"Ah, it is good that you feel the same, Colin! I had almost chided myself for being half a traitor. And now take me to our good friend Fritz, that I may thank him myself and see him again with mine own eyes."

Brother and sister descended the stone stairway which divided the various floors of that narrow house. As they reached the foot of the staircase, they heard the sound of voices from a half-open door, and Corinne said with a smile:

"It is our Aunt Drucour talking with the stranger. She is ever eager for news of the war. A soldier is always a friend to her, so as he brings her tidings."

The room into which Corinne and Colin stepped softly, so as not to disturb the conversation of their elders, was a long and narrow apartment, with the same small windows which characterized the rest of the house. A table in the centre of the room took up the chief of the space, and at this table sat a bronzed and stalwart man, whom Corinne instantly recognized as her protector in that forest adventure of long ago. He was seated with a trencher before him, and was doing an justice to the fare set out; but he was also in earnest conversation with Madame Drucour, who was seated opposite, her elbows lightly resting upon the table, and her chin upon her clasped hands.

Upon a couch beneath the window lay the Abbe himself, with a cup of wine beside him. He looked like a man who has been through considerable fatigue and hardship, though his brow was serene and his eyes were bright as he followed the rapid conversation which passed be tween the pair at the tables.

As the boy and girl entered it was Fritz who was speaking, and he spoke eagerly.

"You have seen Julian Dautray, my friend and comrade who sailed away to England several years since on an embassy from the town of Philadelphia? Now this is news indeed. For I have heard no word of him from that day to this; yet once we were like brothers, and we made that long, long journey together from the far south, till our souls were knit together even as the souls of David and Jonathan. Tell me of him! Is he well? Is he still in this new world beyond the dividing sea?"

"After the capture of Louisbourg," answered Madame Drucour, with the little touch of shrinking in her tone which such words always occasioned her, "he was to accompany the gallant Brigadier Wolfe (to whose untiring energy and zeal much of England's success was due) upon some mission of destruction on the coasts, little indeed to that soldier's liking. After that, I heard that they were to sail for England, since the brave officer's health stood in great need of recruiting. But it was known to all of us that Monsieur Wolfe would never rest content till he had seen whether he might not repeat at Quebec what he had accomplished at Louisbourg. And if not actually known, it is more than conjectured that the fleet from England which brings our foes into these waters will bring with it that gallant soldier Wolfe; and if so, you may be sure that your good friend (and mine) Monsieur Julian Dautray will be with him."

"That is good hearing," cried Fritz, whose face was beaming with satisfaction and pleasure; "it is like a feast to a hungry man to hear news of Julian again!"

And he listened with extreme interest whilst the lady told him all she knew of his friend—his daring dash into the fortress disguised as a French soldier, and his many acts of chivalrous generosity at the close of the siege.

"We have reason to be grateful to you English," said Madame Drucour, with a gracious smile. "It is a happiness, when we have to fight, to find such generous and noble foes. It is hard to believe that this strong city of Quebec will ever open its gates even to so brave a commander as the gallant Wolfe; and yet, if such a thing were again to be here as was at Louisbourg, I, for one, shall be able to welcome the victor with a smile as well as a sigh; for I have seen how generous he is to sick and wounded, and how gently chivalrous to women and children."

"Yet those were stern terms demanded from capitulating Louisbourg," spoke the Abbe thoughtfully.

"They were," said the lady, with a sigh; "and yet can we wonder so greatly? England has suffered much from the methods we of France have pursued in our warfare. But let us not think of that tonight; let us remember only that English and French may be friends—individually—even though our nations are at war. Let us entertain Monsieur with the best at our command, and bid him Godspeed when he shall choose to leave us.

"Ah! and there I see my nephew Colin.

"Welcome, dear child; thou art child no longer.

"What a fine youth he has grown with the flight of years! I should scarce have known him!"

Whilst aunt and nephew were exchanging amenities in one part of the room, Corinne approached Fritz, who had risen to his feet at sight of her, and putting out a hand said with a shy smile:

"I am glad to welcome you again, Monsieur."

"And I to see you once again, Mademoiselle," he replied. "I have often wondered whether I should ever have that pleasure. The chance of war has brought me and your brother face to face three times already. But I scarce thought I should see you again. I thought these troubled days would have sent you back to France. These are strange places for tender maidens to abide in—these walled cities, with guns without and within!"

"Ah, but I have no home in France," answered the girl, "and I would not be sent away. I have grown to love this strange Western land and the struggle and stress of the life here. I would fain see the end of this mighty struggle. To which scale will victory incline, think you, Monsieur? Will the flag of England displace that of France over the town and fortress of this city of Quebec?"

"Time alone can show that," answered Fritz gravely; "and we must not boast of coming victory after all the ignominious defeats that we have suffered. But this I know—the spirit of England is yet unbroken. She has set herself to a task, and will not readily turn back from it. If the spirit of her sons is the same now as it was in the days of which our fathers have told us, I think that she will not quietly accept repulse."

Corinne's eyes flashed; she seemed to take a strange sort of pride in anticipations such as these.

"I like that spirit," she cried; "it has not been the spirit of France. She has boasted, boasted, boasted of all the wonders she was to perform, and yet she has never made good her hold in the south. Now the tide seems to have turned here in the north; and though men speak brave words of defiance, their hearts are failing them for fear. And have they not reason to fear—they who have done so ignobly?"

"Do you remember what you told us when we met in the forest long ago?" asked Fritz. "Do you remember the name you spoke—the name of Pitt—and told us that when that man's hand was on the helm of England's statecraft the turn of the tide would come? And so we waited for news from home, and at last we heard the name of Pitt. And, behold, since then the tide has turned indeed. Those words of yours have upheld our hopes in many a dark hour. And now that the fulfilment seems so near, shall we not feel grateful to those who held out the torch of hope when all was darkness?"

Corinne smiled brightly, and held out her little hand again.

"We will be friends, come what will," she said; "for I love the English as well as the French, and I have cause to know what generous foes they can make!"

So Fritz became the guest of Madame Drucour in the narrow little stone house; the Abbe likewise remained as an inmate whilst he recruited the health that had been so sorely tried and shattered of late. Fritz was in no haste to depart, if his hosts desired his presence there. He would join the English fleet when it appeared; but it mattered little to him how he passed the intervening time. He could pass as well for a Frenchman as an Englishman, and did so for the time he remained in the city; but he kept his eyes open, and took careful note of what he saw, and, in truth, it seemed to him that the English fleet had little or no chance of effecting any landing in or near Quebec.

The fortifications of the town were immensely strong; so was its position—so commandingly situated upon the little tongue of land. There was a small camp upon the opposite point of land, which might perhaps be strengthened with advantage; but the whole of the north bank of the river was being fortified and intrenched, and was manned by regulars and Canadian troops, all well armed and munitioned. It was impossible to see how any attacking force could obtain a foothold upon that strand; and if Fritz's hosts took care to let him see all this, it seemed to him a proof that they well understood the impregnable character of their position.

But it was no part of Fritz's plan to linger over long in Quebec, although he was wishful to see the city for himself, and to judge of the strength of its position. He knew that the fleet from Louisbourg would be hanging about nearer the mouth of the great estuary, and to a traveller of his experience the journey either by land or water was a mere trifle.

Any day the sails of the English vessels might be expected to appear. The seething excitement in the city, and the eager and laborious preparations upon land, showed how public feeling was being aroused. It might not be well for Fritz to linger much longer. If his real connection with the English were discovered, he might find himself in difficulties.

"I have arranged with a boatman to take you down the river tonight, Monsieur," said Madame Drucour to him; when he had expressed a determination to leave. "He is scouting for information as to the English fleet, and we have heard that vessels have been seen in the region of the Isle-aux-Coudres. He will land you there, and you will then have no difficulty in rejoining your countrymen. If Monsieur Wolfe has arrived, pray give him my best compliments, and tell him that I hope his health is improved, and that if we should meet once again it will be as friends."

"I will not forget to do so, Madame," answered Fritz. "I myself look forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of that great soldier. I should not have dared to think that I might approach him myself; but since Julian is his friend, I shall not be denied his presence."

Corinne was listening to the talk with eager interest; now she broke in with a smile:

"And tell Monsieur Julian that if he should repeat his strategy of Louisbourg here at Quebec, and steal into the city in disguise, I hope he will come to see us here. We are very well disposed towards the English, my aunt and I. We should have a welcome for him, and would see that he came to no harm."

Madame Drucour laughed, and patted the cheek of her niece.

