The Lords of the Wild: A Story of the Old New York Border

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER XIII

  EVE OF BATTLE

  Robert awoke the next morning, well physically, but depressedmentally. He believed that a great battle--and a great victory for theAnglo-American army--was coming, and he would have no part in it. Thelosses of Braddock's defeat and the taking of Fort William Henry byMontcalm would be repaired, once more the flag of his native land andof his ancestral land, would be triumphant, but he would be merelya spectator, even if he were as much as that. It was a bitterreflection, and again he thought of escape. But no plan seemedpossible. He was held as firmly in the center of an army, as if hewere in the jaws of a powerful vise. Nor was it possible for Tayoga,however great his skill and daring, to reach him there. He stroveto be philosophical, but it is hard for youth to reconcile itself atfirst, though it may soon forget.

  Breakfast was given to him, and he was permitted to go outside thetent into a small open space, though not beyond. On all sides of himstretched the impassable lines of the French army. There were severalother prisoners within the enclosure, a ranger, a hunter, and three orfour farmers who had been taken in forays farther south.

  The fresh air and the brilliant sunshine revived Robert's spirits. Helooked eagerly about him, striving to divine the French intentions,but he could make nothing of them. He knew, however, upon reflection,that this would be so. The French would not put any prisoners in aposition to obtain information that would be of great value in thepossible event of escape.

  He undertook to talk with the other prisoners, but they were amelancholy lot, not to be cheered. They were all thinking of a long,in truth, an indefinite, imprisonment in Canada, and they mourned.Many people had been taken into Canada by French and Indians in formerforays and had been lost forever.

  Robert turned away from his comrades and sat down on a stone, wherehe speculated idly on what was passing about him. He believed that theFrench would withdraw to Crown Point, at least, and might retreat allthe way to Canada, leaving Lake Champlain, as well as Lake George, tothe complete control of the Anglo-American forces. He expected to seepreparations to that effect, and, when he saw none, he concluded thatthey were merely postponed for a day or two. So far as he could judge,the aspect of the French army was leisurely. He did not observe anysigns of trepidation, but then, withdrawal was always easy in thegreat North American wilderness. There was yet plenty of time for it.

  He noticed a complete absence of Indians, and the fact struck him withgreat surprise. While he was advancing various theories to accountfor it, young Captain Louis de Galissonniere came, and greeted himcordially.

  "I hope you understand that we French know how to treat a prisoner,"he said.

  "I've nothing of which to complain," replied Robert. "This is thesecond time that I've been with you, and on this occasion, as on thefirst, I seem to be more of a guest than a captive."

  "You're the special prisoner of Colonel de St. Luc, who standsextremely high with the Marquis de Montcalm. The colonel wishes you tobe treated well and seems to favor you. Why is it?"

  "Frankly, I don't know, but I learned long since that he was a mostchivalrous foe. I suppose I am to be sent into Canada along with theother prisoners?"

  "I suppose so, but there is no way for you to go just now."

  "Why can't I go with your army?"

  "With our army?"

  "It retreats, of course, before our overwhelming force."

  De Galissonniere laughed.

  "You are disposed to be facetious," he said. "You will observe that weare not retreating. You see no preparations to do so, but that's allI will tell you. More would be valuable information for the enemy,should you escape."

  "I've warned Colonel de St. Luc that I mean to escape in due time. Idon't like to reject such noble hospitality as you're showing me, butmy duty to my country demands it."

  Robert was now in a most excellent humor. His sanguine temperamentwas asserting itself to the full. What he wished to see he saw. He wasslipping away from the French; and he was advancing with the Englishand Americans to a great and brilliant victory. His face was flushedand his eyes sparkled. De Galissonniere looked at him curiously, butsaid nothing.

  "I observe one very significant fact," continued Robert.

  "What is that?"

  "I see no Indians, who are usually so numerous about your camps. Youneedn't tell me what has happened, but I've been among Indians a greatdeal. I know their ways, and I'll tell you. They see that yours is alost cause, and they've deserted you. Now, isn't that so?"

  The young Frenchman was silent, but it was the turn of his face toflush.

  "I didn't expect you to answer me in words," continued Robert,triumphantly, "but I can see. The Indians never fight in a battle thatthey consider lost before it's joined, and you know as well as I do,Captain de Galissonniere, that if the Marquis de Montcalm awaits ourattack his army will be destroyed."

