exception of a party of scouts, had been the last to quit their rude encampment, and as they now, in their eagerness to get to the front, glided stealthily by in the deep snows on either side of the more beaten track by which the troops advanced, and utterly without sound in their foot-fall they might rather have been compared to spirits of the wilds, than to human beings.

The regiment having been told off into divisions, it so happened that Raymond and Henry Grantham, although belonging to different companies, now found themselves near each other. The latter had been most anxious to approach his really good-hearted companion, with a view to soothe his wounded feelings, and to convey, in the fullest and most convincing terms, the utter disclaimer of his inconsiderate brother officers, to reflect seriously on his conduct in the recent retreat--or, indeed, to intend their observations for anything beyond a mere pleasantry. As, however, the strictest order had been commanded to be observed in the march, and Raymond and he happened to be at opposite extremities of the division, this had been for some time impracticable. A temporary halt having occurred, just as the head of the column came within sight of the enemy's fires, Grantham quitted his station on the flank, and hastened to the head of his division, where he found Raymond with his arms folded across his chest, and apparently absorbed in deep thought. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and inquired in a tone of much kindness the subject of his musing.

Touched by the manner in which he was addressed, Raymond dropped his arms and grasping the hand of the youth, observed in his usual voice; "Ah, is it you Henry--Egad, my dear boy, I was just thinking of you--and how very kind you have always been; never quizzing me as those thoughtless fellows have done--and certainly never insinuating anything against my courage--that was too bad, Henry, too bad, I could have forgiven anything but that."

"Nay, nay, Raymond," answered his companion, soothingly; "believe me, neither Molineux, nor Middlemore, nor St. Clair meant anything beyond a jest. I can a.s.sure you they did not, for when you quitted us they asked me to go in search of you, but the a.s.sembly then commencing to beat, I was compelled to hasten to my company, nor have I had an opportunity of seeing you until now."

"Very well, Henry, I forgive them, for it is not in my nature to keep anger long; but tell them that they should not wantonly wound the feelings of an unoffending comrade. As I told them, they may regret their unkindness to me before another sun has set. If so, I wish them no other punishment."

"What mean you, my dear Raymond?"

"Egad! I scarcely know myself, but something tells me very forcibly my hour is come."

"Nonsense, this is but the effect of the depression, produced by fatigue and over excitement, added to the recent annoyance of your feelings."

"Whatever it proceed from, I had made up my mind to it before we set out. Henry, my kind good Henry, I have neither friend nor relative on earth--no one to inherit the little property I possess. In the event of my falling, you will find the key of my desk in the breast pocket of my coat. A paper in that desk appoints you my executor. Will you accept the trust?"

"Most sacredly, Raymond, will I fulfil every instruction it contains should I myself survive; but I cannot, will not, bring myself to antic.i.p.ate your fall."

"Move on, move on," pa.s.sed quickly in a whisper from front to rear of the column.

"G.o.d bless you, Henry," exclaimed Raymond, again pressing the hand of the youth--"remember the key."

"We shall talk of that to-night," was the light reply. "Meanwhile, dear Raymond, G.o.d bless you," and again Grantham fell back to his place in the rear of the division.

Five minutes later, and the troops were finally brought up in front of the enemy. A long line of fires marked the extent of the encampment, from which even then, the "all's well" of the sentinels could be occasionally heard. Except these, all profoundly slept, nor was there anything to indicate they had the slightest suspicion of an enemy being within twenty miles of them.

"What glorious cannon work we shall have presently," whispered Villiers to Molineux, as they were brought together by their stations at the adjacent extremities of their respective division. "Only mark how the fellows sleep."

"The devil take the cannon," muttered Villiers, "the bayonet for me, but you are right, for see, there go the guns to the front--hark there is a shot; the sentinels have discovered us at last; and now they are starting from before their fires, and hastening to s.n.a.t.c.h their arms."

Whist, whist, whist, flew three b.a.l.l.s successively between their heads.

"Ha, here they begin to talk to us in earnest, and now to our duty."

The next moment all was roar, and bustle, and confusion, and death.