"Make no rash promises, little one. The game of war is a fiercer and more deadly and dangerous one than thou canst realize as yet. It may be our privilege to shelter and succour a hunted foe; but tempt not any man to what might be certain destruction. Spies meet with scant mercy; and there are Indians in this city who know not the meaning of mercy, and have eyes and ears quicker and keener than our own. Monsieur and his friends had better now remain without the city walls, unless the day should come when they can enter them as conquerors and masters of all."

She drew herself together and gave a little, quick, shuddering sigh, as though realizing as those never could do who had not seen war what must inevitably be ere such an end could be accomplished.

Fritz took her hand and carried it to his lips.

"If such a day as that come, Madame," he said, "be very sure that my first duty and privilege will be to protect you and yours from harm. Adieu; and if I can ever repay your kindness to me, be sure the opportunity shall not be neglected."



Chapter 2: The Defences Of Quebec.

Excitement reigned in the city. There had been a cry of fear earlier in the day. Men had rushed through the streets, crying aloud in every tone of consternation:

"The English fleet! the English fleet!"

But this had proved a false alarm. The sails seen advancing up the great waterway were those of friendly vessels, laden with provisions for the city, and great rejoicings were held as the supplies were carried into the storehouses by the eager citizens and soldiers. Colin, running hither and thither picking up news, came running back at short intervals with tidings for his sister and aunt.

"They all say the English fleet has sailed from England, and may be here any day; but at least we shall not starve yet. We have a fine consignment of provisions brought in today."

Next time he came he had another item of information to give.

"Our General, Monsieur de Montcalm, met me in the street just now, and bid me say that he purposed to take his supper with us this evening, as there are certain matters he would discuss with my uncle, and with you, dear aunt, who have seen so much of warfare. He asked me if it would be convenient for you to receive him, and I said I was sure that it would."

"Quite right, my child," answered Madame Drucour; "I shall deem it an honour to entertain the brave Marquis. I have a great respect for him, both as a man and a soldier."

"Yes: they all speak well of him, and they say that the Governor, Vaudreuil, treats him shamefully, or at least traduces him shamefully behind his back to the Government in France. He is jealous because Monsieur de Montcalm is so much better a soldier than he. His jealousy is mean and pitiful. I hear things that make my blood boil!"

"Yes: Monsieur de Montcalm has had to exercise great patience and self restraint. We all honour him for it," said the Abbe, looking up from his breviary. "His has been a difficult post from first to last, and he has filled it with marked ability. The Governor seeks to take to himself all the credit of success throughout the colony and the war, and to heap upon Montcalm all the blame wherever there has been discomfiture and defeat; but from what I can learn, the Minister of France is not deceived. The powers of the campaign are vested mainly in the hands of the General of the forces, let the Governor rage as he will."

Colin and Corinne stood at the window watching the hubbub down in the lower town and along the quays. They could obtain a fair view from the upper window, where the girl spent so much of her time; and whilst the Abbe and Madame Drucour talked of public matters and the political outlook, Colin poured broadsides of information into the ears of his sister.

"They say that the English ships can never navigate the waters of this great river!" he cried. "I was talking with the sailors on the vessels which have come in. They dare not bring their own ships up without a pilot on board. If the English try to sail their great battleships up through the shoals and other perils, they will assuredly, say the men, run them upon the jagged edges of the sunken reefs and wreck them hopelessly. I was telling them that the English are better sailors than ever the French will be; but they only laughed grimly, and bid them come and see what their sailor craft could do without pilots in the mouth of the St. Lawrence. I should grieve if the noble vessels were wrecked and stranded in the Traverse, which they say is the most dangerous part of all. But the sailors are very confident that that is what will happen."

"I don't believe it!" cried Corinne, with flashing eyes. "The English have always been masters of the sea; have they not won themselves the name of 'sea dogs' and 'sea rovers' even from their enemies? The walls and guns of Quebec may prove too much for them, but not the navigation of the St. Lawrence."

"So I think," answered Colin eagerly; "but that is what the men say.

"The French are always something overconfident and boastful, I think," said Corinne gravely. "They like to win their battles before they fight them, and beat back the foe before he appears. But we shall see—we shall see."

Colin and Corinne were both much interested in the General of the forces, Monsieur the Marquis of Montcalm. In addition to being a very excellent soldier—brave, capable, merciful, and modest—he was a very delightful and charming companion in any social gathering; and towards Corinne he showed himself especially tender, telling her, with the tears standing in his eyes, how much she reminded him of the little daughter he had left at home, Mirete; whom he feared he should never see again.

"For my aide-de-camp, M. de Bougainville, lately returned from France, has brought me sad news. One of my daughters has died—he could not ascertain which; but I feel sure it is my little Mirete, who was always delicate and fragile. I loved her very much; she was such a clinging little thing, and had soft brown eyes like yours, my dear. I did not think, when I left my wife and children in our happy home at Candiac, that I should be detained here so long, or that death would have visited my house ere I returned. We were so happy in that far away home in France; my thoughts are ever turning back thither. Pray Heaven I may soon bring this war to a successful termination, and may then return to end my days in peace in that fair spot, surrounded by those I love so well!"

This little speech touched Corinne's heart, and she lifted her face and gave the bereaved father a kiss of sympathy, the tears hanging upon her own long lashes. He squeezed her hand and returned the salute with warmth. Yet the next minute he was the soldier and the general all over, as he seated himself at table and proceeded to discuss the situation of affairs with the Abbe and his hostess.

"My policy," he explained to them, "will be one of defence, not of attack. What we must set ourselves to do is to prevent any landing of English troops upon the north bank of this river anywhere near the city. I had thought at first of making the Plains of Abraham, behind the city, the basis of my encampment. But this, as you know, has been given up, and the north bank of the river, through Beauport and right away to the river and falls of the Montmorency, has been selected.

"When you are sufficiently recovered, my friend, I should like to take you to see our position. Our right rests upon the St. Charles, our left upon the Montmorency. Quebec is thus secured from any advance by land. Her own guns must protect her from any attempt by sea. No vessel should or ought to pass the rock without being instantly disabled, if not sunk. By disposing our forces in this way, and remaining upon the defensive, we shall have our foes in a vice, so to speak. The risk of disembarking and trying to fight us will be immense. They will lose ten men to our one in every encounter. And if we can play this waiting game long enough, the storms of winter will come down upon us, and the Admirals will have to withdraw their fleet to some safe harbourage, and we shall have saved Quebec!"

"Yes," said the Abbe—"that sounds a wise and wary policy; but will the Canadian militia be patient and obedient during the long period of inaction? They are accustomed to a sort of fierce, short forest warfare, quick marches, hand-to-hand fights, and the freedom to return to their homes. How will they like the long imprisonment in the camp, without being brought face to face with the foe? The Canadian soldiers have always given trouble; I fear they will do so again."

"If they become troublesome," said Montcalm, with a tightening of the lips, "they will be told that the Indians shall be loosed upon their lands and farms to harry and destroy! Mutineers are accorded scant mercy. Monsieur de Vaudreuil has made up his mind how to deal with them in such case."

The Abbe stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"If we alienate the Canadians, and have only the regulars to fall back upon, we shall be very short handed."

"True; but I do not anticipate such a contingency. The Canadians are no more desirous of seeing England's flag waving over their lands than we are ourselves. They may be rebellious and discontented, but they will hardly go further than that."

"It is ill work fighting with discontented soldiers," said Madame Drucour thoughtfully.

"Very true, Madame. I often wish we had better material for our army. I abhor the Indians, and distrust the Canadians. But what can we do? France has sore need of all her soldiers for her European wars. What can she do for us here out in the western wilds? She has her hands full at home."

"And yet," said the Abbe, "if she loses her hold upon these same western wilds, she will lose that new kingdom upon which her eyes have been greedily fastened for two centuries or more. She has claimed half the world as her own; will she lose all for the sake of some petty quarrel with her neighbours?"

Montcalm smiled and slowly shook his head.

"Our royal master has his hands something too full at times," he said; "yet we will do our best for him out here."

"And if General Amherst with his great army should succeed in capturing Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and should advance upon us by the interior, and steal upon us from behind, what then?" asked the Abbe, who, having come from that part of the world, and knowing the apprehensions of the French along the western border, was not unmindful of this possible danger.

Montcalm's face was grave.

"That will be our greatest danger," he said. "If that should take place, we shall have to weaken our camp along the river and send reinforcements to the small detachments now placed along the upper river. But the English were routed at Ticonderoga once; let us hope it will happen so a second time."

"General Amherst is a very different commander from General Abercromby," said the Abbe gravely; and Madame Drucour added her testimony to the abilities of the General who had commanded at the siege of Louisbourg, although the dash and energy of Wolfe had been one of the main elements of strength to the besiegers.

