The man who had been addressed as Captain stood looking down upon the group. Pain, bitter pain, was visible in every line of his face. “It is Ominipeg,” he said, and stooping, he lifted the dead child in his arms and wrapped it in his bearskin. He and his companions knew enough of Indian customs to understand how that infant came by his death—a chief’s son in the foremost ranks of the slain!
They renewed their search; and, at last, amidst those dark naked figures, with their wild headgear and strange fantastic war-paint, they found him they sought. He was lying propped up against a tree; evidently, when the battle was over, he had dragged himself thither. Was he dead? Roger bent eagerly over him, and took the hand which hung listlessly by his side.
“Charles,” he said; and the strong man’s voice trembled.
“Roger, am I dreaming, or have you come to take me home?”
The drooping head is raised, and the cold fingers close over Roger’s.
“We will go home together,” he said. “Are you much hurt, Charles?”
“I do not know,” he answered dreamily. “Is the battle over? Are we beaten?”
“The battle is ended,” said Roger; “and God grant it may be our last,” and he signed to his men that the search was finished, that their help was needed. They lifted the wounded man in their arms and slowly bore him off the battle-field to where in the moonlight clustered the white tents of the Rangers, and there they laid him down.
Quebec had capitulated, notwithstanding Levis’ rapid march to its relief. Ramsay paid but little attention to Montcalm’s last words, and, encouraged by Vaudreuil, on the 18th surrendered to the English. Honourable terms were granted. The garrison was to march out with the honours of war, and the troops be carried back to France on English ships; the inhabitants to have protection in person and property, free exercise of their religion, and all other privileges of British subjects. These conditions having been formally agreed to and signed, the British flag was raised on the heights near Mount Street, and General Murray was named Governor of Quebec.
As soon as he could do so, Roger had brought Charles into the city. He was unconscious at the time, and the military surgeon gave but faint hope of his recovery. It was a battle between life and death, but youth and a strong constitution aiding, Roger was at last rewarded by seeing Charles enter upon what might be called convalescence; but by that time winter had set in, and there was no possibility of communicating with Marshwood. “I ought to have thought of sending a messenger immediately after the battle,” Roger said; “but I didn’t know quite what you meant to do, so I waited, and now it is too late.” So time passed on.