“He keeps the letter, then, sir, while he releases the messenger?”
“Ay, that does he, and all for the sake of what you call your ‘bonhommie.’ I would venture, if the truth was known, the fellow’s grandfather taught the noble science of dancing!”
“But what says the scout? he has eyes and ears, and a tongue! what verbal report does he make?”
“Oh! sir, he is not wanting in natural organs, and he is free to tell all that he has seen and heard. The whole amount is this: there is a fort of his majesty’s on the banks of the Hudson, called Edward, in honour of his gracious highness of York, you’ll know, and it is well filled with armed men, as such a work should be!”
“But was there no movement, no signs, of any intention to advance to our relief?”
“There were the morning and evening parades, and when one of the provincial loons–you’ll know, Duncan, your’re half a Scotsman yourself–when one of them dropped his powder over his porretch, if it touched the coals, it just burnt!” Then suddenly changing his bitter, ironical manner, to one more grave and thoughtful, he continued; “and yet there might, and must be, something in that letter, which it would be well to know!”
“Our decision should be speedy,” said Duncan, gladly availing himself of this change of humour, to press the more important objects of their interview; “I cannot conceal from you, sir, that the camp will not be much longer tenable; and I am sorry to add, that things appear no better in the fort;–more than half our guns are bursted.”
“And how should it be otherwise! some were fished from the bottom of the lake; some have been rusting in the woods since the discovery of the country; and some were never guns at all–mere privateersmen’s playthings! Do you think, sir, you can have Woolich Warren in the midst of a wilderness; three thousand miles from Great Britain!”
“Our walls are crumbling about our ears, and provisions begin to fail us,” continued Heyward, without regarding this new burst of indignation; “even the men show signs of discontent and alarm.”
“Major Heyward,” said Munro, turning to his youthful associate with all the dignity of his years and superior rank; “I should have served his majesty for half a century, and earned these gray hairs, in vain, were I ignorant of all you say, and of the pressing nature of our circumstances; still, there is every thing due to the honour of the king’s arms, and something to ourselves. While there is hope of succour, this fortress will I defend, though it be to be done with pebbles gathered on the lake shore. It is a sight of the letter, therefore, that we want, that we may know the intentions of the man, the Earl of Loudon has left among us as his substitute?”
“And can I be of service in the matter.”
“Sir, you can; the Marquis of Montcalm has, in addition to his other civilities, invited me to a personal interview between these works and his own camp; in order, as he says, to impart some additional information. Now, I think it would not be wise to show any undue solicitude to meet him, and I would employ you, an officer of rank, as my substitute; for it would but ill comport with the honour of Scotland, to let it be said, one of her gentlemen was outdone in civility, by a native of any other country on earth!”
Without assuming the supererogatory task of entering into a discussion of the comparative merits of national courtesy, Duncan cheerfully assented to supply the place of the veteran, in the approaching interview. A long and confidential communication now succeeded, during which the young man received some additional insight into his duty, from the experience and native acuteness of his commander, and then the former took his leave.
As Duncan could only act as the representative of the commandant of the fort, the ceremonies which should have accompanied a meeting between the heads of the adverse forces, were of course dispensed with. The truce still existed, and with a roll and beat of the drum, and covered by a little white flag, Duncan left the sally-port, within ten minutes after his instructions were ended. He was received by the French officer in advance, with the usual formalities, and immediately accompanied to the distant marquee of the renowned soldier, who lead the forces of France.
The general of the enemy received the youthful messenger, surrounded by his principal officers, and by a swarthy band of the native chiefs, who had followed him to the field, with the warriors of their several tribes. Heyward paused short, when, in glancing his eyes rapidly over the dark groupe of the latter, he beheld the malignant countenance of Magua, regarding him with the calm but sullen attention which marked the expression of that subtle savage. A slight exclamation of surprise even burst from the lips of the young man; but, instantly recollecting his errand, and the presence in which he stood, he suppressed every appearance of emotion, and turned to the hostile leader, who had already advanced a step to receive him.
The Marquis of Montcalm was, at the period of which we write, in the flower of his age, and it may be added, in the zenith of his fortunes. But even in that enviable situation, he was affable, and distinguished as much for his attention to the forms of courtesy, as for that chivalrous courage, which, only two short years afterwards, induced him to throw away his life, on the plains of Abraham. Duncan, in turning his eyes from the malign expression of Magua, suffered them to rest with pleasure on the smiling and polished features, and the noble, military air of the French general.
“Monsieur,” said the latter, “J’ai beaucoup de plaisir à–bah! où est cet interprête?”
“Je crois, monsieur, qu’il ne sera pas nécessaire,” Heyward modestly replied; “je parle un peu Français.”
“Ah! j’en suis bien aise,” said Montcalm, taking Duncan familiarly by the arm, and leading him deep into the marquee, a little out of ear-shot; “je déteste ces fripons là; on ne sait jamais sur quel piè, on est avec eux. Eh, bien! monsieur,” he continued, still speaking in French; “though I should have been proud of receiving your commandant, I am very happy that he has seen proper to employ an officer so distinguished, and who, I am sure, is so amiable, as yourself.”
Duncan bowed low, pleased with the compliment, in spite of a most heroic determination to suffer no artifice to lure him into a forgetfulness of the interests of his prince; and Montcalm, after a pause of a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, proceeded–
“Your commandant is a brave man, and well qualified to repel my assaults. Mais, monsieur, is it not time to begin to take more counsel of humanity, and less of your own courage? The one as strongly characterizes the hero, as the other!”
“We consider the qualities as inseparable,” returned Duncan, smiling; “but, while we find in the vigour of your excellency, every motive to stimulate the one, we can, as yet, see no particular call for the exercise of the other.”
Montcalm, in his turn, slightly bowed, but it was with the air of a man too practised to remember the language of flattery. After musing a moment, he added–
“It is possible my glasses have deceived me, and that your works resist our cannon better than I had supposed. You know our force?”
“Our accounts vary,” said Duncan, carelessly; “the highest, however, has not exceeded twenty thousand men.”
The Frenchman bit his lip, and fastened his eyes keenly on the other, as if to read his thoughts; then, with a readiness peculiar to himself, he continued, as if assenting to the truth of an enumeration, which he knew was not credited by his visiter.
“It is a poor compliment to the vigilance of us soldiers, monsieur, that, do what we will, we never can conceal our numbers. If it were to be done at all, one would believe it might succeed in these woods. Though you think it too soon to listen to the calls of humanity,” he added, smiling, archly, “I may be permitted to believe that gallantry is not forgotten by one so young as yourself. The daughters of the commandant, I learn, have passed into the fort, since it was invested?”
“It is true, monsieur; but so far from weakening our efforts, they set us an example of courage in their own fortitude. Were nothing but resolution necessary to repel so accomplished a soldier, as M. de Montcalm, I would gladly trust the defence of William Henry to the elder of those ladies.”
“We have a wise ordinance in our Salique laws, which says, ‘the crown of France shall never descend the lance to the distaff,’ ” said Montcalm, dryly, and with a little hauteur; but, instantly adding, with his former frank and easy air, “as all the nobler qualities are hereditary, I can easily credit you; though, as I said before, courage has its limits, and humanity must not be forgotten. I trust, monsieur, you come authorized to treat for the surrender of the place?”