Produced by Al Haines.
"'STOP! STOP! WE'RE COMING DOWN.'" (p. 34)]
Under Wolfe's Flag
OR
THE FIGHT FOR THE CANADAS
BY
ROWLAND WALKER
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD MANOR HOUSE," "THE TREASURE GALLEON," ETC.
Publishers PARTRIDGE London
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
*EVERY BOY'SLIBRARY*
_LIST OF TITLES_
THE CALL OF HONOUR By Argyll SaxbyUNDER WOLFE'S FLAG; OR, THE FIGHT FOR THE CANADAS By Rowland WalkerDICK DALE; THE COLONIAL SCOUT By Tom BevanTHE YELLOW SHIELD; OR, A CAPTIVE IN THE ZULU CAMP By Wm. JohnstonROGER THE RANGER By E. F. PollardNORMAN'S NUGGET By Macdonald Oxley
New Titles to be added periodically.
_Every book in this series has beenspecially chosen to meet the criticalof the Boy of To-day, and thePublishers have no fear that he willbe lacking in his approval of theserobust and intensely absorbing stories._
PublishersPARTRIDGELondon
TO THE MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER, A BRAVE AND CHIVALROUS FRONTIERSMAN, WHOSE REMARKABLE EARLY ADVENTURES IN THE BACKWOODS OF CANADA AND AMERICA PROMPTED THE WRITING OF THIS BOOK
R.W.
IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS PAULTON, SOMERSET, ENGLAND
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I THE TROUT-STREAMII HOLDING THE FORTIII A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEAIV THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOPV THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATEVI PRISONERS OF WARVII OLD QUEBECVIII THE NIGHT-WATCHIX THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOISX A LONELY FRONTIERSMANXI THE SMOKE SIGNALXII THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOISXIII THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FORESTXIV SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARSXV THE TRAGIC CIRCLEXVI THE PALEFACE HUNTERXVII A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFEXVIII A LOST TRAILXIX THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLSXX THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM
*UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE TROUT-STREAM*
"Here's a beauty, Jack!"
"Hold him, Jamie, till I come!"
"Come quickly then, old fellow--he's slipping away from me! Quick!Hang it, the fellow's gone! I've missed him, and----"
"Splash!" The sentence was never finished, for Jamie, stepping tooexcitedly on a treacherous, moss-covered rock in mid-stream, slipped,and the next instant found himself sitting down, up to the armpits inthe water which raced past him like a mill-stream.
"Never mind," said his companion, when the laughter which greeted thismishap had subsided. "There's a likely spot, up under the fall there,where I've landed many a big fish; let's go and try it."
This "likely spot," however, was a difficult one, and for any other soulin the tiny village of Burnside--these two young rascals excepted--animpossible one. There, right under the overhanging rocks, over which acascade tumbled twenty feet, into a swirling pool which formed one ofthe deepest parts of the stream, was a narrow ledge, where the moss grewthick upon the wet, slippery rocks, but in the cracks and fissuresbeneath that ledge, many a lusty trout was hidden.
While the two chums are wending their way to this "likely spot," whichlay at a bend in the stream, just at the bottom of Hawk Woods, leapingfrom boulder to boulder as they crossed the broken stream, I willbriefly introduce the reader to a little of their previous history.
Jack Elliot and Jamie Stuart were aged respectively fifteen and fourteenyears. Only a week ago these two sturdy lads had been soundly thrashedby Dr. Birch, for playing truant and indulging in the tempting butforbidden pastime of "tickling trout" in the laughing stream, which,descending from the blue moorlands above, sang its way down through thedensely wooded slopes of Crow Hill.
Jack was the youngest son of Squire Elliot of Rushworth Hall, an old butsomewhat dilapidated manor, standing on one of the ridges of the PennineChain. His eldest brother, who was now twenty-two, was an ensign in thecelebrated "John Company," and at the present time was engaged in activeservice in India. His second brother was at Oxford. Jack was still ascholar (though a dull one) at the old Elizabethan Grammar School justabove the village, where stern Dr. Birch drilled little else but Greekand Latin into unwilling pupils.
