Late one evening Loïs was startled by an Indian youth creeping round the house. Going out to him, he gave her a folded paper, which proved to be a letter from Charles. It ran thus:—
“Yes, Loïs, I have found the boy, and I have placed him in safety in the Ursuline Convent in Quebec, with Mercèdes Montcalm. When the war is over, if you will have him he shall be conveyed to you; at present it would be impossible to do so with any safety. After my assurance to you that I would separate myself from the Indians, you will be surprised to hear that at General Montcalm’s entreaty I have retained my command. He represented to me, and I think justly, that I had no right for any private consideration, any personal quarrel, to bring disunion into his army, which, by throwing up my Indian command, and attaching myself to the Canadian contingent, I should most assuredly do. It would be a breach of honour. My first engagement was made to him. The Indians are only held in check by my influence; if that were removed, their cruelty and licence would be unbounded.
“All this I know to be true, and therefore I have decided not to inflict further wrong on others; what is done I must abide by. Bitterly as I deplore the past, at the present moment I feel bound to those who, knowing nothing of my private life, have placed confidence in me. It cannot last long. General Wolfe is pushing on towards Quebec, but our positions are strong. It is now July. In less than three months the winter will force the English to retreat, probably to return to England; the Indians will then disperse and I shall be released. In the meantime, I am almost face to face with Roger. I am stationed with General Levis on the heights of Montmorenci, and I have every reason to believe that Roger, with his Rangers, is in the forest, trying to discover a ford across the river. We are on the same search. If it be so, we can scarcely do otherwise than meet one day. Pray for us, Loïs, and that this cruel war may end, and that we may once more all dwell together in peace!
“Your loving brother,
”Charles Langlade.
“P.S.—An Indian will be the bearer of this letter; you may trust him to send me back news of what is going on at the Marshes. I am watching over you; you need fear no fresh aggression.”
The question of this ford, alluded to in the above letter, was of great importance, and it was only discovered after many days of close watching by the French. Early one morning, General Levis’s aide-de-camp, a Scotchman, appeared in his tent bringing with him a peasant, who explained that he had crossed a ford a few hours earlier.
“Then you shall serve us as guide,” said Levis, and he told off eleven thousand Canadians under their officer, Repentigny, with orders to intrench themselves opposite the ford. Charles Langlade, with four hundred Indians, went in advance, crossed the ford, and discovered the English in the forest; not considering himself sufficiently strong to attack, he returned and told Repentigny, who sent to Levis, who again sent to Vaudreuil!
The Indians, thinking they would be baulked of their prey, became mutinous at the delay, and Langlade found it impossible to restrain them; they declared that if he would not lead them, they would attack the Rangers without him, and, to avoid this, he recrossed the ford.
So savage was their onset that they drove the Rangers back on the regulars, who, however, stood their ground and repulsed the Indians with considerable loss. Nevertheless, they carried off thirty-six scalps. Montcalm and Vaudreuil determined to remain on the defensive; the English were powerless to injure them. Wolfe’s position was a dangerous one; his army was separated into three parts, at such distances that it would have been impossible for any one of them to come to the assistance of the other.
The deep and impassable Montmorenci flowed between the two camps, but from the cliffs on either side a gunshot might easily reach and hit a man.
The Canadians were also growing daily more and more dispirited. They were ready for active service, but the inaction to which they were condemned tried their patience severely.
It was summer-time. The harvest was at hand, and the militia men thought of the crops waiting to be gathered in. Many deserted and went home to their villages, notwithstanding the exhortations of their priests; what was found most efficacious to keep them from so doing was the Governor’s threat to let the Indians loose upon any who should waver in their allegiance.
But in the midst of all these difficulties it was the characters of the men who stood at the helm which filled those around them, and indeed their enemies, with admiration.