The Sun Of Quebec Part 40

Montcalm's army included the veterans of many victories. Through long years they had fought valiantly for France in North America. At Ticonderoga they had shown how they could triumph over great odds, over men as brave as themselves, and, as they pressed through the narrow streets of the quaint old town, they did not doubt that they were going to another victory. With them, too, were the swart Canadians fighting for their homes, their flag and, as they believed then, for their religion, animated, too, by confidence in their courage, and belief in the skill of their leaders who had so seldom failed.

Behind the French and the Canadians were the Indians who had been drawn so freely to Montcalm's banner by his success, thinking anew of slaughter and untold spoil, such as they had known at William Henry and such as they might have had at Ticonderoga. The gigantic Tandakora, painted hideously, led them, and in all that motley array there was no soul more eager than his for the battle.

On that eventful morning, which the vast numbers of later wars cannot dim, the councils of France were divided. Vaudreuil, fearing an attack on the Beauport sh.o.r.e, did not give the valiant Montcalm all the help that he could spare, nor did De Ramesay, commanding the garrison of Quebec, send the artillery that the Marquis asked.

But Montcalm was resolute. His soul was full of fire. He looked at the ranks of Wolfe's army drawn up before him on the Plains of Abraham, and he did not hesitate to attack. He would not wait for Bougainville, nor would he hold back for the garrison of Quebec. He saw that the gauge of battle had been flung down to him and he knew that he must march at once upon the British--and the Americans. Mounted on a black horse, he rode up and down the lines, waving or pointing his sword, his dark face alive with energy.

Montcalm now formed his men in three divisions. M. de Senezergues led the left wing made up of the regiments of Guienne and Royal Roussillon, supported by Canadian militia. M. de Saint Ours took the right wing with the battalion of La Sarre and more Canadian militia. Montcalm was in the center with the regiment of Languedoc and the battalion of Bearn. On both flanks were Canadians and numerous Indians.

Robert from his position on a little knoll with Willet and Tayoga watched all these movements, and he was scarcely conscious of the pa.s.sage of time. There was a shifting in the British army also, as it perfected its alignment, and the bagpipes of the Scotchmen were already screaming defiance, but his eyes were mainly for the French before him.

He recognized Montcalm as he rode up and down the lines, raising his sword, and presently he saw another gallant figure on horseback that he knew. It was St. Luc, and the old thrill shot through him: St. Luc for whom the ancient M. de Chatillard had taken him, St. Luc with whom he must have some blood tie.

Though it was now far beyond the time for the rising of the sun, the day was still dark, heavy with clouds, and now and then a puff of rain was blown in the faces of the waiting men, though few took notice. The wait and the preparations had to Robert all the aspects of a duel, and the incessant shrill screaming of the Scotch bagpipes put a fever in his blood, setting all the little pulses in his head and body to beating.

Ever after he maintained that the call of the bagpipes was the most martial music in the world.

The crackle of firing broke out on the flanks. The Canadian and Indian sharpshooters, from the shelter of houses, bushes and knolls, had opened fire. Now and then a man in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe neither moved nor replied, though some of the New England rangers, stealing forward, began to send bullets at their targets.

"I see Tandakora," said Tayoga, "and, in an hour, the score between us will be settled. Tododaho told me so last night, but it is still uncertain which shall be the victor."

"Can't you get a shot at him?" asked Robert.

"It is not yet time, Dagaeoga. Tododaho will say when the moment comes for me to pull trigger on the Ojibway."

Then Robert's gaze shifted back to the figure of St. Luc. The chevalier rode a white horse, and he was helping Montcalm to form the lines in the best order for the attack. He too held in his hand a sword, the small sword that Robert had seen before, but he seldom waved it.

"Are they ever coming?" asked Robert, who felt as if he had been standing on the field many hours.

"We've not long to wait now, lad," replied Willet. "Our own army is ready and I think the fate of America will soon be decided here on this cloudy morning."

Another light puff of rain struck Robert in the face, but as before he did not notice it. The crackling fire of the sharpshooters increased.

They were stinging the British flanks and more men in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe remained immovable, waiting, always waiting. It was for Montcalm now to act. French field pieces added their roar to the crackle of rifles and muskets, and now and then the fierce yell of the Indians rose above both. Robert thought he saw a general movement in the French lines, and his thought was Willet's also.

"The moment has come! Steady, lads! Steady!" said the hunter.

The whole French army suddenly began to advance, the veterans and the militia together, uttering great shouts, while the Indians on the flanks gave forth the war whoop without ceasing. Robert remained motionless.

The steadfastness of soul that he had acquired on the island controlled him now. Inwardly he was in a fever, but outwardly he showed no emotion.

He glanced at Montcalm on the black horse, and St. Luc on the white, and then at the scarlet and silent ranks of Wolfe's army. But the French were coming fast, and he knew that silence would soon burst into sudden and terrible action.

"The French lines are being thrown into confusion by the unevenness of the ground and the rapidity of their advance," said Willet. "Their surprise at our being here is so great that it has unsteadied them. Now they are about to open fire!"