Jack's bosom chum and schoolfellow was Jamie Stuart. Now, Jamie was anorphan, at least so far as he knew, for his mother died on the day thathe was born, and his father, a somewhat daring village character, whoonce transgressed the game laws, was considered by a bench ofland-owning gentry as "too dangerous a character to remain in Burnside,lest he should lead other folk astray," and was ultimately transportedto the new colonies in North America, and forbidden to set foot inEngland again "on peril of his life," for those were the days of thecruel game laws, when sheep-stealing was a hanging business, and totouch a pheasant meant transportation for life.
All this happened when Jamie was a little chap of but two years, and sohe never remembered either his father or his mother. His father was saidto be very fond of his little boy--for despite his transgression, he wasa good father and a brave man, and very much the type of man that MerryEngland needed at that time, to fight her enemies--and his only requestwhen he was sentenced was, that before he left the country he might seeagain his little boy--a request which the selfish and hardenedmagistrates promptly refused.
Years passed away, and village rumours said that he had escaped from hiscaptors directly he set foot on American soil, and had taken to theforest, amongst the Indians tribes that inhabited the backwoods ofPennsylvania, and that he had become a great chief amongst them; butthis was perhaps only a rumour, for no one really knew whether he wasdead or alive. So little Jamie grew up under the care of a maiden aunt,who kept a Dame School in the little village, and being a lady of someproperty, when the lad became ten years old, he was sent to the OldGrammar School.
The time of which I write was the middle of the eighteenth century, andEngland was just laying the foundations of her great future Empire,which was to be the wonder and envy of the world.
During the past twenty years, Anson and his brave sea-dogs, thoughalways outnumbered in ships and men, had driven the French and Spaniardsfrom the seas, and had made the name of England famous all over theworld. On all the seven seas the old flag was supreme, and was proudlyunfurled to every breeze that blew.
Across the burning plains of India, and under the very palace of the OldMogul, was heard the boom of British guns, for against overwhelming oddsClive was winning brilliant victories, that would soon end in bringingthe vast Indian Empire, with all its wealth and treasure, and itsmultitude of dark-skinned princes, to do homage at the feet of England'sking. Nor was this all, for over the Atlantic, on the shores, therivers, and the great lakes of the new world, the long campaign hadalready begun, which was to end in the capture of Quebec, and thewresting of the Canadas from our inveterate foes across the Channel.
So the Squire's son and the poacher's son became fast friends. All theSquire's efforts to separate them had failed. They were kindredspirits, and there was no mischief or devilry ever set afoot, either inthe school or the village, in which they did not participate. All therules and laws that were ever invented failed to
keep them withinbounds.
Their three great enemies were, Dr. Birch, Old Click, the keeper of HawkWoods, and Beagle, the village constable. The first had thrashed them ascore of times, the second had threatened to bring the penalties of thegame laws upon them, if they did not desist from their depredations,whilst the third had once put them in the stocks, and threatened themwith the lock-up for the next offence.
Thus it happened, on this glorious afternoon in the early summer of1757, when the school bell was calling its unwilling pupils to theirlessons, that these two boys were robbing the nest of a humble-bee, in ameadow below the school, extracting the wild honey from the combs, whenthe bell suddenly ceased ringing.
"There goes!--that confounded bell has stopped ringing, Jamie."
"So it has. Now we're in for it again."
"The second time this week, too," and Jack sat down and began towhistle, "There's nae luck aboot the house," while a look of grimdespair settled on the countenance of his friend.
"And my back's still sore with that last thrashing. What shall we do,Jack?"
"Let's go trouting in Hawk Woods."
"And what about Old Click? He said that the next time he caught us,he'd take us before the magistrates."
"Oh, hang the magistrates and Old Click too! Why shouldn't we fishthere if we like? Shall we go?"
"Agreed!"
And the next moment they were scampering across the meadows in thedirection of the woods, taking care to keep under the shelter of thehedges and walls as much as possible, till they had entered the friendlycover of the trees.
