How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

by F. S. Brereton

"Then this Hawk is a spy," shouted Jules. "He and his men came in this direction with one object. They came to spy, and in order to help them they dressed as Indians, knowing well that they would pass as such with a crest and a blanket about them, so long as the snow fell. This is a most important capture. See that this man is guarded well, and at dawn march out a firing party."

The sergeant brought his pike to his shoulder smartly as Jules swept a path to the door and departed. Steve watched him go, and then stared at the Indians and the soldiers and the backwoodsmen about him. He was too weak to take in the full significance of that last command, but vaguely wondered whether the firing party could be meant for him, and whether he was to be executed. And as he wondered, he listened to the chatter of those about him. It was evident that many of the backwoodsmen, rough and brutal men as many were, who had become tainted with the cruelty of the Indians, approved of the sentence. They crammed tobacco into their pipes and smoked furiously, while they acclaimed the decision of their leader with many an oath and with many a glance at the prisoner. Some of the regulars were of their opinion also, but not so the sergeant.

"Disguise! Spy!" he cried, some minutes later, having talked the matter over with some of his comrades. "This brave lad whom we have taken had no more idea of spying here than I have of setting a watch at Fort William Henry. I'll be bound that he and his friends knew of the messengers going to the English fort, and set a trap for them. They guessed that an Indian dress might help their plans, and adopted it. Why, the same is done here amongst ourselves. Even this commander of ours, who shouts into one's throat, and orders all as if they were dogs, dresses as a brave, ay, and goes out with a following of Hurons."

"Which does not alter the case as it stands, friend of the three stripes," answered one of the trappers. "This leader of ours, a backwoodsman like ourselves, fights in the garb that best suits him, chancing capture. This fool here decks himself out in feathers, and is captured. Both run the same risk. One is taken and shot as a natural course, while the other, the smarter man, you understand, lives to fight another day. As to shouting down a man's throat, there are some dull dogs who want a deal of that, and still remain dull."

For a little while it looked as if the two would come to blows, for the sergeant strode over to the trapper who had spoken, a flush of anger on his face. But evidently he thought better of the matter, turned to the Indians, and in a little while was accompanying Steve out of the hut. Borne on the shoulders of the braves, the prisoner was transferred to a second hut, where he was placed on a low couch.

"Whatever happens you shall have food and some attention, friend," said the sergeant. "I will leave the Indians to see to your wound, while I myself get you some victuals. Cheer up. You have still a friend or two left in the world."

He smiled kindly at our hero, and, taking a lamp, went out of the hut, speaking a few words to the Indians as he went. The latter at once set about tending to Steve's wound, for these sons of the lake and forest were for the most part excellent surgeons. One placed a jar over the fire, and blew at the embers till the flames roared round it. A second crept from the hut, to return some ten minutes later with some soft fleecy material, while beneath his arm he carried a bundle wrapped in bark. Opening the last, he disclosed a heap of dried leaves, which he commenced to pound between two stones, while some he even chewed. A little water was added to the mass, and the whole worked into a soft brown paste.

"The Hawk will let us see and tend this wound, well knowing that we have had experience," said the chief who had already shown his friendly spirit. "We will carry you close to the fire, so that you will feel no cold. That is well. The Hawk has won our favour. He does not flinch at the prospect of a death which would be an eternal dishonour to even the most cowardly brave. Fear not. There are men here who will see that this indignity is not allowed. If die you must, there are other and nobler ways of taking the life of a prisoner."

Little did the fine fellow know what pangs he was causing our hero, for to Steve, if he were condemned to die as a spy, shooting would be infinitely preferable to the death by torture which the Indians would inflict. He knew their customs well, and he told himself over and over again that it would be better far to stand for one brief minute and face the muskets than to be feasted for a day or more by these braves, to be petted and praised by them, knowing full well that all the while their preparations were being completed for the orgie of the morrow, when all their diabolical ingenuity would be called into play to provide a slow death for him, which in their opinion was alone worthy of a warrior. Ugh! The very idea made him shiver.