"Yet I have confidence in our good Boulamaque," answered Montcalm. "He will do all that can he done to check the advance of the invaders and hold out fortresses against them. We have had our disasters—far be it from me to deny it—but Ticonderoga is strong, and has long held her own; I think she will do so once again."

"And will you remain within the walls of Quebec yourself, my dear Marquis? or is it true what I hear—that your headquarters will be with the camp at Beauport?"

"My place is here—there—everywhere!" answered Montcalm, with a smile and a meaning gesture. "Within the city the Chevalier de Ramesay will hold command with sixteen thousand men. For my part, I shall occupy myself chiefly with the army along the river banks. The first peril will certainly lie there. The town is unassailable, but a landing will probably be attempted somewhere along there. The enemy must be driven back with loss and confusion each time such an attempt is made. That will discourage them, and inspire our men with hope and courage. We have also prepared fire ships at no small cost, to be launched and fired at convenient seasons, and sent adrift amongst the enemy's ships. The sight of their burning vessels will do something to discourage the English. They put their trust in their ships. We will show them what a warm welcome we have waiting for them here!"

"And our own vessels," asked the Abbe—"what of them? Will any naval battle he attempted?"

"No. The Governor has given orders that they shall disembark their men for the defence of the town, and the ships themselves will be sent some distance up the river out of harm's way. We have kept some of the best for fire ships; the rest will remain at a distance, beyond the river Richelieu."

"You think, then, that no British ship can pass the guns of the town?"

Montcalm's face was a study of calm confidence.

"I only wish they might attempt it," he said. "We would sink them one by one, as a child's boats could be sunk by throwing stones upon them. The English have a task before them the magnitude of which they have little idea of. First they have the river itself to navigate; then they have the guns of Quebec to settle with. Let them take their choice between Scylla and Charybdis; for of a certainty they lie betwixt the two."

Indeed the guns of Quebec were formidable enough. Next day Montcalm took Madame Drucour and her niece and nephew a tour of inspection about the town, and up to one of the heights which gave them a panoramic view of the city and its defences, both within and without. The batteries of the town bristled with formidable guns; the town itself swarmed with soldiers—regulars, militia, Indians. From the adjacent country men of all ages had come flocking in, eager to bear arms against the foe. The Bishop had issued a mandate to his flock, urging them to rally round their leaders, and never surrender the fair domain of Canada to the heretic usurper.

There was plenty of enthusiasm now amongst the Canadians they came flocking into the camp in great numbers. All were hardy fellows, trained to a certain sort of rough fighting from their very childhood. They were invaluable in forest warfare, as had been proved again and again. But they lacked the stamina of the regular soldier. They were invariably unsteady when exposed to fire in the open, and they were impatient of discipline and control. Vaudreuil was always loud in their praise, trying to give them the credit of every successful engagement. But Montcalm reposed much more confidence in his regular soldiers; although he gave these others their due when they had proved of service to him.

It was a wonderful sight to see the lines of defence stretching right away from the river St. Charles, close to the promontory on which Quebec was built, to that other invisible gorge where the wonderful cataract of the Montmorency flung its waters into the greater St. Lawrence below. Opposite was the height of Point Levi, with its smaller batteries; and away on the left, in the middle of the vast, sea-like river, could be distinguished the western end of the Isle of Orleans.

Earthworks, batteries, redoubts seemed to bristle every where. Squadrons of men, like brilliant-hued ants, moved to and fro upon the plains below. The tents of the camp stretched out in endless white spots; and the river was dotted with small craft of all sorts conveying provisions to the camp, and doing transport duty of all kinds.

"He will be a bold man who faces the fire from our batteries, I think," said Montcalm, looking with a calm complacency upon the animated scene; and then he turned and pointed backwards behind him to Cape Diamond, fringed with its palisades and capped by parapet and redoubt.

A bold foe indeed to face the perils frowning from every height upon which the eye could rest. Madame Drucour's face slowly brightened as she took in, with eyes that were experienced in such matters, the full strength of the position occupied by the city of Quebec.

"In truth, I scarce see how the enemy could effect a landing anywhere—could even attempt it," she said. "And yet we said the same at Louisbourg—till they landed where none of us thought they could do, and took us in the rear!"

And her eyes sought the steep, precipitous banks of the river after the town had been passed, as though asking whether any landing could be effected there, if some ships should succeed in the daring attempt to pass the guns of the town, and find anchorage in the upper river.

Montcalm followed her glance with his, and seemed to read the thought in her heart.

"All these heights will be watched," he said. "Although I have no fear of any vessel being foolhardy enough to attempt the passage, or clever enough to succeed in passing the guns of the fortifications, I shall leave no point unwatched or unguarded. Quebec shall not fall whilst I have life and breath! If the victor marches into the city, it will be across my dead body!"

Later upon that very day a fresh excitement occurred. Madame Drucour and her niece and nephew were in the pleasant upper room of their house, talking over the things they had seen and heard that day, when the clamour in the street below roused them to the consciousness that something unwonted was afoot; and Colin ran below, eager to know what the matter could be. In a few minutes he returned, his face full of animation and eager interest.

"They have taken three prisoners!" he exclaimed—"English midshipmen all of them. You know our boats are scouting all round the Isle-aux-Coudres, where Durell and his contingent of ships from Louisbourg are lying waiting for the English fleet."

"Yes, yes," cried Corinne eagerly; "we know that! But where are the prisoners?"

"They are below, in the house. They brought them to the Abbe, our uncle. They profess not to speak French, these lads, but I think they understand it fast enough.

"Come down and hear their story, my aunt; and you also, Corinne. They have been left in our care by the order of Monsieur de Montcalm, that we may win from them all that they know, respecting the strength of the English fleet. Let us go and hear what they say."

"How came they to be taken?" asked Madame Drucour, as she rose to accompany Colin.

"They were taken on shore. They had left their ship, perhaps without leave, and were amusing themselves upon the island. The men in our boat watched them, and presently landed cautiously and surrounded them. They made a gallant struggle, but were captured at length. And now they have been brought to us that we may get from them all the information we can. Our uncle is talking to them even now. I want to hear, and I want Corinne also to hear what they say."

"And the poor lads will doubtless be hungry," said Madame Drucour, always thoughtful for the comfort of others; "we will set food before them as they talk. They shall see that we are not harsh captors."

It was three bright-faced, bronzed English lads that they found in the lower room with the good Abbe. He had induced the rest of the people to disperse, and was now alone with the captives. The lads seemed quite disposed to be talkative, and when the lady entered bearing food, their eyes brightened; they stood up and made their bows to all, and fell upon the victuals with a hearty goodwill.

"Strong! I should think it was strong," cried the eldest of the three, in response to a question from the Abbe respecting the English squadron on the way: "why, there are more than thirty ships of the line, and with frigates, sloops-of-war, and transports they must number over fifty. Then we have ten fine ships under Admiral Durell, waiting to join the main fleet when it comes; and there is another squadron under Admiral Holmes, which has gone to New York to take up the troops mustered in New England for the reduction of Quebec. Oh, it will be a grand sight, a grand sight, when it comes sailing up the waters of the St. Lawrence! Quebec, I dare wager, has never seen such a sight before!"

The faces of all the lads were full of animation and pride. They appeared to have no fears for their personal safety. They were enthusiastic in their descriptions of the wonderful feats which the world would soon see, and when once started on the subject were ready to talk on and on.

"They have fifteen or sixteen thousand men—picked troops—with the gallant Wolfe in command," cried another. "You have seen something already of what Wolfe can do when he is set upon a task!"

Madame Drucour made a little sign of assent; she had learned that lesson herself very fully. The lad made her a courtly bow, for he knew her well, having been at the siege of Louisbourg, and having seen her when he had entered the fortress to view it after the surrender.

"Madame Drucour is herself a soldier; she can appreciate the talents of the soldiers," he said. "Well, we have Wolfe coming, and with him three gallant Brigadiers—Moncton and Townshend and Murray. They all say that each one of these is as valiant as the great Wolfe himself, and as full of ardour."

"And then our guns!" chimed in the third. "Why, we have guns enough to batter down these old walls as children batter down their card houses! You know what English guns did at Louisbourg, Madame! Well, we have bigger and heavier ones coming from England—such guns as have never been seen in this country before; and such shells—why, you can hear the scream of them for miles. You will hear them soon singing and screaming over Quebec if you try to hold it against Wolfe!"

Corinne and Colin exchanged glances. It seemed indeed to bring the thought of war very near when this sort of talk went on. The Abbe was thoughtfully stroking his chin, debating within himself whether all this was a bit of gasconade on the part of these middies, or whether it represented the actual facts of the case. Madame Drucour made quiet answer, saying:

"But Quebec has also its guns, my young friends; Quebec can make fitting reply to English guns. And ships are more vulnerable than our thick walls. The game of war is one that both nations can play with skill and success. If you have a Wolfe on your side, we have a Montcalm on ours!"