Hawk Woods was a lovely bit of primeval forest, that covered both sidesof a deep valley. In places, the descent was almost precipitous, rightdown to the bottom of the gully, where the burn threaded its way amongstthe rocks, boulders, and fallen tree-trunks. It was a bewitching spot.The shimmering of a thousand trees, on whose leaves flashed thesunlight, their brown, aged and distorted trunks, the huge scatteredrocks, and above all, the music of the stream as it tumbled half ahundred little cascades, with the speckled trout leaping amid its whirlsand eddies, made it a charming place. Who that has seen that spot canforget it?
This was the place that had wooed these two boys from their lessons, andhere beside the big cascade we have found them again.
Jamie had tried twice to reach the ledge behind the falls, by climbingalong the face of the rock, and clinging to the ivy roots, but there wasno foothold.
"It's no use," said Jack, "there's only one way to get there, and thatis by swimming. We can easily duck, when we come to the fall."
"Then we'll try it, for I'm already wet through, what with the sprayfrom the falls, and sitting down in the stream."
They quickly divested themselves of their clothing, plunged in, swamacross the pool, ducked under the cascade, and reached the narrow ledge,which was the object of their immediate ambition, and within a quarterof an hour they had succeeded in capturing half-a-dozen fine trout, bythe process known as "tickling," and as they caught them, they flungthem far out on the bank.
Then they swam back, and after drying themselves in the warm rays of thesun, they dressed, and prepared to cook their afternoon meal.
An armful of twigs and broken branches, a bit of dry grass--these werequickly gathered. Then Jack struck a spark with his tinder-box, andthere was a fire! Now the blue smoke was curling upwards, and hanginglike a wreath over the tree-tops. Alas, that fatal smoke! This it wasthat betrayed them, and was the means of changing the whole course oftheir lives, for other eyes had seen it from afar, and were hastening tothe spot.
In later days, amongst the backwoods of another continent, when theirnearest neighbours were a scalping party of Algonquins or fierceIroquois, they learnt to be more careful about that thin column of bluesmoke which rose from their evening camp-fire.
But at present they were unconscious of any such danger. The feelingthat they were most conscious of at this moment was one of hungersomewhere amidships, for their outdoor exercise, and above all, the colddip, had given them healthy appetites. As soon, therefore, as the firehad burned sufficiently clear, they laid the spoils of the chase acrossa rude grid, made of a few wet sticks.
Then the savoury smell of roasted trout filled the wood, and when thisdelicate repast was ready, our two young heroes feasted sumptuously onthe royal dish of red-spotted trout. When they had finished theirrepast, they washed it down with a copious draught of cold water fromthe stream.
"There goes the old magpie back to her nest. I wonder if the young onesare hatched yet. I'm going aloft to see," said Jamie, and heimmediately began to climb the tall, straight fir-tree, which stood onthe very edge of a steep slope, about twenty yards away.
When he had shinned some fifteen feet up the trunk he was able to claspthe lowest branch, and in another minute he had ascended to the very topof the tree, and was swaying dangerously amongst the slender twigs wherethe magpie had built her nest.
"How many young ones are there?" called Jack from the foot of the tree.
"Three and one egg left."
"Good! Bring the egg down. It's no good to the old bird now. It'ssure to be addled. Bring it down--you know we promised to get one forTiny Tim the lame boy, who can't climb."
"Why, what's the matter? Anything wrong?"
"Sh! Sh!"
Jamie was signalling desperately from the tree-top to his companionbelow, and pointing across the stream, beyond the camp-fire.
"Who is it?" asked Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
"Old Click, I do believe--and--Beagle!"
"Snakes alive! What now?"
"Better come up the tree. Quietly now."
Jack was just as expert at climbing as Jamie, and never sailor-boyshinned up the truck to the mast-head more quickly or more neatly thanhe did up that tall fir-tree. In another moment they were both perchedaloft, and hidden amongst the branches.
The two men had seen the smoke from the distance, as it ascended abovethe trees, and suspecting either trespassers or poachers, they had creptquietly down to the place, and had reached the neighbourhood of thefire, soon after the boys had left the spot.
