“It will be of no avail,” she answered sadly. “I saw him last night in a dream, lying dead in the long green grass;” and, turning away to hide her emotion, she slowly re-entered the house.
CHAPTER XVII
THROUGH THE FOREST
It was the 5th of July, 1758. The sun shone forth in all his glory, gilding the mountain tops and lighting up the deepest valleys. The English and Colonial troops had embarked the previous evening on nine hundred troop-boats; a hundred and thirty-five whale-boats and a large number of flat boats carried the artillery.
It was a superb spectacle, never forgotten by those who witnessed it, when the boats filed forth and entered the narrows, a long line extending for six miles. The flash of oars and glitter of weapons, the banners, the varied uniforms, the notes of the bugle, the bagpipes, trumpets, and drums, prolonged by a hundred woodland echoes, enhanced the brightness of the summer day and the romantic beauty of the scenery. The sheen and sparkle of the crystal waters, the countless islets tufted with pine, birch, and fir, the bordering mountains, with their green summits and sunny crags, united to impress this scene upon the minds of all present.
“I never beheld such a delightful prospect,” wrote an eye-witness to his friends at home. There was something triumphant in it; and the spirits of both men and officers responded to the general impression. The boats advanced rapidly down Lake St. George, and it was still daylight when they halted to await the baggage and artillery, which were in the rear. After sunset they started afresh, and by daybreak the next morning had reached the end of the lake.
Here they became aware that they were being watched by an advance party of the French. Roger immediately landed with his company of Rangers, and drove the enemy back into the wood, after which the whole army went on shore. A council of officers was then called, of whom Howe and Roger were the leading spirits.
When the council was over the two men lay side by side on their outstretched bearskins resting. The scene was lovely. A plain covered with forest stretched half a mile or more to the mountains, behind which lay Trout Brook, whilst ruddy in the warm sunrise rose the vast bare face of Roger’s Rock.
“I marvel how you did it!” said Lord Howe to his companion.
“It looks worse than it really is,” answered Roger. “One only needs a steady head, a good eye for distances, and a firm foot. Nevertheless, I should not care to try it again. And now what is to be our next move? Langy and his French have retreated to the woods. He will probably join Montcalm at the Saw Mills up by the falls. My advice is to cross the forest, dislodge the French, and make for Ticonderoga. I know positively that Montcalm’s army only numbers a fourth of ours; of course, Levis may bring up reinforcements, but at present he is at Montreal, and Vaudreuil may, and probably will, think proper to detain him there. It is for us to advance without delay.”
“Then let us do it at once!” said Lord Howe, springing up; and, going to the group of officers, he imparted Roger’s opinion to them.