CHAPTER XI.

THE BURNING OF THE SOUTH SHORE.

They came upon us in the night,

And brake my bower and slew my knight:

My servant a' for life did flee

And left us in the extremitie.

They slew my knight, to me so dear;

They slew my knight, and drove his gear;

The moon may set, the sun may rise,

But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes.

_Waverley._

The trees were once more clothed in their wonted green after the

passing of a northern winter. The woods and fields were enameled in a

thousand colors, and the birds were raising their cheerful voices to

greet the spring of the year 1759. All Nature smiled; only man seemed

sorrowful and cast down; and the laborer no more lifted his gay song,

and the greater portion of the lands lay fallow for lack of hands to

till them. A cloud hung over all New France, for the mother country, a

veritable step-mother, had abandoned her Canadian children. Left to its

own resources, the Government had called to arms every able-bodied man

to defend the colony against the invasion that menaced it. The English

had made vast preparations. Their fleet, consisting of twenty ships of

the line, ten frigates, and eighteen smaller vessels, accompanied by a

number of transports, and carrying eighteen thousand men, was ascending

the St. Lawrence under the command of General Wolfe; while two land

armies, yet more numerous, were moving to effect a junction under the

very walls of Quebec.

The whole adult population of Canada capable of bearing arms had

responded with ardor to their country's appeal; and there remained

at home none but the old and feeble, the women and the children. To

resist an army more numerous than the entire population of New France

the Canadians had little but the memory of past exploits, and of their

glorious victory at Carillon in the preceding year. Of what avail their

proved courage against an enemy so overpowering and sworn to their

defeat?

You have long been misunderstood, my brethren of old Canada! Most

cruelly have you been slandered. Honor to them who have lifted

your memory from the dust! Honor, a hundred times honor, to our

fellow-countryman, M. Garneau, who has rent the veil that covered

your exploits! Shame to us who, instead of searching the ancient and

glorious annals of our race, were content to bow before the reproach

that we were a conquered people! Shame to us who were almost ashamed

to call ourselves Canadians! Dreading to confess ourselves ignorant of

the history of Assyrians, Medes, and Persians, that of our own country

remained a sealed book to us.

Within the last few years there has come a glorious reaction. Every one

sets his hand to the work and the Canadian can now say with Francis I,

"All is lost save honor." I am far from believing, however, that all

is lost. The cession of Canada was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise;

for the horrors of '93 failed to touch this fortunate colony which

was protected by the flag of Britain. We have gathered new laurels,

fighting beneath the banner of England and twice has the colony been

saved to England by the courage of her new subjects. In Parliament, at

the bar, upon the field of battle, everywhere in his small sphere, the

French Canadian has proved himself inferior to none. For a century have

you struggled, O my countrymen, to preserve your nationality, and you

behold it yet intact. The future perhaps holds for you another century

of effort and struggle to guard it. Take heart and stand together,

fellow-countrymen.

Two detachments of the English army were disembarked at Rivière Ouelle,

at the beginning of June, '79. Some of the _habitants_ of the parish,

concealed in the skirts of the wood, received them with a sharp fire

and killed several men. The commander, exasperated at this loss,

resolved to take signal vengeance. The two detachments ascended the

river and encamped toward evening beside a brook which empties in Bay

Ste. Anne, southwest of where the college now stands. On the following

morning the commander ordered one of the companies to get ready to

march, and summoning the lieutenant gave him the following orders:

"Every house you come across belonging to these dogs of Frenchmen, set

fire to it. I will follow you a little later."

"But," said the young officer, who was a Scotchman, "must I burn the

dwellings of those who offer no resistance? They say there is no one

left in these houses except old men, women, and children."

"I think, sir," replied Major Montgomery, "that my orders are quite

clear. You will set fire to every house belonging to these dogs of

Frenchmen. I had forgotten your weakness for our enemies."

The young man bit his lips till they bled, and marched his men away.

The reader has, doubtless, recognized in this young man none other

than Archie de Lochiel, who, having made his peace with the British

Government, had recovered possession of his estates and had obtained

a lieutenancy in a regiment which he had himself recruited among the

Highlanders of his own clan. Archie marched off groaning and muttering

all the curses he could think of in English, Gaelic, and French. At the

first house where he stopped a young woman flung herself weeping at his

feet, crying piteously:

"Good sir, do not kill my poor old father. Do not shorten his days. He

has but a little while to live."

A little boy eleven or twelve years old grasped him about the knees and

exclaimed:

"Mister Englishman, do not kill grandpapa! If you only knew how good he

is!"