"Oh yes; we have heard of the Marquis of Montcalm. He is a fine old fellow; I wish we could see him."

"You have your wish, gentlemen!" spoke a new voice from the shadowy corner by the door, where the twilight was gathering.

The company started to their feet and saluted the great man, who advanced smiling, motioning them to be seated. Corinne kindled the lamp, and the General looked about him and sat down at the table opposite to the three youths.

"I hear you are from the English squadron," he said; "I have come to ask you as to its strength. Tell me frankly and candidly what you know, and I will undertake that your captivity shall not be a rigorous one."

He spoke in French, and the Abbe interpreted, although he suspected that the lads understood a good deal more of that language than they professed to do. They were willing enough to repeat what they had said before as to the overwhelming size and equipment of the fleet on its way from England—of the valour of men and officers, of Wolfe's known intrepidity and military genius, and of the excellent, far-carrying guns and their equally excellent gunners.

Montcalm listened with bent brow and thoughtful mien. The lads appeared to speak with confidence and sincerity. They evidently believed that the fall of Quebec was foreordained of Heaven; but it was possible they might be misinformed as to the true strength of the fleet, and had perhaps, consciously or unconsciously, exaggerated that.

At any rate they were not reticent: they told everything they knew and perhaps more. They gloried in the thought of the fighting to come, and seemed to take their own captivity very lightly, evidently thinking it only a matter of a few weeks before they could be exchanged or released—before their countrymen would be marching into Quebec.

"And as soon as General Amherst has got Ticonderoga, he will march here to help us, if we are not masters here first!" was the final shot of the senior midshipman. "Not that Wolfe will need his help in the taking of Quebec, but he will want a share in the glory of it. And all New England, and all those provinces which have been asleep so long, are waking up, eager to take their share now that the moment of final triumph is near. There are so many fine troops waiting to embark that Admiral Holmes will probably have to leave the half behind. But they will follow somehow, you will see. They are thirsting to avenge themselves upon the Indians, and upon those who set the Indians on to harry and destroy their brothers along the borders!"

The Abbe translated this also into French, making a little gesture with his hand the while.

"I knew that retribution must sooner or later follow upon that great sin," he said. "Were it not for my feeling on that score, I should have firmer hopes for Quebec. But God will not suffer iniquity to go long unpunished. We have drawn down retribution upon our own heads!"

Montcalm made a gesture similar to that of the Abbe.

"I have said so myself many a time," he replied. "I hated and abhorred the means we have too often used. It may be that what you say is right and just. And yet I know that I shall not live to see Quebec in the hands of the English. I can die for my country, and I am willing to do so; but I cannot and I will not surrender!"

"So they said at Louisbourg," muttered one of the midshipmen to Colin, showing how easily he understood what was passing; "but they sang to a different tune when they had heard the music of our guns long enough!"

The Marquis was talking aside with the Abbe and Madame Drucour. When the colloquy was over, the Abbe addressed the midshipmen.

"Monsieur de Montcalm is willing to release you on parole, and my sister, Madame Drucour, will permit you to remain in this house during your stay in the city. You must give up your dirks, and pass your word not to try to escape; but after having done this, you will be free to come and go as you will. And if the English should take prisoners of our French subjects, you shall be exchanged upon the first opportunity. These are the terms offered you by Monsieur de Montcalm as the alternative to an imprisonment which would be sorely irksome to youths such as you."

The lads looked at one another. It was a promise rather hard to give, since there would be so many excellent opportunities for escape; but the thought of imprisonment in some gloomy subterranean portion of the fortress, even with the faint chance of effecting an escape from thence, was too sombre and repelling. They accepted the lenient terms offered, passed their word with frank sincerity, and handed over their weapons with a stifled sigh.

"We will show you the city tomorrow," said Colin, when he took their guests up to the lofty where they were to sleep in company. "My sister and I are half English ourselves. I sometimes think that in her heart of hearts Corinne would like to see the English flag floating over the towers of Quebec."

"Hurrah for Mademoiselle Corinne!" cried the lad Peter, throwing his cap into the air. "I thought you two looked little like the dark-skinned Frenchies! We shall be friends then, and when the town falls we will take care that no harm comes to you. But we mean to have Quebec; so you may make up your mind to that!"



Chapter 3: Mariners Of The Deep.

"I must go! I must go!" shouted Colin, bursting into the house, mad with excitement and impetuosity.

"My uncle, you will let me go! I must see this great and mighty fleet for myself. They say it is coming up the mighty river's mouth. Some say it will be wrecked ere it reach the Isle of Orleans! Let me go and see it, I pray, and I will return and tell you all."

The whole city was in a ferment. For long weeks had the English fleet been watched and waited for—for so long, indeed, that provisions were already becoming a little scarce within the town, in spite of the convoy which had arrived earlier in the year. So many mouths were there to feed that the question of supply was causing anxiety already. Still with care there was enough to last for a considerable time. Only the delay of the English vessels had upset the calculations of the men in charge of the commissariat department, and the people had to be put upon rations, lest there should be a too quick consumption of the stores.

This had caused a little murmuring and discontent, and the long waiting had tried the citizens more than active work would have done. It had given Montcalm time to fortify his camp very strongly, and make his position all that he desired; but it had been a wearisome time to many, and the Canadian troops were already discontented, and wearying to get away from the life of the camp, back to their own homes and fields and farms.

But now hot midsummer had come, and with it the. English foe. A fast-sailing sloop had brought word that the junction of the squadrons was taking place just off Cape Tourmente, and Colin was wild to take boat and go to see the great ships.

"They are saying that they must all be wrecked in trying to navigate the Traverse," cried the boy; "but Peter and Paul and Arthur laugh to scorn the notion, and say that we do not know what sort of men the English mariners are. Some say that Admiral Durell has already captured the pilots who live there, ready to take the French ships up and down. Let me go and learn what is happening. Let me take a boat, and take Peter and Paul and Arthur with me. They know how to manage one as well as any sailor in the town. Let us go, my uncle, and bring you word again."

The boy was set on it; he could not be withheld. Moreover, the Abbe and Madame Drucour were keenly anxious for news.

"Be careful, my boy, be cautious," he said; "run not into danger. But I think thou art safe upon the river with those lads. You will take care of one another, and bring us word again what is happening."

"Oh, I will come back safe and sound, never fear for me!" answered the boy, in great delight. "We will bring you news, never fear! We will see all that is to be seen. Oh, I am glad the day of waiting is over, and that the day for fighting has come!"

"Would that I were a boy like you, Colin!" cried Corinne, with sparkling eyes. "It is hard to be cooped up in the city when there are such stirring things going on outside. But I will up to the heights and watch for the sight of sails; and you will come back soon, Colin, and tell us all the news."

Nevertheless it was a hard task for the eager girl to remain behind when her brother and their three merry friends went forth in search of news.

By this time the English midshipmen were quite at home in their new home, and the blithest of companions for the brother and sister there. They did much to foster the sympathies of Colin and Corinne for the English cause. The boys told of England and the life there, and were so full of enthusiasm for their country that it was almost impossible not to catch something of the contagion of their mood. Both Colin and his sister had seen much to disgust and displease them amongst the French; whilst round their foes there seemed to be a sort of halo of romance and chivalry which appealed to the imaginative strain in both brother and sister.

Their British blood could not fail to be stirred within them. They saw and heard of corruption, chicanery, and petty jealousy all round them here. It was hardly to be wondered at that they inclined to the other side. England and Scotland were uniting together for the conquest of this Western world. Their mother's countrymen were fighting the battle. They had the right to wish them success.

Corinne rehearsed all this to herself as she stood upon the lofty heights behind the town that afternoon with her uncle and aunt. They were looking with anxiety and grave misgivings at the clustering sails dimly seen in the distance upon the shining water of that vast estuary. Montcalm himself had come up to see, and stood with his telescope at his eye, watchful and grave.

"We have made a mistake," he said to the Abbe in a low voice. "I did speak to the Governor once; but he was against the measure, and we permitted it to drop. But I can see now it was a mistake. We should have planted a battery—a strong one—upon Cape Tourmente, and bombarded the ships as they passed by. We trusted to the dangerous navigation of the Traverse, but we made a mistake: English sailors can go anywhere!"

