Not till the beginning of March of the following year did the expectant household at the Château of Candiac receive the order for Mercèdes and her party to set out and join her father at Rennes. He wrote thus to his wife:—
“Dearest,—The delay has been painfully trying; the Ministers have been hard to rouse. I have obtained money, men, and ammunition with great difficulty; but now the worst is over. I arrived at Rennes this morning, and shall remain here until my little Mercèdes appears, which will not be long now. I hope we shall be at Brest on the 21st of March, and everything will be on board by the 26th.
“My son has been here since yesterday, for me to coach him and get him a uniform made, in which he will give thanks for his regiment at the same time as I take my leave in my embroidered coat. Perhaps I shall leave debts behind; I wait impatiently for the bills. You have my will; I wish you would get it copied, and send it to me before I sail. I have much business on hand still. My health is good, and the passage will be a time of rest. I shall write up to the last moment. It is pleasant, I know, to hear particulars of those we love, and my mother, and you, my dearest and most beloved, will gladly read even the dullest details of my life. I am much pleased with my second officer in command, Chevalier Levis; he is brave and upright, full of expedients, and a man to be trusted. I might say the same of Chevalier Bougainville, the third in command. My greatest difficulty is getting sufficient troops to face such a campaign. Only twelve hundred men will embark with me. Now farewell; I embrace you, my dearest, my mother, and my daughters. Love to all the family,
“Your devoted husband,
”Louis de Montcalm.”
Poor Mercèdes! When she saw the sea and the great ships, the troops of soldiers, and all the noise and bustle of the port, her heart sank for a moment within her. But she soon recovered herself, and when her father looked at her to see what impression the scene made upon her, she smiled and said quite quietly,—
“I suppose one can get accustomed to everything, but it does seem strange after our beautiful calm Candiac; I shall at least have seen something of the world before I bid it farewell.”
“The idea of crossing the sea does not then alarm you, my daughter?” asked the General.
“With God and with you, my father, what have I to fear?” she answered.
It was a bright spring day, the second of April, when they went on board. Six large vessels—large for those days—were in the harbour; their names have come down to us—the Léopard, Héros, Illustre, Licorne, Sauvage, and Sirène. Very different were they from the transport ships of to-day—devoid of every comfort, sailing vessels, subject to wind and weather. The General, with his officers Levis and Bougainville, and of course Mercèdes and Marthe, took passage in the Licorne; but they waited to see the troops go on board, which they did with incredible gaiety, so much so that Chevalier Bougainville exclaimed, “What a nation is ours; happy is he who commands it and commands it worthily!” And so, bravely with strong hearts, officers and men sailed for the first time across the Atlantic, at the command of a country which virtually forsook them in their hour of need.
Poor Marthe Dervieu was very ill during the whole voyage, but Mercèdes after the first few days recovered from the sea-sickness, and was so well and bright that she put the men to shame. Whenever she could leave Marthe she came with her father on deck, thankful to breathe the fresh sea-breeze in lieu of the dark, stuffy cabin.
“We are sure to arrive safely; we have a saint on board,” said the sailors. Nevertheless, when they were in mid-ocean a fearful gale overtook them, which lasted ninety hours. Many deemed their end was near. Mercèdes, as she lay lashed into her hammock, thought of the sunny plains of Provence, now bright with flowers; of the dear mother and grandmother, brothers and sisters; and it seemed to her that she could hear their prayers above the howling of the winds and the sound of many waters. Truly they were terrible nights and days, never forgotten by those who passed through them; but at last the winds and the waves were calmed, and the travellers breathed freely once more. Mercèdes was unlashed; but she was so stiff that, upon trying to stand, she would have fallen had not her father upheld and carried her on to the deck, to see the wonderful icebergs which, as they approached the St. Lawrence, threatened them with destruction, and made navigation so difficult that the ships advanced but slowly, those on board being in continual fear lest the floating masses should crash down upon them.
General Montcalm was fast losing patience. But for Mercèdes he would have landed, and made his way as best he could across country to Quebec; and one day, as Mercèdes was standing behind him, he gave expression to this wish with a certain amount of irritability.