CHAPTER VI.
he month of July was drawing to an end, and the hot sun was glaring down on the parched earth with an almost tropical heat. Even in the dark recesses of the woods, where only here and there a ray could penetrate the thick foliage, there was a sultry closeness that seemed to overpower the wayfarer, instead of his being refreshed by a grateful shade. Look at those two men yonder, one stretched at full length at the foot of a pine-tree, the other kneeling by his side, and bending over him, both apparently exhausted with fatigue. From their thin hands and cheeks, bronzed as they are, one may well believe that want of food has helped to reduce them to their sorry plight, whilst, as a climax to their sufferings, one of them has been lamed by a snake bite, to which the other is applying some large leaves just gathered near at hand.
"'Tis hard upon us that it should come to this, just as we had got within a few miles of our journey's end," said the man who was hurt. "Listen! There is the firing again—a regular volley—and cannon too. They are attacking Ticonderoga, that's certain, just as they did a twelvemonth ago."
Here the speaker gave a groan, but not from pain.
"To think, monsieur," he added, "that you should be here, tending poor Boulanger, as if he were your equal, when you might have been striking a blow yonder for your dear France."