The Abbe made a sign of assent. He remembered now how the General had made this suggestion to the Governor, and pressed it with some ardour, but had been met with opposition at every point. Vaudreuil had declared that it would weaken the town to bring out such a force to a distant point; that they must concentrate all their strength around the city; that they would give the enemy the chance of cutting their army in two. Montcalm had yielded the point. There was so much friction between him and the Governor that he had to give way where he could. Vaudreuil was always full of grand, swelling words, and boasts of his great deeds and devotion; but men were beginning to note that when face to face with real peril he lost his nerve and self confidence, and had to depend upon others. It was thus that he opposed Montcalm (of whose superior genius and popularity he was bitterly jealous) at every turn when danger was still distant, but turned to him in a fluster of dismay when the hour of immediate peril had come, and had been made more perilous by his own lack of perception and forethought whilst things were less imminent.

"Yet look at our lines of defence!" he exclaimed, after he had finished all the survey he could make of the distant sails crowded about the Isle of Orleans. "Where could any army hope to land along this northern shore? Let them fire as they like from their ships; that will not hurt us. And we can answer back in a fashion that must soon silence them. The heights are ours; the town is safely guarded. The summer is half spent already. Let us but keep them at bay for two months, and the storms of the equinox will do the rest. When September comes, then come the gales—and indeed they may help us at any time in these treacherous waters. You mariners of England, you are full of confidence and skill—I am the last to deny it—but the elements have proved stronger than you before this, and may do so again."

Corinne listened to all this with a beating heart, and asked of her aunt:

"What think you that they will first do—the English, I mean?"

"Probably land and make a camp upon the Isle of Orleans, which has been evacuated. A camp of some sort they must have, and can make it there without damage to us. It will make a sort of basis of operations for them; but I think they will be sorely puzzled what to do next. They cannot get near the city without exposing themselves to a deadly fire which they cannot return—for guns fired low from ships will not even touch our walls or ramparts—and any attempt along the shore by Beauport will be repulsed with heavy loss."

"Yet they will do something, I am sure," spoke the girl, beneath her breath; and she was more sure still of this when upon the morrow Colin returned, all aglow with excitement and admiration, whilst the three midshipmen had much ado to restrain their whoops of joy and triumph.

"I never saw such a thing!" cried Colin, his face full of delight and enthusiasm, as he and the midshipmen got Corinne to themselves, and could talk unrestrainedly together; "I feel as though I could never take sides against the English again! If they are all such men as that old sailing master Killick, methinks the French have little chance against them."

"Hurrah for old Killick! hurrah for England's sailors!" cried the midshipmen, as wildly excited as Colin himself; and Corinne pressed her hands together, and looked from one to the other, crying:

"Oh tell me! what did he do?"

"I'll tell you!" cried Colin. "You have heard them speak of the Traverse, and what a difficult place it is to navigate?"

"Yes: Monsieur de Montcalm was saying that no vessel ever ventured up or down without a pilot; but he said that a rumour had reached him that some pilots had been taken prisoners, and that the English ships would get up with their help."

"With or without!" cried Peter, tossing his cap into the air. "As though English sailors could not move without Frenchmen to help them!"

"Some of them took pilots aboard; indeed they were sent to them, and had no choice. But I must not get confused, and confuse you, Corinne. I'll just tell you what we did ourselves.

"We heard a great talk going on on board one of the transport boats called the Goodwill, which was almost in the van of the fleet, I suppose because the old sailing master, Killick, was so good a seaman; and so they had sent a pilot out to her, and he was jabbering away at a great rate—"

"Just like all the Frenchies!" cut in Paul; "calling out that he would never have acted pilot to an English ship except under compulsion, and declaring that it was a dismal tale the survivors would take to their own country—that Canada should be the grave of the whole army, and the St. Lawrence should bury beneath its waves nine-tenths of the British ships, and that the walls of Quebec should be lined with English scalps!"

"The wretch!" cried Corinne. "I wonder the sailors did not throw him overboard to find his own grave!"

"I verily believe they would have done so, had it not been for strict orders from the Admiral that the pilots were to be well treated," answered Arthur. "Our English Admirals and officers are all like that: they will never have any advantage taken of helpless prisoners."

"I know, I know!" answered Corinne quickly; "that is where they teach the French such a lesson. But go on—tell me more. What about old Killick? and where were you all the while?"

"Holding on to the side of the transport, where we could see and hear everything, and telling the sailors who were near about Quebec and what was going on there. But soon we were too much interested in what was going on aboard to think of anything else.

"Old Killick roared out after a bit, 'Has that confounded French pilot done bragging yet?' And when somebody said he was ready to show them the passage of the Traverse, he bawled out:

"'What! d'ye think I'm going to take orders from a dog of a Frenchman, and aboard my own vessel, too? Get you to the helm, Jim, and mind you take no orders from anybody but me. If that Frenchman tries to speak, just rap him on the head with a rope's end to keep him quiet!'

"And with that he rolled to the forecastle with his trumpet in his hand, and got the ship under way, bawling out his instructions to his mate at the wheel, just as though he had been through the place all his life!"

"Had he ever been there before?" asked Corinne breathlessly.

"No, never. I heard the commanding officer and some of the gentlemen on board asking him, and remonstrating; but it was no use.

"'Been through before! no, never,' he cried; 'but I'm going through now.'

"Then they told him that not even a French vessel with an experienced sailing master ever dared take the passage without a pilot, even though he might know it well. Whereupon old Killick patted the officer upon the back, and said, 'Ay, ay, my dear, that's right enough for them; but hang me if I don't show you all that an Englishman shall go at ease where a Frenchman daren't show his nose! Come along with me, my dear, and I'll show you this dangerous passage.'

"And he led him forward to the best place, giving his orders as cool and unconcerned as though he had been in the Thames itself. The vessel that followed, hearing what was going on, and being afraid of falling into some peril herself, called out to know who the rash sailing master was. 'I am old Killick!" roared back the bold old fellow himself, hearing the question, 'and that should be enough for you!'

"And he turned his back, and went on laughing and joking with the officer, and bawling out his orders with all the confidence of an experienced pilot."

"O Colin! And did he make no mistake? And what did the pilot say?"

"Oh, he rolled up his eyes, and kept asking if they were sure the old fellow had never been there before; and when we had got through the great zigzag with never so much as the ghost of a misadventure, and the signalling boats pointed to the deeper water beyond, the old fellow only laughed, and said, 'Ay, ay, my dear, a terrible dangerous navigation! Chalk it down, a terrible dangerous navigation! If you don't make a sputter about it, you'll get no credit in England!'

"Then lounging away to his mate at the helm, he bid him give it to somebody else; and walking off with him, he said, 'Hang me if there are not a thousand places in the Thames fifty times worse than that. I'm ashamed that Englishmen should make such a rout about it!' And when his words were translated to the pilot, he raised his hands to heaven in mute protest, and evidently regarded old Killick as something not quite human."

"Hurrah for the old sea dog! That's the kind of mariner we have, Mademoiselle Corinne; that's the way we rule the waves! Hurrah for brave old Killick! We'll make as little of getting into Quebec as he did of navigating the Traverse!"

The story of the old captain's prowess ran through Quebec like lightning, and produced there a sensation of wonder not unmixed with awe. If this was the spirit which animated the English fleet, what might not be the next move?

It was quickly known that the redoubtable Wolfe had landed upon the Isle of Orleans, and was marching in a westerly direction towards the point three or four miles distant from the city where he would be able to obtain a better view than heretofore of the nature of the task to which he was pledged.

"Let him come," said the Marquis of Montcalm grimly; "let him have from thence a good view of our brave town and its defences! Perchance it will be a lesson to him, in his youthful pride. He thinks he is a second Hannibal. It will cool his hot blood, perchance, to see the welcome we are prepared to accord to the invaders of our soil."

In effect there was another sort of welcome awaiting the English fleet; for upon the next day one of those violent squalls for which these northern waters are famous swept over the great river St. Lawrence, and in the town of Quebec there were rejoicing and triumph.

"Now let the British mariners look to themselves!" cried the people, shaking fists in the direction of the invisible fleet, which they knew was anchored off the south shore of the great island. "We shall soon see what they can do against one of our Canadian tempests! Pray Heaven and all the saints that it may sink every one of them to the bottom, or grind them to pieces upon the rocks!"

"Pooh! not a bit of it," cried the midshipmen in contempt, though they watched the storm with secret anxiety. "As though English-built vessels could not ride out a capful of wind like this! See, it is clearing off already! in an hour's time it will have subsided. As though our anchors would not hold and our sailors keep their heads in such a little mock tempest as this!"

Luckily for the English fleet, the squall was as brief as it was violent; nevertheless it did do considerable damage to the ships at their anchorage, and flying rumours were brought in as to the amount of harm inflicted. Certainly some considerable damage had been done, but nothing beyond repair. It had not daunted one whit the hearts of the invading foe.