Imagine the feelings of the latter, as from their lofty perch theylooked down upon their two bitterest enemies, only a stone's throw away,and effectually cutting off their retreat. Only a fortnight before, theyhad been hauled before the magistrates for this very same offence, andit had required all the influence of Jack's father to protect theyoungsters from the penalty of the law.
"The young vagabonds----" Old Click was saying, as he kicked aside theembers of the fire.
"Look! Here be the heads of six foine trout they have stolen," saidBeagle.
"I don't know whether be the worst--Squire's son or the poacher's son;but this I know, they be both framing for Wakefield gaol, or else thegallows."
"How do ye know it be they, Mr. Click?" asked the constable. "There benoa evidence that I con see, as yet."
"How do I know? Why, there ain't another rascal in the village who darecome into the woods and touch either fish or game since Jem Mason wastransported. Nobody dare do it, 'cept these two vagabonds, who are theplague o' my life."
"Aye, the place is wunn'erfully quiet sin' I copt Jem at his oldtricks," said Beagle, straightening his shoulders, as he recalled thatstirring incident, in which, however, he took a very small part.
"And I do think, constable, that you ain't done your duty lately, to letthese two rascals play the pranks they ha' played."
"What's that you say, Mr. Click?" said Beagle, rather testily. "Whathave they done?"
"Why, 'twas only last Friday that Gaffer John had a dead cat droppeddown his chimney, when he was just cooking his supper, too, and it wasall spoiled. And who was it that fired Farmer Giles's hayrick, butthese same 'gallows-birds'? The young varmint!"
"First catch your man, Mr. Click, and then you'll have evidence'red-hot' that a bench of magistrates will look at."
"Do you hear that, Jamie?" whispered Jack. "They're on ou
r scent fordropping that dead cat down 'Surly John's' chimney. He deserved it, too,the skulking old miser, for turning poor old Betty Lamb out of hercottage. I'd do it again. But fancy blaming us for firing thathayrick! Surely he can't mean it!"
"I'll tell you what, Jack. This place is getting too warm for us.Let's run away and go to sea, as we always said we should."
"Chance is a fine thing. Wait till we're out of this hole. Wish we'dthe chance to run now, but if we stir they'll see us."
At this point a shrill whistle rang through the woods and startled them,and before they had recovered from their surprise, the deep bay of ahound was heard approaching from the distance.
"Phew----" The boys looked at each other, and for a moment their facesblanched, as in an undertone these words simultaneously escaped fromtheir lips.
"Old Click's dog----"
"We're up a tree now, Jack, in more than one sense." And they were, forthey both knew the reputation of this wonderful hound. He could track apoacher for miles, and having once got the scent, he rarely let it gotill he had run his victim down. Nearer and nearer came that deep bay,and soon the trampling of the shrubs and undergrowth gave notice of itsarrival.
"Here, Charlie. Good dog.--Seek 'em.--Seek 'em," cried its master.
Instantly the hound began sniffing round about the embers of the fire,till picking up the newly-placed scent, it suddenly gave vent to apeculiar howl, and then dashed directly towards the stream. Here itpaused abruptly, and began sniffing the air, then it ran back to thefire, picked up the scent again, and stopped once more at the edge ofthe stream.
"They've crossed the water, that's certain," said the keeper.
The boys had watched this with great consternation. They had given upall hope of escape, but when they saw this fine dog twice baffled by thestream, hope returned in an overflowing measure.
"There is just a chance," whispered Jack.
The two men crossed the burn, and brought the dog to the other bank, tosee if it could pick up the trail. Fortunately, the boys had paddled alittle way up-stream, when they crossed, and this caused some furtherdelay in recovering the scent. Still the keeper persevered, and inanother quarter of an hour, the hound uttered a joyful little bark, andwith tail erect and nose to the ground, it started away in the directionof the fir. Suddenly it stopped at the foot of the tree, where theculprits were perched, and began clawing and scratching at the bark.
Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas Page 1