  "I do not know it at all."

  Then Robert felt ashamed because he had been led away by hisenthusiasm, and apologized for a speech that might have seemedboastful to the young Frenchman, who had been so kind to him. But DeGalissonniere, with his accustomed courtesy, said it was nothing, andwhen he left, presently, both were in the best of humors.

  Robert, convinced that he had been right about the Indians, watchedfor them as the morning went on, but he never saw a single warrior.There could be no doubt now that they had gone, and while he could notconsider them chivalric they were at least wise.

  The next familiar face that he beheld was one far from welcome to him.It was that of a man who happened to pass near the enclosure and whostopped suddenly when he caught sight of Robert. He was in civiliandress, but he was none other than Achille Garay, that spy whose secretmessage had been wrested from him in the forest by Robert and Tayoga.

  The gaze that Garay bent upon Robert was baleful. His capture by thethree and the manner in which he had been compelled to disclose theletter had been humiliating, and Robert did not doubt that the manwould seek revenge. He shivered a little, feeling that as a prisonerhe was in a measure helpless. Then his back stiffened.

  "I'm glad to see, Garay, that you're where you belong--with theFrench," he called out. "I hope you didn't suffer any more from hungerin the woods when Willet, the Onondaga and I let you go."

  The spy came closer, and his look was so full of venom that youngLennox, despite himself, shuddered.

  "Time makes all things even," he said. "I don't forget how you andyour friends held me in your power in the forest, but here you are aprisoner. I have a good chance to make the score even."

  Robert remembered also how this man had attempted his life in Albany,for some reason that he could not yet fathom, and he felt that hewas now, and, in very truth, a most dangerous enemy. Nevertheless, hereplied, quietly:

  "That was an act of war. You were carrying a message for the enemy.We were wholly within our rights when we forced you to disclose thepaper."

  "It makes no difference," said Garay. "I owe you and your comrades adebt and I shall pay it."

  Robert turned his back on him and walked to the other side of theenclosure. When he turned around, five minutes later, Garay was gone.But Robert felt uncomfortable. Here was a man who did not have thegallantry and chivalry that marked so many of the French. If he couldhe would strike some great blow.

  He strove to dismiss Garay from his mind, and, in his interest in whatwas going on about him, he finally succeeded. He saw Frenchmen andCanadians leaving the camp and others returning. His knowledge of warmade him believe that those coming had been messengers sent forth towatch the Anglo-American army, and those going were dispatched on thesame service. Their alarm must be great, he reflected pleasantly,and none could bring to Montcalm any reassuring news. Once he sawMontcalm, and once St. Luc, but neither spoke to him.

  He and his comrades, the other prisoners, slept that night in theopen, the weather being warm. A blanket was allotted to every one bytheir captors, and Robert, long used to unlimited fresh air, preferredthe outside to the i
nside of a tent. Nothing disturbed his slumbers,but he expected that the French retreat would begin the next day. Onthe contrary, Montcalm stayed in his camp, nor was there any sign ofwithdrawal on the second and third days, or on others that came. Heinferred then that the advance of Abercrombie had been delayed,and the French were merely hanging on until their retreat becamecompulsory.

  He had been in the camp about a week, and as he saw no more of Garayhe concluded that the man had been sent away on some errand. Itwas highly probable that he was now in the south spying upon theAnglo-American army. It was for just such duties that he was fitted.Then he began to think of him less and less.

  His old impatience and keen disappointment because he was a prisonerwhen such great days were coming, returned with doubled vigor. Hechafed greatly and looked around again for an opportunity to escape,but did not see the remotest possibility of it. After all, he mustreconcile himself. His situation could be far worse. He was welltreated, and some of the French leaders, while official enemies, werepersonal friends.

  His mind also dwelled upon the singular fact that the French army didnot retreat. He tried to glean something from De Galissonniere, whotalked with him several times, but the young captain would not departfrom generalities. He invariably shut up, tight, when they approachedany detail of the present military situation.

  A dark night came with much wind and threat of rain. Robert thoughtthat he and his fellow captives would have to ask the shelter oftents, but the rain passed farther to the west, though the heavydarkness remained. He was glad, as the weather was now oppressivelywarm, and he greatly preferred to sleep on a blanket in the open air.