Montcalm came into the city that evening, and supped with the Abbe and Madame Drucour. He was not without anxiety, and yet was calm and hopeful.

"The tempest did not last long enough to serve our turn as we hoped. The Governor trusted it would have destroyed the whole fleet; but from what I can learn, nothing was really lost except a few of the flat-bottomed landing boats used in the disembarkation of the troops. The English are certainly notable sailors; but it is with her soldiers that we shall have more directly to deal. Still, I wish we could have sunk her ships; it would have placed her on the horns of a dilemma."

"I have heard," said the Abbe, "that the Governor talks of destroying the fleet by fire. He has made considerable preparation for such an attempt."

Montcalm smiled slightly.

"True; he has been busy with his fire ships for some while. For my own part, I have but limited faith in them. They have cost us a million, and I doubt whether they will prove of any service; yet Vaudreuil is very confident."

"The Governor is wont to be confident—till the moment of actual peril arrives," said the Abbe thoughtfully. "Well, we shall see—we shall see. When are these notable fire ships to be sent forth?"

"I think tomorrow night," answered Montcalm, "but that is a matter which rests with the Governor. I have no concern in it; and when such is the case, I offer no advice and take no part in the arrangements. Doubtless I shall see what is going on from some vantage point; but Monsieur de Vaudreuil will not take counsel with me in the matter."

"Fire ships!" cried the midshipmen, when Colin told them what he had heard; "do they think to frighten English mariners with fireworks and bonfires? Good! let them try and see. And O Colin, good Colin, if they are going to send down fire ships upon the fleet, let us be there to see!"

Colin desired nothing better himself. He was all agog to see the thing through. And why should they not? It was not difficult to obtain a boat, and in the darkness and confusion the four lads would easily be able to follow the fire ships and see the whole thing through. The midshipmen could navigate a boat with anyone, and Colin had learned much of their skill. All day they were often to be seen skimming about the basin of the St. Lawrence, prospecting about for news, and watching the movements of the English soldiers on shore, or of the fleet anchored a few miles farther off. They had only to steal away unnoticed, and take to their boat before the excitement began, and they could follow the phantom ships upon their mysterious way, and watch the whole attempt against the English fleet.

"Ah, but take me," cried Corinne, when she heard the discussion—"do take me! It is so hard to be a girl, and see nothing! I will not be in your way. I will not scream and cry, or do anything like that. I only want to watch and see. I shall not be afraid. And I want so much to see something! I know I could slip away without anyone's knowing or missing me. Only say you will take me!"

"Of course we will take you, Mademoiselle Corinne," cried Paul, with boyish gallantry; "why should you not see as well as we? I have a sister Margery at home who would be as wild to go as you can be. She is as good as a boy any day. Wrap yourself well up in a great cloak, so that you may keep warm, and so that nobody can guess we have a lady on board, and we will take care of you, never fear!"

Corinne clapped her hands gaily; although growing to maidenhood, she had the heart of a child, and was full of delight at the thought of anything that promised adventure and excitement.

"How good you are! And pray call me not 'Mademoiselle' any more; call me Corinne—all of you. Let me be an English girl, and your sister; for, in sooth, I feel more and more English every day of my life. Sometimes I fear that I shall be hanged for a traitor to the cause; for I find myself on the side of our English rivals more and more every day!"

The compact thus sealed was easily carried out. The Abbe and his sister, Madame Drucour, were keenly interested in the attempt of the fire ships against the English fleet, and were to watch proceedings from the steeple of the Recollet Friars. The daylight lasted long now, and supper was over before the shadows began to fall; and the excited lads were able to wait till the seniors had started forth before they made their own escape down to the harbour.

Corinne wrapped herself in a long black cloak, drawing the hood over her head, and thus disguising herself and her sex completely from any prying eyes; but indeed they scarcely met anyone as they hurried along through the narrow streets to the unfrequented wharf, where the boys had brought up the boat earlier in the day. Quickly they were all aboard, and were gliding through the darkening water, whilst the crowd gathered at quite a different part of the harbour showed where the launch of the fire ships was going on.

Colin described them as well as he could.

"There are three or four big ones, and Monsieur Delouche is in command; and then there is a great fire raft, as they call it—a lot of schooners, shallops, and such like, all chained together—a formidable-looking thing, for I got one of the sailors to show it me. I suppose they are all pretty much alike, crammed with explosives and combustibles; old swivels and guns loaded up to the muzzle, grenades, and all sorts of things like that, some of them invented for the occasion. We must give these fellows a wide berth when once they are set alight; for they will burn mightily, and shower lead and fire upon everything within reach. I only trust they may not do fearful damage to the English ships!"

"Not they!" cried Peter, with a fine contempt in his voice. "The Frenchies are safe to make a muddle of it somewhere; and our bold jack tars won't be scared by noise and flame. You'll soon see the sort of welcome they will give these fiery messengers."

The night darkened. There was no moon, and the faint wreaths of vapour lay lightly upon the wide waste of waters. Corinne gazed about her with a sense of fascination. She had never before been so far out upon the river; and how strange and ghostlike it appeared in the silence of the night!

Ten o'clock struck from the clocks in the town behind them, and Colin turned back to look towards the harbour.

"They were to start at ten," he remarked. "Let us lie to now and watch for them. We must give them a wide berth, but not be too far distant to see what they do."

Corinne gazed, breathless with excitement, along the darkening water. The silence and increasing darkness seemed to weigh upon them like a tangible oppression. They could hear their own excited breathing; and all started violently when Arthur's voice suddenly broke the silence by exclaiming:

"I see them! I see them—over yonder!"

The boat in which the eager lads and equally eager girl were afloat was drifting about not very far distant from the Point of Orleans, where were an English outpost and some English shipping, although the main part of the fleet was some distance further on. The watchers expected that the ghostly ships, gliding upon their silent way, would pass this first shipping in silence and under cover of the darkness, and only begin to glow and fire when close to the larger part of the hostile fleet. Yet as they watched the oncoming vessels through the murk of the night, they saw small tongues of flame beginning to flicker through the gloom, and run up the masts and sails like live things; and all in a moment came a smothered roar and a bright flashing flame which, for the few seconds it lasted, showed the whole fire fleet stealing onwards, and the boats by which the crews of them were making good their escape.

"They have fired them too soon!" cried Colin, in great excitement. "I know they were not to have done it till they had passed the Point and got well into the south channel, where all the shipping lies."

"Hurrah!" cried Peter, waving his cap; "did we not say that the Frenchies would make a mess of it? They may be good for something on land; but at sea—"

There was no hearing the end of the sentence; for with a roar like that of a volcano in eruption one of the ships burst into a mass of flames, whilst the rest became lighted up by the glare, and were soon adding to the conflagration—the fire racing up their masts and rigging, and showing them against the black waters like vessels of lambent flame.

"How beautiful, yet how terrible!" cried Corinne, as she gazed with fascinated eyes. "But look—look—look—look how the water is torn up with the shower of lead that falls from them! Are they not like fiery dragons spouting out sheets of fire? Oh, and listen how they hiss and roar! Are they not like live things? Oh, it is the most terrible thing I have ever seen. How glad I am that they are not running amongst the English ships! They are beautiful, terrible creatures; but I think they are doing no hurt to anything."

"And look yonder!" cried Peter, pointing landwards in great excitement; "see those long red lines drawn up on shore! Those are our English soldiers, all ready to receive the foe should they seek to land under cover of this noise and smoke and confusion. As though our British grenadiers would be scared by false fire like yon fireworks!"

"And see, see again!" yelled Paul, still more excited—"see our sailors getting to their boats! They are going to row out and grapple those flaming monsters. See if it be not so. They are drifting down a little too near our few ships. You will see now for yourself, Corinne, the stuff of which our mariners are made!"

"Oh surely, surely they will not go near those terrible vessels!" cried Corinne.

"Yes, but they will," cried Arthur, watching their movements keenly; "oh, would I were with them to help! See, see! they are getting their grappling irons into the boats. That means they are going to grapple these blazing ships, and tow them somewhere out of harm's way. Hurrah for England and England's sailors! Now you will see what our answer will be to these fiery messengers."

Corinne clasped her hands in mute wonder and amaze as the boats shot off from shore, bearing straight down upon the great fire raft—the most formidable of all the fleet—which was spouting flame and lead, and blazing like a live volcano, roaring the while like a veritable wild beast, as though animated by a demon of fury.

"They never can go near it; they will be burned alive!" cried the girl, in affright.

But the midshipmen watched the tactics of the boats with eyes full of eager comprehension.

