“We are volunteers, that joined the ——th, the day the army moved up, and were guests of Major Bulstrode. Pray sir, can you tell us where that officer can be found?”
“Poor Bulstrode! He got a very awkward hit, early in the day, and was taken past me to the rear. He will be able neither to walk nor to ride, for some months, if they save his leg. I heard the Commander-In-Chief order him to be sent across the lake, in the first boat with wounded; and some one told me, Bulstrode, himself, expressed an intention to be carried some distance, to a friend's house, to escape from the abominations of an army hospital. The fellow has horses enough to transport him, on a horse-litter, to Cape Horn, if he wishes it. I'll warrant you, Bulstrode works his way into good quarters, if they are to be had in America. I suppose this arm of mine will have to come off, as soon as we reach Fort William Henry; and, that job done, I confess I should like amazingly to keep him company. Proceed, gentlemen; I hope I have not detained you; but, observing a bark canoe, I thought it my duty to ascertain we were not followed by spies.”
This, then, was another victim of war! He spoke of the loss of his arm, notwithstanding, with as much coolness as if it were the loss of a tooth; yet; I question not, that in secret, he mourned over the calamity in bitterness of heart. Men never wear the mask more completely than when excited and stimulated by the rivalry of arms. Bulstrode, too, at Ravensnest! He could be carried nowhere else, so easily; and, should his wound be of a nature that did not require constant medical treatment, where could he be so happily bestowed as under the roof of Herman Mordaunt? Shall I confess that the idea gave me great pain, and that I was fool enough to wish I, too, could return to Anneke, and appeal to her sympathies, by dragging with me a wounded limb!
Our canoe now passed quite near another batteau, the officer in command of which was standing erect, seemingly watching our movements. He appeared to be unhurt, but was probably intrusted with some special duty. As we paddled by, the following curious conversation occurred.
“You move rapidly to the rear, my friends,” observed the stranger; “pray moderate your zeal; others are in advance of you with the evil tidings!”
“You must think ill of our patriotism and loyalty, sir, to imagine we are hastening on with the intelligence of a check to the British arms,” I answered as drily, and almost as equivocally, in manner, as the other had spoken.
“The check!—I beg a thousand pardons—I see you are patriots, and of the purest water! Check is just the word; though check-mate would be more descriptive and significant! A charming time we've had of it, gentlemen! What say you?—it is your move, now.”
“There has been much firmness and gallantry manifested by the troops,” I answered, “as we, who have been merely volunteers, will always be ready to testify.”
“I beg your pardons, again and again,” returned the officer, raising his hat and bowing profoundly—“I did not know I had the honour to address volunteers. You are entitled to superlative respect, gentlemen, having come voluntarily into such a field. For my part, I find the honour oppressive, having no such supererogatory virtue to boast of. Volunteers! On my word, gentlemen, you will have many wonders to relate, when you get back into the family circle.”
“We shall have to speak of the gallantry of the Highlanders, for we saw all they did and all they suffered.”