  The night was somewhat advanced when he lay down. The other prisonerswere asleep already. He had not found any kindred minds among them,and, as they were apathetic, he had not talked with them much. Now,he did not miss them at all as he lay on his blanket and watched thewavering lights of the camp. It was still quite dark, with a moaningwind, but his experience of weather told him that the chance ofrain was gone. Far in the west, lightning flickered and low thundergrumbled there now and then, but in the camp everything was dry. Owingto the warmth, the fires used for cooking had been permitted to burnout, and the whole army seemed at peace.

  Robert himself shared this feeling of rest. The storm, passing so faraway, soothed and lulled him. It was pleasant to lie there, unharmed,and witness its course at a far point. He dozed a while, fell asleep,and awoke again in half an hour. Nothing had changed. There was stillan occasional flicker of lightning and mutter of thunder and thedarkness remained heavy. He could dimly see the forms of his comradeslying on their blankets. Not one of them stirred. They slept heavilyand he rather envied them. They had little imagination, and, when onewas in bad case, he was lucky to be without it.

  The figure lying nearest him he took to be that of the hunter, ataciturn man who talked least of them all, and again Robert felt envybecause he could lose all care so thoroughly and so easily in sleep.The man was as still and unconcerned as one of the mountain peaks thatlooked down upon them. He would imitate him, and although sleep mightbe unwilling, he would conquer it. A resolute mind could triumph overanything.

  He shut his eyes and his will was so strong that he held them shuta full ten minutes, although sleep did not come. When he opened themagain he thought that the hunter had moved a little. After all, theman was mortal, and had human emotions. He was not an absolute log.

  "Tilden!" he called--Tilden was the hunter's name.

  But Tilden did not stir, nor did he respond in any way when he calleda second time. He had been mistaken. He had given the man too muchcredit. He was really a log, a dull, apathetic fellow to whom theextraordinary conditions around them made no appeal. He would notspeak to him again as long as they were prisoners together, and,closing his eyes anew, he resolutely wooed slumber once more.

  Robert's hearing was not so wonderfully keen as Tayoga's, but it wasvery keen, nevertheless, and as he lay, eyes shut, something impingedupon the drums of his ears. It was faint, but it did not seem to be apart of the usual sounds of the night. His ear at once registered analarm on his brain.

  His eyes opened. The man whom he had taken to be the hunter wasbending over him, and, dark though it was, he distinctly saw the gleamof a knife in his hand. His first feeling, passing in a flash, was oneof vague wonderment that anybody should menace him in such a manner,and then he saw the lowering face of Garay. He had been a fool toforget him. With a convulsive and powerful effort he threw his body toone side, and, when the knife fell, the blade missed him by an inch.

  Then Robert sprang to his feet, but Garay, uttering an angryexclamation at his missed stroke, did not attempt another. Instead,agile as a cat, he ran lightly away, and disappeared in the darknessof the camp. Robert sat down, somewhat dazed. It had all been anaffair of a minute, and it was hard for him to persuade himself thatit was real. His comrades still slept soundly, and the camp seemed aspeaceful as ever.

  For a time Robert could not decide what to do. He knew that he hadbeen threatened by a formidable danger, and that instinct, more thananything else, had saved him. He was almost prepared to believe thatTayoga's Tododaho, looking down from his remote star, had intervenedin his behalf.

  The question solved itself. Although he knew that Garay had madea foul attempt upon his life he had no proof. His story would seemhighly improbable. Moreover, he was a prisoner, while Garay was oneof the French. Nobody would believe his tale. He must keep quiet andwatch. He was glad to see that the night was now lightening. Garaywould not come back then, at least. But Robert was sure that he wouldrepeat the attack some time or other. Revenge was a powerful motive,and he undoubtedly had another as strong. He must guard against Garaywith all his five senses.

  The night continued to brighten. The lightning ceased to flicker,the storm had blown itself out in the distance, and a fine moon and amyriad of stars came out. Things in the camp became clearly visible,and, feeling that Garay would attempt nothing more at such a time,Robert closed his eyes again. He soon slept, and did not awaken untilall the other prisoners were up.

  "Mr. Tilden," he said to the hunter, "I offer you my sincereapologies."