"They will tackle it somehow, you will see," cried Peter. "See, they are getting round to the leeward of it, and they will lie off till it has finished its most deadly spouting. But it is drifting down upon the ships at anchor. They will never let it get amongst them. You will see—you will see! O brave jack tars, show the mettle you are made of in the eyes of all Quebec this night!"

Corinne could scarcely bear to look, and yet she could not turn her eyes away. The English sailors, laughing and joking the while, swarmed round the fiery monster in their boats, singing out to one another, and at favourable moments flinging their grappling irons and sheering off again.

"All's well! all's well!" they kept calling out, as one after another they fixed their hold; then with united and manful effort, and with a sing-song sound which came rolling over the water with strange effect, they commenced towing their blazing prize away from the ships she was nearing rather too threateningly, whilst great shouts and rounds of cheering went up from those afloat and ashore.

"Oh, well done, well done, brave men!" cried Corinne, roused to a keen enthusiasm; and in one of the pauses of the cheering, when silence had fallen upon the spectators owing to a sudden vicious outrush of flame, which seemed for a moment as though it must overwhelm the gallant English tars, a voice came from one of the tow boats, calling out to a companion in another:

"I say, Jack, didst thou ever take hell in tow afore?"

The monster raft, flaming and sputtering, together with the other fire ships beyond, was coolly towed ashore by the intrepid sailors, and all were left to burn away harmlessly upon the strand, where they could hurt nothing; whilst peals of laughter and cheering went up from the English camp.

"Poor Monsieur de Vaudreuil!" exclaimed Colin, as he prepared to sail back to the dark city, "I wonder if he has seen the fate of his vaunted fire ships?"



Chapter 4: Hostilities.

"Alas! alas!" wailed the townsfolk, when the news of the fiasco of the fire ships was made known, "those dogs of English are too much for us upon the water; but let them attempt to meet us on land, and we will show them what we can do!"

"Do they think French soldiers are the only ones who can fight?" asked Arthur, with a note of wondering scorn in his voice, as the sense of these words came to him. "Well, they will have their wish fast enough, I doubt not! Wolfe is here; and if he cannot fight, write me down an ass! They have seen what the sailors can do; now we will show them what our soldiers are good for!"

"Don't boast, Arthur," quoth Peter, the eldest of the trio; "we can do without great swelling words. The French boast themselves into the belief that they hold this whole vast continent in possession. We must not be like them, and seek to boast ourselves into Quebec! We will wait till our flag is flying from yon battlement, and then it will be time enough to talk."

"All right," answered Arthur gaily; "I'll wager it will not be long before we see it there!"

"Only don't let our townsfolk hear you saying that," said Corinne, laughing, "else they may be disposed to set you hanging there instead!"

And at that retort a laugh was raised against Arthur, who was a little disposed to gasconade, and to an unmerited scorn of the valour of their French rivals.

"Nor will Quebec be taken in a day, nor a week, nor a month," added Corinne, "if all we hear be true. Monsieur de Montcalm has no intention, it is said, of meeting your Wolfe in battle. He means to lie behind these strong walls, and yonder formidable earthworks which protect his camp, and wear out the patience of the foe till the autumn storms force them to leave these coasts for a safer harbourage. There will be no fighting in the open, they say; all will be done by the guns cannonading us, and by ours returning the fire. It may be grand and terrible to watch, but it will not bring things quickly to an issue."

"Yet Wolfe will contrive something to keep the foe busy, or I am much mistaken," cried Peter. "Doubtless a pitched battle is what he would most desire; but if that is not to be, he will find a way of harassing his foes. Never fear, Corinne; you will see enough of war before long—trust my word for that!"

"Enough, and too much, perchance," said the girl, with a little, quick sigh; "my aunt tells me that war is a fearful game to behold. Sometimes my heart sinks within me at what is about to befall. And yet I am glad to be here; I would not be elsewhere. I long to see this great struggle and watch it through. All say that Quebec is the key of Canada. Whichever nation holds Quebec will be master of the whole vast province."

"Ay, and Wolfe knows that as well as the French themselves. His cry has always been, 'To Quebec!'

"And yonder he is, within a few miles of his goal! Now we shall see what he can do."

In truth they were very soon to see and feel for themselves in the city what Wolfe could and would do.

A day or two later sounds of excitement and alarm in the street proclaimed that something fresh was afoot, and Colin with his comrades darted out to learn the news. The citizens were gathering together and running for places which commanded a view over the river, and those who had telescopes or spyglasses were adjusting them with trembling hands, pointing them all in one direction—namely, towards the heights of Point Levi opposite, where the river narrowed itself till it was less than a mile wide.

"What is it?" cried Colin to a man with a glass at his eye.

"The English soldiers are there!" he answered; "I can see their red coats swarming up the heights. Holy Virgin protect us! They are making fascines and gabions. They are going to bring up their guns. They will be able to lay the houses of the Lower Town in ruins, even if they cannot touch the fortifications. Why did not the Governor leave a stronger force over yonder to protect us?"

That question was being passed from mouth to mouth by the anxious and frightened townspeople. They had been full of confidence and courage up till now; but the news that Wolfe had taken Point Levi, and was bringing up guns and intrenching himself upon the heights, filled them with apprehension.

"What are our guns doing that they do not open fire and dislodge them?" cried one voice after the other. "Where is the Marquis of Montcalm? Why does he not take steps for our defence?"

Montcalm was indeed coming post haste to the city, seeing clearly the menace in this action of the English General. He bitterly regretted having left the defence of Point Levi to the Canadian contingent there; for the Canadians were very uncertain soldiers, and were easily discouraged, though if well led and generalled they could be of great service in certain kinds of warfare. But it was known that the Canadians were already beginning to look upon the English as their possible new rulers; and some of them were disposed to regard a change of masters almost with indifference, so long as they were not interfered with in their own possessions. It was quite likely they had only made a very half-hearted resistance to the English foe; at least one thing was certain—Wolfe had gained possession of these heights with singularly little difficulty.

But Montcalm was not going to let him remain there if he could by any means dislodge him. Hardly had the General entered the fortress before Corinne heard, almost for the first time, the strange screaming noise of a shell hurtling through the air, and the next moment there were gushes of smoke from a dozen places along the fortifications, as the great guns were pointed and fired and the balls and bombs went flying across the great river, to fall amongst the busy toilers on the opposite height, carrying death and destruction with them.

Eagerly was the result of the fire watched and waited for. The citizens cried out to those with glasses to tell them the result.

"They take no notice," cried one man who was commandingly posted; "they toil on without so much as a pause. The fire has not touched them yet; the guns are pointed too low. They are bringing up their own guns now; they have one battery almost complete. In a few hours they will be ready to return our fire. Can nothing be done to stop that? Our houses and churches will be knocked to pieces, and our town destroyed! The General says that this will do them no good—they cannot touch the citadel and fortifications; but are we to have our homes destroyed about our ears? We men of Quebec will not stand that!"

Fear and indignation were filling all hearts. Why had Point Levi been so poorly defended? Why had it been left such an easy prey to the foe? Who was to blame? Governor or General—Vaudreuil or Montcalm? The balance of opinion was in favour of the General, whose known ability and personal charm had rendered him popular with the citizens, whilst Vaudreuil commanded but little respect or confidence. Still, whoever was to blame, the fact remained. The town was in terrible danger of a ruinous bombardment, and the efforts now made to beat back and dislodge the enemy met with no sort of success.

On and on they toiled. The shot and shell certainly fell amongst them after a while, but seemed in no whit to disconcert them. The Canadian soldiers regarded with amaze this cool intrepidity. They themselves could be bold in forest warfare, with shelter all around them; but they were never steady in the open under fire, and could hardly credit how any soldiers could pursue their tasks unmoved by the leaden rain descending upon and about them.

"The devil and his angels must be protecting them!" cried the women, crossing themselves in fear; but the English midshipmen laughed aloud.

"What do they think soldiers are for, if not to do their duty in the teeth of danger and difficulty? They are a strange people, these Canadians. Surely the French troops would face peril as steadily if they were put to it?"

"Oh yes," answered Colin; "the French regulars fight exceedingly well. Has not that been proved a thousand times on European soil? But the plaint of our General is that France sends him so few men, and that the Indians and Canadians are not of the same value, save in certain classes of warfare and in their native forests. The Governor is, however, so jealous for the honour of his Canadians, that he seeks in his dispatches to give all the credit of victory to them. So it is natural that the French minister should be chary of sending out regulars, which are so urgently needed over there for the war. Monsieur de Montcalm has told my uncle many things on this very point. He is always urging the Government to send us more men, but he can only get the half of what he needs. Perhaps, in days to come, France may regret that she did not listen better to his representations. We shall have need of good men if this city is to be held for her against the English."