"Do not fear," said Archie, entering the house, "I have no orders to

kill old men, women, and children. They doubtless supposed," he added

bitterly, "that I should meet none such on my route."

Stretched on a bed of pain lay a decrepit old man.

"I have been a soldier all my life, monsieur," said he. "I do not fear

death, with whom I have been often face to face, but, in the name of

God, spare my daughter and her child!"

"They shall not be injured," replied Archie, with tears in his eyes;

"but if you are a soldier, you know that a soldier has to obey

orders. I am ordered to burn all the buildings on my line of march,

and I have to obey. Whither shall we move you, father? Listen," he

added, speaking close in the old man's ear. "Your grandson appears

active and intelligent. Let him get a horse and hasten to warn your

fellow-countrymen that I have to burn down all the houses on my road.

They will, perhaps, have time to save the most valuable of their

belongings."

"You are a good and brave young man!" cried the old man. "If you were

a Catholic I would give you my blessing; but thank you a thousand

times, thank you!"

"I am a Catholic," said Lochiel.

The old man raised himself with difficulty, lifted his eyes toward

heaven, spread his hands over Archie's bended head, and cried: "May God

bless you for this act of humanity! In the day of heavy affliction,

when you implore the pity of Heaven, may God take count of your

compassion toward your enemies and give ear to your prayers! Say to him

then with confidence in the sorest trials, 'I have the blessing of a

dying old man, my enemy.'"

The old man in his bed was hastily carried by the soldiers to an

adjoining wood, and when he resumed his march Lochiel had the

satisfaction of seeing the little boy mounted on a swift horse and

devouring the miles beneath him. Archie breathed more freely at the

sight.

The work of destruction went on; but from time to time, whenever he

reached the top of a hill, Archie had the satisfaction of seeing old

men, women, and children, loaded down with their possessions, taking

refuge in the neighboring woods. If he wept for their misfortunes,

he rejoiced in his heart that he had done everything in his power to

mitigate them.

All the houses of a portion of Rivière Ouelle, and of the parishes of

Ste. Anne and St. Roch, along the edge of the St. Lawrence, were by

this time in ashes, yet there came no order to cease from the work

of destruction. From time to time, on the contrary, Lochiel saw the

division of his superior officer, following in his rear, come to a halt

on a piece of rising ground, doubtless for the purpose of permitting

Major Montgomery to gloat over the results of his barbarous order.

The first house of St. Jean-Port-Joli was that of a rich _habitant_,

a sergeant in Captain D'Haberville's company. Frequently during his

vacations had Archie lunched at this house with Jules and his sister.

With what a pang he recalled the eager hospitality of these people.

On their arrival, Mother Dupont and her daughters used to run to the

dairy, the barn, the garden, for eggs, butter, cream, parsley, and

chervil, to make them pancakes and herb omelettes. Father Dupont and

his sons would hasten to put up the horses and give them a generous

measure of oats. While Mother Dupont was preparing the meal, the young

people would make a hasty toilet. Then they would get up a dance, and

skip merrily to the notes of the violin which screeched beneath the

old sergeant's bow. In spite of the remonstrances of Blanche, Jules

would turn everything upside down and tease everybody to death. He

would snatch the frying-pan from the hands of Mother Dupont, throw

his arm around her waist, and compel her, in spite of her struggles,

to dance with him; and these good people would shout with laughter

till one would think they could never get too much of the racket. All

these things Lochiel went over in the bitterness of his soul, and a

cold sweat broke out on his brow as he ordered the burning of this

hospitable home.

Almost all the houses in the first concession of St. Jean-Port-Joli

were by this time in ruins, yet there came no order to desist. About

sunset, however, coming to the little river Port Joli, a few arpents

from the D'Haberville place, Lochiel took it upon himself to halt his

company. He climbed the hillside, and there, in sight of the manor, he

waited; he waited like a criminal upon the scaffold, hoping against

hope that a reprieve may come at the last moment. His heart was big

with tender memories as he gazed upon the dwelling where for ten

years the exiled orphan had been received as a child of the house.

Sorrowfully he looked down on the silent village which had been so

full of life when last he saw it. Some pigeons fluttering over the

buildings and from time to time alighting on the roofs appeared to be

the only living creatures about the manor. Sighing, he repeated the

words of Ossian:

"'Selma, thy halls are silent. There is no sound in the woods of

Morven. The wave tumbles alone in the coast. The silent beam of the sun

is on the field.'

"_Oh! Oui! Mes amis!_" cried Lochiel, in the language that he loved,

"_vos salons sont maintenant, hélas! deserts et silencieux!_ There is

no sound upon this hill which so lately was echoing your bright voices.