  "Apologies," said the hunter in surprise. "What for?"

  "Because I mistook a much worse man for you. You didn't know anythingabout it at the time, but I did it, and I'm sorry I wronged you somuch, even in thought."

  The hunter touched his forehead. Clearly the misfortunes of the youngprisoner were weighing too heavily upon him. One must endure captivitybetter than that.

  "Don't take it so hard, Mr. Lennox," he said. "It's not like being inthe hands of the Indians, and there is always the chance of escape."

  De Galissonniere visited him again that morning, and Robert, true tohis resolution, said nothing of Garay. The captain did not speak ofthe Anglo-American army, but Robert judged from his manner that he washighly expectant. Surely, Abercrombie was about to advance, andthe retreat of Montcalm could not be more than a day away. DeGalissonniere stayed only ten minutes, and then Robert was left to hisown devices. He tried to talk to Tilden, but the hunter lapsed againinto an apathetic state, and, having little success, he fell back onhis own thoughts and what his eyes might behold.

  In the afternoon he saw Montcalm at some distance, talking with St.Luc and Bourlamaque, and then he saw a man whose appearance betokenedhaste and anxiety approach them. Robert did not know it then, but itwas the able and daring French partisan, Langy, and he came out of theforest with vital news.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile Langy saluted Montcalm with the great respect that hissuccesses had won from all the French. When the Marquis turned hiskeen eye upon him he knew at once that his message, whatever it mightbe, was of supreme importance.

  "What is it, Monsieur Langy?"

  "A report on the movements of the enemy."

  "Come to my tent and tell me of it fully, and do you, St. Luc andBourlamaque, come with me also. You should hear everythin
g."

  They went into the tent and all sat down. St. Luc's eyes never leftthe partisan, Langy. He saw that the man was full of his news, eagerto tell it, and was impressed with its importance. He knew Langy evenbetter than Montcalm did. Few were more skillful in the forest, and hehad a true sense of proportion that did not desert him under stress.His eyes traveled over the partisan's attire, and there his own greatskill as a ranger told him much. His garments were disarranged. Burrsand one or two little twigs were clinging to them. Obviously he hadcome far and in haste. The thoughts of St. Luc, and, in truth, thethoughts of all of them, went to the Anglo-American army.

  "Speak, Monsieur Langy," said Montcalm. "I can see that you have comeswiftly, and you would not come so without due cause."

  "I wish to report to you, sir," said Langy, "that the entire army ofthe enemy is now embarked on the Lake of the Holy Sacrament, and isadvancing against us."

  Montcalm's eyes sparkled. His warlike soul leaped up at the thought ofspeedy battle that was being offered. A flame was lighted also inSt. Luc's blood, and Bourlamaque was no less eager. It was no lack ofvalor and enterprise that caused the French to lose their colonies inNorth America.

  "You know this positively?" asked the commander-in-chief.

  "I have seen it with my own eyes."

  "Tell it as you saw it."

  "I lay in the woods above the lake with my men, and I saw the Britishand Americans go into their boats, a vast flock of them. They are allafloat on the lake at this moment, and are coming against us."

  "Could you make a fair estimate of their numbers?"

  "I obtained the figures with much exactitude from one or twostragglers that we captured on the land. My eyes confirm thesefigures. There are about seven thousand of the English regulars, andabout nine thousand of the American colonials."

  "So many as that! Five to one!"

  "You tell us they are all in boats," said St. Luc. "How many of theseboats contain their artillery?"

  "They have not yet embarked the cannon. As nearly as we can gather,the guns will not come until the army is at Ticonderoga."

  "What?"

  "It is as I tell you," replied Langy to St. Luc. "The guns cannot comeup the lake until a day or two after the army is landed. Theirforce is so great that they do not seem to think they will need theartillery."

  St. Luc, his face glowing, turned to Montcalm.

  "Sir," he said, "I made to you the prophecy that some chance, someglorious chance, would yet help us, and that chance has come. Theirvery strength has betrayed them into an error that may prove fatal.Despising us, they give us our opportunity. No matter how great theodds, we can hold earthworks and abattis against them, unless theybring cannon, or, at least we may make a great attempt at it."

  The swarthy face of Montcalm was illumined by the light from his eyes.