When the lads reached their home, they found the Abbe and his sister deep in talk. Corinne had been listening with attention, but now she turned eagerly to the lads, to ask what news they brought. Their tale was soon told, and all faces were grave.

"It will be a disastrous thing for the city to be bombarded," said the Abbe. "It may not bring the capitulation any nearer, but it will harass and dishearten the citizens. I am truly sorry for them; they will certainly suffer. It should have been better managed than that those opposite heights should fall so easy a prey to the foe. Again that is the mismanagement of the Governor."

"Several boats have come over from the opposite shore," whispered Corinne to her brother, "bringing news of what happened there. There has been little enough resistance to the English soldiers. A party landed at Beaumont, sending in front a band of Rangers, who had a little scuffle with some Canadians in the woods, and drove them off. The soldiers landed, and a placard was posted upon the door of the church. It was signed by Wolfe. It told the Canadians that if they would stand neutral in the coming struggle, they should have full protection both of their persons and property, and undisturbed liberty of religion; but warned them that if they presumed to take up arms against the English, their houses and goods should be destroyed and their churches despoiled. This placard the Canadians removed when the soldiers had gone, and have brought it to Quebec for the Governor to see."

"And what says he?"

"Nay, we know not, but it has caused a great commotion in the town. If the Canadians do not stand by the French in this struggle, the English must needs be victors."

"Ay," spoke the Abbe, whose face was very grave, "and the case is but an evil one for them, as they begin to see. Already they are weary of the war. They love not the life of the camp or the waiting which is now imposed upon them. They are longing already to get back to their homes and their farms, and see after their crops and harvests. Yet if they refuse service under their masters the French, they are threatened with Indian raids; and if they fight the English, they are now threatened with their fury and vengeance. It is small wonder that they are perplexed and half-hearted. We shall have trouble with them, I fear me, ere the battle has been fought and won."

Trouble was certainly menacing the town. There was no immediate danger of its falling into the enemy's hands; but he was putting himself in a position from which he could inflict irritating and harassing injury to the town, and was making evident and active preparations to do so. The military authorities, who looked at the larger issues of affairs, regarded with perhaps a little too much coolness the prospect of the destruction of some churches and a large number of houses and other buildings, consoling themselves with the knowledge that the fortifications would not suffer greatly, and that Wolfe would be no nearer taking Quebec after he had laid in ruins the homes of the citizens. But the exasperation of these individuals was great, and their fear rose with every hour which passed. They saw that batteries were being erected, intrenchments thrown up; that their fire was no check to the activity of the foe; and that before very long the storm of shot and shell would be returned with interest, and would fall upon their city, making terrible havoc there.

Something must be done! That was the word on all lips. In warlike days even peaceful citizens are not altogether ignorant of the arts of war, and the burghers in the streets were mustering strong together, every man of them armed, their faces stern and full of determination as they moved all together to one of the open squares in the city, and the place soon presented a most animated appearance.

Not citizens alone, but pupils from the seminaries, Canadians from the other shore, and a sprinkling of soldiers had joined the muster. Every man carried arms, and when they had assembled to the number of between one and two thousand, a loud call was made for the Governor.

When Vaudreuil appeared, looking harassed and anxious, it was explained to him that the burghers of the city demanded leave to make a determined effort to save their houses and property from destruction. Would the Governor grant them an experienced officer to lead them? They would then cross the river at night, make a compass round the English camp, and set upon them from behind at dawn, whilst the guns from the town opened fire in front. Caught thus between two fires, and attacked front and rear, they must quickly be dislodged and annihilated; and the citizens would make themselves masters of these hostile batteries, which they would take good care should never fall into English hands again.

Their request was granted. An officer of considerable experience, Dumas by name, was told off to head the expedition, and a good many regular soldiers, who volunteered for the service, were permitted to accompany them.

Dearly would the three midshipmen have loved to be of the party, to see all that went on, but they knew they must not make such a suggestion. They were known in the town as prisoners on parole. It would appear to all that they meditated escape. But they urged upon Colin to try to see it all, and bring word again what had befallen.

Colin was nothing loth. He longed to be in the thick of the struggle. Moreover, he was well known to the citizens, and was loved for his own sake as well as for that of his uncle the Abbe, who went daily to and fro amongst the agitated people, seeking to calm their fears and to inspire them with courage and hope.

"I will go!" he cried. "Watch you from this side, and mark how the gunners do their work at dawn. If all goes well, our signal for attack will be the sound of the guns opening fire upon yonder batteries. And yet I shall scarcely wish to see the English dislodged. I do not want our town laid in ruins; yet I truly believe the English rule would be a benefit to this distracted realm. Their own colonies, if report speaks truth, are far more flourishing and strong than any France has ever planted. You have the knack of it, you Britons. Sometimes I doubt whether we shall ever learn it."

"Don't say 'we,'" cried Arthur. "You are more than half an Englishman already, and we will teach you to be one of us before we have done. You neither look nor speak nor act like a Frenchie. Of course here in Quebec, amongst your own acquaintances and friends, you will feel to belong in some sort to them; but once we get you into English ranks, you will soon forget that you ever were anything but an Englishman at heart."

Colin was almost ready to believe this himself, though he scarcely liked to put it so broadly, lest it should seem like treachery to his own family and friends. He was possessed of a very keen admiration for British pluck and boldness and audacity. The things he had heard and seen had fired his enthusiasm, and he was quite of the opinion that were the free choice to be one day his, he would choose to throw in his lot with the English invaders of Canadian soil. To watch how this game of skill and address was to be played out between the two powers was now his great aim and object, and he was eager to be a spectator in the next scene of the drama.

His way was made quite easy; for the Abbe himself resolved to accompany the expedition, and watch from a distance the effect of the combined attack upon the English batteries. He would have been better satisfied had Montcalm been consulted; but he was away at Beauport, and if the citizens were to achieve anything, it would be better for them to strike whilst the iron was hot. Another day and the leaden storm might have opened upon the city, and the heart might be taken out of them.

All was now hurry and confusion—too much confusion for the approval of the Abbe, who, with the officer in command and the regular troops, sought to allay it, and to infuse more of discipline and organization into the arrangements.

Colin ran back to say farewell to Corinne and Madame Drucour; and they bid him be careful of himself, and come back amongst the first to bring them news. After promising this Colin departed, and the night fell upon the town—a restless night for those within its walls; for there was scarce a house but had contributed its one or more members for the expedition, and all knew that the salvation of their homes depended upon the success of the attack.

It was a hot, dark night, and there was little sleep in the city. It would be impossible to hear at that distance, even if some hand-to-hand fighting were to take place on the opposite bank. The wind set the wrong way, and only if the big guns boomed out would they be likely to know that the English had been aroused. Eagerly was the dawn waited for, when the city guns would give the expected signal; but the dawn came so wrapped in fog, and it was not quite as early as was expected that the boom and roar from the fortifications told that the gunners could sight the opposing batteries. The blanket of fog seemed then to roll up and away, leaving the glistening river lying like a sheet of silver at their feet.

But what was the meaning of that crowd of boats all making for the city as fast as oars and sails could bring them? It was hardly six o'clock in the morning, and the attack could not well have been commenced before five. What, then, were they doing, hurrying back in their boats like hunted hares?

Those with telescopes, watching from the heights above, declared that the English were pursuing their occupations with the most perfect unconcern, that they were bringing up more guns, and that the batteries were now so well planted and defended that the city guns did no harm. Shell away as they might from Quebec, no effect was produced upon their solid earthworks; and it was abundantly evident that very soon they would he in a position to open fire upon the hapless city. Down to the river level rushed the excited people, to meet the returning boats. Such a clamour of inquiry, response, anger, and disappointment arose that at first nothing could be made out. The midshipmen cleared a path for the Abbe and Colin through the gathering crowd; and as soon as they were fairly within the walls of their home, they began to tell the dismal tale.

"It was just a fiasco from first to last!" cried Colin. "It was as our uncle said: there was no order or discipline or preparation. One might as well have sent out a pack of children to do the work!"

"What happened?" cried Corinne breathlessly.

"Why, nothing but a series of gross blunders. We got across all safe, and landed unopposed. The Seminary scholars were over first, and marched off up the hill before the rest came. We got separated in that way, and almost at once one felt that a sort of panic had got hold of the people. The burghers who were so anxious to come now got frightened, and were most difficult to get into order. Dumas and the regulars did their utmost; but it was plain that the people were scared out of their lives lest the English should suddenly appear and attack them. After a long time we got into a sort of order, and began the march, when all of a sudden there were a crash and a blaze, and everything was thrown into confusion. They yelled out that the English were upon them, and headed for the boats."