I hear only the ripples lapping upon the sand. One pale ray from the

setting sun is all that lights your meadows.

"What shall I do, kind Heaven, if the rage of the brute who commands me

is not yet sated? Should I refuse to obey him? Then am I dishonored. A

soldier can not in time of war refuse to carry out the orders of his

commander. This brute could have me shot upon the spot, and the shield

of the Camerons would be forever tarnished. Who would trouble himself

to see that justice was done to the memory of the soldier who chose

death rather than the stain of ingratitude? On the contrary, that which

was with me but an emotion of grateful remembrance, would certainly

be imputed to me for treason by this creature who hounds me with his

devilish malice."

The harsh voice of Major Montgomery put an end to these reflections.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I have left my men by the edge of the river, and was proposing to

encamp there after our long march."

"It is not late," answered the major, "and you know the country better

than I. You will easily find for your encampment another place than

that which I have just chosen for myself."

"I will march at once," said Archie. "There is another river about a

mile from here where we can camp for the night."

"Very well," said Montgomery, in an insolent voice; "and as you have

but a few more houses to burn in this district, your men will soon be

able to rest."

"It is true," said Lochiel, "for there remain but five more dwellings.

Two of these, however, the group of buildings which you see yonder and

a mill on the stream where I am going to camp, belong to the Seigneur

D'Haberville, the man who during my exile took me in and treated me as

a son. For God's sake, Major Montgomery, give the order yourself for

their destruction!"

"I never should have believed," replied the major, "that a British

officer would have dared to utter treason."

"You forget, sir," said Archie, restraining himself with difficulty,

"that I was then a mere child. But once more I implore you, in the name

of all you hold most dear, give the order yourself, and do not force

upon me the dishonor of setting the torch to the home of them who in my

days of adversity heaped me with benefits."

"I understand," replied the major, with a sneer, "you wish to keep a

way open to return to the favor of your friends when occasion shall

arise."

At this insulting sarcasm Archie was tempted for an instant to draw his

claymore and cry:

"If you are not as cowardly as you are insolent, defend yourself, Major

Montgomery!"

Happily, reason came to his aid. Instead of grasping his sword, his

hand directed itself mechanically toward his breast, which he tore

fiercely. Then he remembered the words of the witch:

"Keep your pity for yourself, Archibald de Lochiel, when, forced to

execute a barbarous order, your nails shall tear that breast which

covers, nevertheless, a noble heart."

"She was indeed taught of hell, that woman," thought he, "when she

uttered that prophecy to a Cameron of Lochiel."

With malicious pleasure Montgomery watched for a moment the strife of

passions which tortured the young man's heart. He gloated over his

despair. Then, persuaded that Archie would refuse to obey, he turned

his back upon him. Lochiel, perceiving his treacherous design, hastened

to rejoin his men, and a half-hour later the buildings were in flames.

Archie paused beside the fountain where in happier days he had so often

refreshed himself with his friends; and from that spot his lynx-like

eyes discerned Montgomery, who had returned to the hill-top, and there

with folded arms stood feasting on the cruel scene.

Foaming with rage at the sight of his enemy, Archie cried:

"You have a good memory, Montgomery. You have not forgotten the time

when my ancestor beat your grandfather with the flat of his saber in an

Edinburgh tavern. But I, also, have a good memory. I shall not always

wear this uniform that now ties my hands, and sooner or later I will

redouble the dose upon your own shoulders, for you would be too much

of a coward to meet me in fair fight. A beast like you can not possess

even the one virtue of courage. Curse be you and all your race! When

you come to die may you be less fortunate than those whose dwellings

you have desolated to-day, and may you have no place to lay your head!

May all the pangs of hell--"

Then, ashamed of the impotence of his rage, he moved away with a groan.

The mill upon the Trois-Saumons River was soon but a heap of cinders,

and the burning of Captain D'Haberville's property in Quebec, which

took place during the siege, was all that was needed to complete his

ruin.

After taking the necessary precautions for the safety of his company,

Archie directed his steps to the desolated manor. There, seated on the

summit of the bluff, he gazed in the silence of anguish on the smoking

ruins at his feet. It must have been about nine o'clock. The night

was dark, and few stars revealed themselves in the sky. Presently,

however, he made out a living creature wandering among the ruins. It

was old Niger, who lifted his head toward the bluff and began howling

piteously. Archie thought the faithful animal was reproaching him with

his ingratitude, and bitter tears scalded his cheeks.

"Behold," said he, "the fruits of what we call the code of honor of

civilized nations! Are these the fruits of Christianity, that religion

of compassion which teaches us to love even our enemies? If my

commander were one of these savage chiefs, whom we treat as barbarians,

and I had said to him: 'Spare this house, for it belongs to my friends.

