When Roger had conducted Lord Howe to within a comparatively safe distance of his destination, he left him to pursue his journey in company with another party of scouts, who were going in that direction, whereas Roger was anxious to gain the mountains on the western shore of Lake Champlain, where he foresaw a struggle would shortly take place.
“We shall meet probably at Ticonderoga, or thereabouts,” said Howe, as he wrung Roger’s hand at parting.
He left the three young officers, Philips, Pringle, and Roche, with Roger, to complete their apprenticeship, he said; but William Parkmann accompanied Howe. The young man’s devotion to his general was such that he was never happy away from him. And truly Howe was a man worthy of the affection which he won at every stage of his short career. A very Spartan in private and public life, a Christian in word and deed, a character of ancient times, and a model of military virtue: such was he. Of him, Wolfe, his great contemporary, said, “He is the noblest gentleman who has appeared in my time, and the best soldier in the British army.”
Regretfully Roger saw Howe depart. They had lived together for many months, and each appreciated the other. Howe grieved for the sorrow and the bitterness which had come into the young hunter’s life; but he hoped and believed time would soften the rebellious temper which made him visit so unjustly Charles Langlade’s offence upon innocent heads. “If you go back to Marshwood, remember me at both Alpha and Omega,” he said at parting; and so each went his way.
The news of Roger’s last deed of prowess had spread rapidly. The Indians attributed it to the power of the spirits, but the Canadians knew better. When Charles Langlade heard the story, a feeling of pride filled his heart, almost of regret that he had not been with him—his friend, his brother; but Roger and his Rangers had now assumed such importance that they were looked upon as representing a greater danger than the regular forces.
Understanding Indian warfare, with a perfect knowledge of the whole country, led by a fearless leader, if they were not kept in check or crushed the results would certainly be of such a nature as to threaten the free action of the French and Canadian armies. It was therefore decided in a council of war that an expedition of Indians and Canadians should be sent to meet the Rangers, and, if possible, stop their progress. Charles Langlade saw the necessity and justice of the step, but naturally he was loth to take part in it, and would gladly have remained in the neighbourhood of Quebec; but his knowledge of the country where the New England Rangers were likely at the present moment to be was a reason for his being called to command the expedition sent against them. In all honour he could not hold back; he had cast in his lot with France, and he must needs stand steadfast to the bitter end.
This war resembled in many ways a civil war—of all afflictions which can visit a country the most terrible! Father against son, brother against brother, the crushing beneath one’s feet of every domestic tie—a moral agony from first to last. Rome and Alba, the Horatii and Curiatii, the Wars of the Roses and the great English civil war of the seventeenth century, stand out in the history of the world as times of sore distress and anguish. Blood flowed freely. Some of the best and noblest in the land were laid low; but who reckons the women’s tears of blood, the agony of those hearts torn with divided affections? Fathers and husbands, brothers and lovers, drawing their swords against each other—truly it needed an Amazonian nature to love a country which demanded such sacrifices. The great French poet Corneille understood the natural weakness of a woman’s heart when he pictured Camille, the sister of Horace, kneeling over her dead lover’s body, cursing Rome and the arm that had laid him low. So let us ever pray for peace at home and abroad, the peace which reigned on earth when the Saviour was born, and which we believe He will bring with Him at His second coming.
It was with a heavy heart that Charles Langlade, true to his sense of duty, took the command of the Indian and Canadian contingent, and set out to meet the Rangers, passing up the valley of Trout Brook, a mountain gorge that opens upon the valley of Ticonderoga.
After leaving Howe, Roger had rejoined his men at the west point of the mountain known as “Roger’s Rock,” thus named from an exploit in which he had outwitted the Indians and saved his own and comrades’ lives when still a mere youth. The rough and rocky ground was still partially covered with snow, and all around stood the grey trunks of the forest trees, bearing aloft their skeleton arms, a tangled intricacy of leafless twigs.
Here Roger encamped, knowing full well that the Indians were in the neighbourhood; but the spot had natural advantages. Close on the right was a steep hill, and at a little distance on the left a brook still partially covered with snow and ice. He sent scouts out into the woods, and several skirmishes took place; but he did not believe that at this point the Indians were in any considerable force. He therefore determined to rid himself of these enemies by pushing them farther back, and, being informed through his scouts of the arrival of a reinforcement from one of the Iroquois tribes, he judged it would be best to attack them at once.