  "I verily believe that your gallant soul speaks truth, Chevalier deSt. Luc!" he exclaimed. "I said once that we would stand and I say itagain. We'll put all to the hazard. Since they come without cannonwe do have our chance. Go, Langy, and take your needed rest. You haveserved us well. And now we'll have the others here and talk over ourpreparations."

  The engineers Lotbiniere and Le Mercier were, as before, zealousfor battle at Ticonderoga, and their opinion counted for much withMontcalm. De Levis, held back by the vacillating Vaudreuil, had notyet come from Montreal, and the swiftest of the Canadian paddlers wassent down Lake Ticonderoga in a canoe to hurry him on. Then the entirebattalion of Berry went to work at once with spade and pick and axto prepare a breastwork and abattis, stretching a line of defense infront of the fort, and not using the fort itself.

  * * * * *

  Robert saw the Frenchmen attack the trees with their axes and theearth with their spades, and he divined at once the news thatLangy had brought. The Anglo-American army was advancing. His heartthrobbed. Victory and rescue were at hand.

  "Mr. Tilden," he said to the hunter, "listen to the ring of the ax andthe thud of the spade!"

  "Aye, I hear 'em," was the apathetic reply; "but they don't interestme. I'm a prisoner."

  "But it may mean that you won't be a prisoner much longer. The Frenchare fortifying, and they've gone to work with so much haste and energythat it shows an imminent need. There's only one conclusion to bedrawn from it. They're expecting our army and a prompt attack."

  Tilden began to show interest.

  "On my life, I think you're right," he said.

  And yet Montcalm changed his mind again at the last moment. Twoveteran officers, Montguy and Bernes, pointed out to him that hispresent position was dominated by the adjacent heights, and in orderto escape that danger he resolved to retreat a little. He broke up hiscamp late in the afternoon of the next day, part of the army fell backthrough the woods more than a mile, and the rest of it withdrew inboats on the lake to the same point.

  Robert and his comrades were carried with the army on land to thefort. There he became separated from the others, and remained in therear, but luckily for his wishes, on a mount where he could see mostthat was passing, though his chance of escape was as remote as ever.

  He stood on the rocky peninsula of Ticonderoga. Behind him the greatlake, Champlain, stretched far into north and south. To the west theground sloped gently upward a half mile and then sank again. On eachside of the ridge formed thus was low ground, and the ridge presenteditself at once to the military eye as a line of defense. Hugues, oneof his officers, had already recommended it to Montcalm, and men undertwo of his engineers, Desandrouin and Pontleroy, were now at workthere.

  The final line of defense was begun at dawn, and Robert, whom no onedisturbed, witnessed a scene of prodigious energy. The whole Frencharmy threw itself heart and soul into the task. The men, hot under theJuly sun, threw aside their coats, and the officers, putting their ownhands to the work, did likewise. There was a continuous ring of axes,and the air resounded with the crash of trees falling in hundreds andthousands.

  The tops and ends of the boughs were cut off the trees, the ends leftthus were sharpened and the trees were piled upon one another with thesharp ends facing the enemy who was to come.

  Robert watched as these bristling rows grew to a height of at leastnine feet, and then he saw the men build on the inner side platformson which they could stand and fire over the crest, without exposinganything except their heads. In front of the abattis more trees withsharpened boughs were spread for a wide space, the whole field withits stumps and trees, looking as if a mighty hurricane had swept overit.

  Robert was soldier enough to see what a formidable obstruction wasbeing raised, but he thought the powerful artillery of the attackingarmy would sweep it away or level it. He did not know that the bigguns were being left behind. In truth, Langy's first news that thecannon would not be embarked upon the lake was partly wrong. Theloading of the cannon was delayed, but after the British and Americansreached their landing and began the march across country for theattack, the guns, although brought down the lake, were left behind asnot needed. But the French knew all these movements, and whether thecannon were left at one point or another, it was just the same tothem, so long as they were not used in the assault.

  Robert's intense mortification that he should be compelled to lie idleand witness the efforts of his enemies returned, but no matter how hechafed he could see no way out of it. Then his absorption in what wasgoing on about him made him forget his personal fortunes.