I was a wanderer and a fugitive, and they took me in and gave me a

father and a brother,' the Indian chief would have answered: 'It is

well; spare your friends; it is only the viper that stings the bosom

that has warmed it.'

"I have always lived in the hope," went on Lochiel, "of one day

rejoining my Canadian friends, whom I love to-day more than ever, if

that were possible. No reconciliation would have been required. It was

natural I should seek to regain my patrimony, so nearly dissipated

by the confiscations of the British Government. There remained to

me no career but the army, the only one worthy of a Cameron. I had

recovered my father's sword, which one of my friends had bought back

from among the spoils of Culloden. Bearing this blade, which had never

known a stain, I dreamed of a glorious career. I was grieved, indeed,

when I learned that my regiment was to be sent against New France;

but a soldier could not resign in time of war without disgrace. My

friends would have understood that. But what hope now for the ingrate

who has ravaged the hearth of his benefactors! Jules D'Haberville,

whom I once called my brother, his gentle and saintly mother, who

took me to her heart, the fair girl whom I called my sister to hide a

deeper feeling--these will, perhaps, hear my justification and end by

forgiving me. But Captain D'Haberville, who loves with all his heart,

but who never forgives an injury, can it be imagined that he will

permit his family to utter my name, unless to curse it?

"But I am a coward and a fool," continued Archie, grinding his teeth,

"I should have declared before my men my reasons for refusing to obey,

and, though Montgomery had had me shot upon the spot, there would

have been found loyal spirits to approve my refusal and to right my

memory. I have been a coward and a fool, for in case the major, instead

of having me shot, had tried me before a court-martial, even while

pronouncing my death sentence they would have appreciated my motives.

I would have been eloquent in the defense of my honor, and of that

noblest of human sentiments, gratitude. Oh, my friends, would that you

could see my remorse! Coward, ten thousand times coward!--"

A voice near him repeated the words "Coward, ten thousand times

coward!" He thought at first it was the echo from the bluff. He

raised his head and perceived the witch of the manor standing erect

on a projecting rock. She stretched out her hands over the ruins, and

cried: "Woe! woe! woe!" Then she descended like lightning, by a steep

and dangerous path, and wandered to and fro among the ruins, crying:

"Desolation! desolation! desolation!" At length she raised her arm with

a gesture of menace, pointed to the summit of the bluff, and cried in a

loud voice: "Woe to you, Archibald de Lochiel!"

The old dog howled long and plaintively, then silence fell upon the

scene.

Archie's head sank upon his breast. The next moment four savages sprang

upon him, hurled him to the ground, and bound his hands. These were

four warriors of the Abénaquis, who had been spying upon the movements

of the English ever since their landing at Rivière Ouelle. Relying upon

his tremendous strength, Archie made desperate efforts to break his

bonds. The tough moose-hide which enwound his wrists in triple coils

stretched mightily, but resisted all his efforts. Seeing this, Archie

resigned himself to his fate, and followed his captors quietly into the

forest. His vigorous Scottish legs spared him further ill treatment.

Bitter were the reflections of the captive during the rapid southward

march through the forest, wherein he had so often hunted with his

brother D'Haberville. Heedless of the fierce delight of the Indians,

whose eyes flashed at the sight of his despair, he exclaimed:

"You have conquered, Montgomery; my curses recoil upon my own head. You

will proclaim that I have deserted to the enemy, that I am a traitor as

you long suspected. You will rejoice indeed, for I have lost all, even

honor." And like Job, he cursed the day that he was born.

After two hours' rapid marching they arrived at the foot of the

mountain which overlooks Trois Saumons Lake, on which water Archie

concluded that they would find an encampment of the Abénaquis. Coming

to the edge of the lake, one of his captors uttered three times the

cry of the osprey; and the seven echoes of the mountain repeated, each

three times, the piercing and strident call of the great swan of Lower

Canada. At any other time Lochiel would have thrilled with admiration

at the sight of this beautiful water outspread beneath the starlight,

enringed with mountains and seeded with green-crowned islets. It was

the same lake to which, for ten happy years, he had made hunting and

fishing excursions with his friends. It was the same lake which he had

swum at its widest part to prove his prowess. But to-night all Nature

appeared as dead as the heart within him. From one of the islets came

a birch canoe, paddled by a man in Indian garb, but wearing a cap of

fox-skin. The new comer held a long conversation with the four savages,

but Archie was ignorant of the Abénaquis tongue, and could make out

nothing of what they said. Two of the Indians thereupon started off to

the southwest; but Archie was put into the canoe and taken to the islet.