The sun was in the meridian; all sounds of combat had ceased. From the field, in which the troops had commenced the action, numerous sledges were seen departing, laden with the dead--the wounded having previously been sent off. One of these sledges remained stationary at some distance within the line, where the ravages of death were marked by pools of blood upon the snow, and at this point were grouped several individuals, a.s.sembled round a body which was about to be conveyed away.

"By Heavens, I would give the world never to have said an unkind word to him," observed one, whose arm suspended from a sling, attested he had not come scatheless out of the action. It was St. Clair, whose great ambition it had always been to have his name borne among the list of wounded--provided there were no broken bones in the question.

"As brave as he was honest-hearted," added a second, "you say, Grantham, that he forgave us all our nonsense."

"He did, Molineux. He declared he could not bear resentment against you long. But still, I fear, he could not so easily forget. He observed to me, jestingly, just before deploying into line, that he felt his time was come, but there can be no doubt, from what we all witnessed, that he was determined from the outset to court his death."

Captain Molineux turned away, apparently much affected--Middlemore spoke not, but it was evident he also was deeply pained. Each seemed to feel that he had been in some degree accessory to the catastrophe, but the past could not be recalled. The body, covered with blood, exuding from several wounds, was now placed on the sledge which was drawn off to join several others just departed, and the lingering officers hastened to overtake their several companies.

When the action was at the hottest, one of the small guns in front (all of which had been fearfully exposed), was left without a single artilleryman. Availing themselves of this circ.u.mstance, the enemy, who were unprovided with artillery of any description, made a movement as if to possess themselves of, and turn it against the attacking force, then closing rapidly to dispute the possession of the breast work which covered their riflemen. Colonel St. Julian seeing this movement, called out for volunteers to rescue the gun from its perilous situation.

Scarcely had the words pa.s.sed his lips when an individual moved forward from the line, in the direction indicated. It was Lieutenant Raymond--Exposed to the fire, both of friends and foes, the unfortunate officer advanced calmly and unconcernedly, in the presence of the whole line, and before the Americans could succeed in even crossing their defences, had seized the gun by the drag rope, and withdrawn it under cover of the English fire. But this gallant act of self-devotedness, was not without its terrible price. Pierced by many b.a.l.l.s, which the American riflemen had immediately directed at him, he fell dying within ten feet of the British line, brandishing his sword and faintly shouting a "huzza," that was answered by his companions with the fierce spirit of men stung to new exertion, and determined to avenge his fall.

Thus perished the fat, the plain, the carbuncled, but really gallant-hearted Raymond--whose intrinsic worth was never estimated until he had ceased to exist. His fall, and all connected therewith, forms a sort of episode in our story, yet is it one not altogether without its moral. A private monument, on which was inscribed all that may soothe and flatter after death, was erected to his memory by those very officers whose persiflage, attacking in this instance even his honor as a soldier, had driven him to seek the fate he found. Of this there could be no question; for, brave as he unquestionably was, Raymond would not have acted as if courting death throughout, had he not fully made up his mind either to gain great distinction or to die under the eyes of those who had, he conceived, so greatly injured him. It is but justice to add that, for three days from his death, Middlemore did not utter a single pun, neither did St. Clair or Molineux indulge in a satirical observation.

CHAPTER XX.

The spring of 1813 had pa.s.sed nearly away, yet without producing any renewed effort on the part of the Americans. From information obtained from the Indian scouts, it however appeared that, far from being discouraged by their recent disaster, they had moved forward a third army to the Miami, where they had strongly entrenched themselves, until fitting opportunity should be found to renew their attempt to recover the lost district. It was also ascertained that, with a perseverance and industry peculiar to themselves, they had been occupied throughout the rigorous winter in preparing a fleet of sufficient force to compete with that of the British; and that, abandoning the plan hitherto pursued by his predecessors, the American leader of this third army of invasion purposed transporting his troops across the lake, instead of running the risk of being hara.s.sed and cut up in an advance by land. To effect this, it was of course necessary to have the command of the lake, and there were all the sinews of exertion called into full exercise, to obtain the desired ascendancy.

