“Well, madame, when I found I was trapped I made all the stir I could. I blustered and swore, and, Heaven forgive me! I lied to them as I had never lied before. I boasted like a Bostonnais, and when they commanded me to take charge in the Traverse, I said no, though I had a pistol behind my head and my Amelia before my eyes all the time. But they did not blow my brains out—they only laughed at me. Madame, it is dreadful to be ready to die, and find they only laugh,” and the tears streamed down his rugged cheeks as he spake.
“My good Gabriel, we are proud of you! Go on!”
“It was of no use; they had their boats out with flags to mark the channel, and an old devil they called Killick swept me aside as one might a dirty rag, and took command, calling out his directions to the boats and edging the ship along without a mistake, though I prayed with all my soul he might ground her. He was a sorcerer, madame, for he took the ship up as if he had done nothing else all his life. When they were through, they jeered at me in their damnable English, and treated me with a kindness that was harder than blows; and then, to add to my shame, they sent me on shore with the women last week, as if they feared me just as little, which was worst of all.”
“Never mind, Gabriel. You did all that a brave man could—and the siege is not over yet!”
“That is true, madame,” he cried, brightening under her kindly words, “and, saving your honour, 'le mulet garde longuement un coup de pied à son maître,' as we say. That is my comfort.”
“Will you join M. de Sarennes, Gabriel?” asked Mme. de Sarennes. “I would like to think he had so good a man beside him.”
“No, madame; I have orders to go on board the vessels at Sillery. I will be of more use there than on shore.”
“Good. You will remember Beaulieu when your turn comes with the English!”
“I will, madame, and if le bon Dieu ever allows me that kick, rest assured it shall be a good one!” and he left us laughing, much comforted in his trouble.
Though never out of the sight and sound of war, we had so far suffered but little in the city itself. We watched with curiosity the English intrenching themselves on the opposite heights of the Pointe de Lévy, and there was much speculation among us as to their object. That the city would be bombarded was scouted as ridiculous; but one midnight towards the end of June we were awakened by the heavy booming of artillery, and rushed to our windows to see the heights of the Lévy shore flashing with the explosions from the cannon, and the hill beneath us filled with a panting, terror-stricken crowd, laden with every conceivable description of household goods, clambering up past us to gain some corner of safety, while the flames from a shattered warehouse in the Basse Ville threw an ominous glare over the blackness of the river. War in its most terrifying guise was at our very doors, and had it not been for the heroic calmness of Mme. de Sarennes, we should probably have joined the distracted crowd in the streets. While affrighted women and children, and even men, rushed past in the wildness of their terror, filling the night with the clamour of despair, and exposing themselves to still greater dangers in their efforts to escape, she gathered her little household about her and set fear at defiance.