  The setting for the great drama was wild and picturesque in theextreme. On one side stretched the long, gleaming lake, a lake ofwildness and beauty associated with so much of romance and peril inAmerican story. Over them towered the crest of the peak later knownas Defiance. To the south and west was Lake George, the IroquoisAndiatarocte, that gem of the east, and, on all sides, save Champlain,circled the forest, just beginning to wither under the fierce summersun.

  The energy of the French did not diminish. Stronger and stronger grewabattis and breastwork, the whole becoming
a formidable field overwhich men might charge to death. But Robert only smiled to himself.Abercrombie's mighty array of cannon would smash everything and thenthe brave infantry, charging through the gaps, would destroy theFrench army. The French, he knew, were brave and skillful, but theirdoom was sure. Once St. Luc spoke to him. The chevalier had thrown offhis coat also, and he had swung an ax with the best.

  "I am sorry, Mr. Lennox," he said, "that we have not had time to sendyou away, but as you can see, our operations are somewhat hurried.Chance put you here, and here you will have to stay until all isover."

  "I see that you are expecting an army," said Robert, "and I infer fromall these preparations that it will soon be upon you."

  "It is betraying no military secret to admit that it is even so.Abercrombie will soon be at hand."

  "And I am surprised that you should await him. I judge that he hassufficient force to overwhelm you."

  "We are never beaten before battle. The Marquis de Montcalm would notstay, unless he had a fair chance of success."

  Robert was silent and St. Luc quickly went back to his work. All daythe men toiled, and when the sun went down, they were still at theirtask. The ring of axes and the crash of falling trees resoundedthrough the dark. Part of the soldiers put their kettles and pots onthe fires, but the others labored on. In the night came the valiantDe Levis with his men, and Montcalm gave him a heartfelt welcome. DeLevis was a host in himself, and Montcalm felt that he was just intime. He expected the battle on the morrow. His scouts told him thatAbercrombie would be at hand, but without his artillery. The Marquislooked at the formidable abattis, the rows and rows of trees,presenting their myriad of spiked ends, and hope was alive in hisheart. He regretted once more the absence of the Indians who had beenled away by the sulky Tandakora, but victory, won with their help,demanded a fearful price, as he had learned at William Henry.

  Montcalm, St. Luc, De Levis, Bourlamaque, Lotbiniere and other trustedofficers held a consultation far in the night. An important eventhad occurred already. A scouting force of French and Canadians underTrepezec and Langy had been trapped by rangers under Rogers and troopsunder Fitch and Lyman. The French and Canadians were cut to pieces,but in the battle the gallant young Lord Howe, the real leader of theAnglo-American army, had been killed. He had gone forward with thevanguard, exposing himself rashly, perhaps, and his life was theforfeit. Immediate confusion in the Anglo-American councils followed,and Montcalm and his lieutenants had noticed the lack of precision anddirectness.

  Robert did not see the French officers going to the council, buthe knew that the French army meant to stay. Even while the men werecutting down the trees he could not persuade himself wholly thatMontcalm would fight there at Ticonderoga, but as the night advancedhis last faint doubt disappeared. He would certainly witness a greatbattle on the morrow.

  He could not sleep. Every nerve in him seemed to be alive. One vividpicture after another floated before his mind. The lake behind himgrew dim. Before him were the camp fires of the French, the woodenwall, the dark line of the forest and hills, and the crest of Defiancelooking solemnly down on them. Although held firmly there, withinlines which one could not pass, nobody seemed to take any notice ofhim. He could rest or watch as he chose, and he had no choice but towatch.

  He saw the French lie down on their arms, save for the numeroussentinels posted everywhere, and after a while, though most of thenight was gone, the ring of axes and the fall of trees ceased.There was a hum of voices but that too died in time, and long aftermidnight, with his back against a tree, he dozed a little while.

  He was awakened by a premonition, a warning out of the dark, andopening his eyes he saw Garay slinking near. He did not know whetherthe spy meant another attempt upon his life, but, standing up, hestared at him intently. Garay shrank away and disappeared in thefurther ranges of the camp. Robert somehow was not afraid. The manwould not make such a trial again at so great a risk, and his mindturned back to its preoccupation, the great battle that was coming.

  Near morning he dozed again for an hour or so, but he awoke before thesummer dawn. All his faculties were alive, and his body attuned whenhe saw the sun rise, bringing with it the momentous day.