To defeat this intention became now the chief object of the British General. With the close of winter had ceased the hunting pursuits of the warriors, so that each day brought with it a considerable accession to the strength of this wild people, vast numbers of whom had betaken themselves to their hunting grounds, shortly after the capture of Detroit. The chiefs of these several nations were now summoned to a Council, in the course of which it was decided that a formidable expedition, accompanied by a heavy train of battering artillery, should embark in batteaux, with a view to the reduction of the American post established on the Miami--a nucleus around which was fast gathering a spirit of activity that threatened danger, if not annihilation, to the English influence in the North Western districts. In the event of the accomplishment of this design, Detroit and Amherstburg would necessarily be released from all apprehension, since, even admitting the Americans could acquire a superiority of naval force on the lake, such superiority could only be essentially injurious to us, as a means of affording transport to, and covering the operations of an invading army. If, however, that already on the Miami could be defeated, and their fortress razed, it was not probable that a fourth could be equipped and pushed forward, with a view to offensive operations, in sufficient time to accomplish anything decisive before the winter should set in. Tec.u.mseh, who had just returned from collecting new bodies of warriors, warmly approved the project, and undertook to bring two thousand men into the field, as his quota of the expedition, the departure of which was decided for the seventh day from the Council.

The day on which that Council was held, was characterized by one of those sudden outbursts of elemental war, so common to the Canadas in early summer, and which, in awful grandeur of desolation, are frequently scarcely inferior to the hurricanes of the tropics. The morning had been oppressively sultry, and there was that general and heavy lethargy of nature that usually precedes a violent reaction. About noon a small, dark speck was visible in the hitherto cloudless horizon, and this presently grew in size until the whole western sky was one dense ma.s.s of threatening black, which eventually spread itself over the entire surface of the heavens leaving not a hand's breadth anywhere visible.

Presently, amid the sultry stillness that prevailed, there came a slight breeze over the face of the waters, and then, as if some vast battering train had suddenly opened its hundred mouths of terror, vomiting forth showers of grape and other missiles, come astounding thunder-claps, and forked lightnings, and rain, and hail, and whistling wind--all in such terrible union, yet such fearful disorder, that man, the last to take warning, or feel awed by the anger of the common parent, Nature, bent his head in lowliness and silence to her voice, and awaited tremblingly the pa.s.sing away of her wrath.

Henry Grantham, whose turn of duty had again brought him to Amherstburg, was in the mess-room of the garrison when the storm was at the fiercest.

Notwithstanding the excitement of the council-scene, at which he had been present, he had experienced an unusual depression throughout the day, originating partly in the languid state of the atmosphere, but infinitely more in the anxiety under which he labored in regard to his brother, of whom no other intelligence had been received, since his departure with his prisoners for Buffalo, than what vague rumor, coupled with the fact of the continued absence of the schooner, afforded. That the vessel had been captured by the enemy there could be no doubt; but, knowing as he did, the gallant spirit of Gerald, there was reason to imagine that he had not yielded to his enemies, before every means of resistance had been exhausted: and if so, what might not have been the effect of his obstinacy, if such a term could be applied to unshaken intrepidity, on men exasperated by opposition and eager for revenge. In the outset he had admitted his gentle cousin Gertrude to his confidence, as one most suited, by her docility, to soothe without appearing to remark on his alarm, but when, little suspecting the true motive of her agitation, he saw her evince an emotion surpa.s.sing his own, and admitting and giving way to fears beyond any he would openly avow, he grew impatient and disappointed, and preferring rather to hear the tocsin of alarm sounded from his own heart than from the lips of another, he suddenly, and much to the surprise of the affectionate girl, discontinued all allusion to the subject. But Henry's anxiety was not the less poignant from being confined within his own breast, and although it gratified him to find that flattering mention was frequently made of his brother at the mess-table, coupled with regret for his absence, it was reserved for his hours of privacy and abstraction to dwell upon the fears which daily became more hara.s.sing and perplexing.

On the present occasion, even while his brother officers had thought nor ear but for the terrible tempest that raged without, and at one moment threatened to bury them beneath its trembling roof, the mind of Henry was full of his absent brother, whom, more than ever, he now seemed to regret, from the a.s.sociation of the howling tempest with the wild element on which he had last beheld him; and so complete at last had become the ascendancy of his melancholy, that when the storm had been in some degree stilled, and the rain abated, he took an early leave of his companions, with a view to indulge in privacy the gloomy feelings by which he felt himself oppressed.