The front of the charging French burst into flame and the bullets sang in the scarlet ranks. Wolfe's army suddenly began to move forward, but still it did not fire, although the battle of the skirmishers on the flanks was rapidly increasing in ferocity. The rangers were busy now, replying to the Indians and Canadians, but Robert still took rapid glances and he looked oftenest toward the Americans, where his friends stood. The advance of the French became almost a run, and he saw all the muskets and rifles of his own army go up.

A tremendous volley burst from the scarlet ranks, so loud and so close together that it sounded like one vast cannon shot. It was succeeded presently by another, and then by an irregular but fierce fire, which died in its turn to let the smoke lift.

Robert saw a terrible sight. The ground where the French army had stood was literally covered with dead and wounded. The two volleys fired at close range had mowed them down like grain. The French army, smitten unto death, was reeling back, and the British, seizing the moment, rushed forward with bayonet and drawn sword. The Highlanders, as they charged with the broadsword, uttered a tremendous yell, and Robert saw his own Americans in the front of the rush. He caught one glimpse of the tall figure of Charteris and he saw Colden near him. Then they were all lost in the smoke as they attacked.

But Wolfe had fallen. Struck by three bullets, the last time in the breast, he staggered and sat down. Men rushed to his aid, but he lived just long enough to know that he had won the victory. Before the firing died away, he was dead. Montcalm, still on horseback, was shot through the body, but he was taken into the city, where he died the night of the next day. Senezergues, his second in command, was also mortally wounded, and Monckton, who was second to Wolfe, fell badly wounded too.

But Robert did not yet know any of these facts. He was conscious only of victory. He heard the triumphant cheers of Wolfe's army and he saw that the French had stopped, then that they were breaking. He felt again that powerful thrill, but now it was the thrill of victory.

"We win! We win!" he cried.

"Aye, so we do," said Willet, "but here are the Canadians and Indians trying to wipe out us rangers."

The fire in front of them from the knolls and bushes redoubled, but the rangers, adept at such combats, pressed forward, pouring in their bullets. The Canadians and Indians gave ground and the rangers, circling about, attacked them on the flank. Tayoga suddenly uttered a fierce shout and, dropping his rifle, leaped into the open.

"Now, O Tandakora!" he cried. "The time has come and thou hast given me the chance!"

The gigantic figure of Tandakora emerged from the smoke, and the two, tomahawk in hand, faced each other.

"It is you, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the league of the Hodenosaunee," said the chief. "So you have come at last that I may spit upon your dead body. I have long sought this moment."

"Not longer than I, Ojibway savage!" replied Tayoga. "Now you shall know what it is to strike an Onondaga in the mouth, when he is bound and helpless."

The huge warrior threw back his head and laughed.

"Look your last at the skies, Onondaga," he said, "because you will soon pa.s.s into silence and darkness. It is not for a great chief to be slain by a mere boy."

Tayoga said no more, but gazed steadily into the eyes of the Ojibway.

Then the two circled slowly, each intently watching every movement of the other. The great body of Tandakora was poised like that of a panther, the huge muscles rippling under his bronze skin. But the slender figure of Tayoga was instinct also with strength, and with an incomparable grace and lightness. He seemed to move without effort, like a beam of light.

Tandakora crouched as he moved slowly toward the right. Then his arm suddenly shot back and he hurled his tomahawk with incredible force. The Onondaga threw his head to one side and the glittering blade, flying on, clove a ranger to the chin. Then Tayoga threw his own weapon, but Tandakora, with a quick shift evading it, drew his knife and, rushing in, cried:

"Now I have you, dog of an Onondaga!"

Not in vain was Tayoga as swift as a beam of light. Not in vain was that light figure made of wrought steel. Leaping to one side, he drew his own knife and struck with all his might at the heart of that huge, rushing figure. The blade went true, and so tremendous was the blow that Tandakora, falling in a heap, gave up his fierce and savage soul.

"They run! They run!" cried Robert. "The whole French army is running!"

It was true. The entire French force was pouring back toward the gates of the city, their leaders vainly trying to rally the soldiers. The skirmishers fell back with them. A figure, darting from a bush, turned to pull trigger on Robert, and then uttered a cry of terror.

"A ghost! It is a ghost!" he exclaimed in French.

But a second look told Achille Garay that it was no ghost. It may have been a miracle, but it was Robert Lennox come back in the flesh, and his finger returned to the trigger. Another was quicker. The hunter saw him.

"That for you, Garay!" he cried, and sent a bullet through the spy's heart. Then, drawing the two lads with him, he rushed forward in pursuit.

The confusion in the French army was increasing. Its defeat was fast becoming a rout, but some of the officers still strove to stay the panic. Robert saw one on a white horse gallop before a huddle of fleeing men. But the soldiers, swerving, ran on. A bullet struck the horse and he fell. The man leaped clear, but looked around in a dazed manner. Then a bullet struck him too, and he staggered. Robert with a cry rushed forward, and received into his arms the falling figure of St. Luc.

He eased the Chevalier to the ground and rested his head upon his knee.

"He isn't dead!" he exclaimed. "He's only shot through the shoulder!"

"Now, this is in truth the hand of Providence," said Willet gravely, "when you are here in the height of a great battle to break the fall of your own uncle!"

"My uncle!" exclaimed Robert.

The Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc smiled wanly.