13 The Lone Warrior

We were afloat on the lake in the glorious sunlight of a brilliant morning. I could feel my face flush and the blood leap in my veins as I looked upon the largest and finest army that had yet been gathered in America, advancing with regular and graceful motion down the shining waters of this queen of the mountains. Almost from shore to shore, so it seemed to me, the boats were spread out like a vast flock of gigantic waterfowl. They contained near sixteen thousand men, half of them British and the other half Americans, the best and most warlike of two continents assembled to conquer Canada, and to quench forever the flame which had raged so long in the north and had scorched us so often.

Looking upon this army, my doubts disappeared. We were invincible. I could see now why General Abercrombie had laughed at the mention of a few skulking Indians and Frenchmen. There was nothing in Canada that could withstand such a force as ours. Montcalm might be brave and skillful, but bravery and skill would be of small avail against equal bravery and skill, allied with overwhelming numbers.

The army was in great spirits, and surely it had a plenitude of reasons for it. The bands placed here and there through the fleet played the latest martial music with such inspiring vigor that we could scarce wait for the sight of the enemy. This great burst of music floated far over a lake little accustomed to such sounds, and I fancy it must have disturbed the deer lurking in the thickets on the shore.

The soldiers were as trim as if they had been prepared for dress parade. Here the red uniforms of the British seemed to form a solid mass on the lake. Further on, the green coats of the New England Rangers matched the tints of the forest that overhung the edge of the mighty cliffs. Near the center of the fleet a boat larger than the others, and covered with a white awning to protect its occupants from a too inquisitive sun, marked the position of General Abercrombie and his staff.

Around us the scenery was grand and romantic. The red gold of the sun was reflected in the clear waters of the lake. The mountain tops were green with forest, and the great crags were red and bronze and gray as the light fell upon them. Birch and pine and fir clustered on the islets, and the wild flowers grew in the green grass at the foot of the tree trunks.

Culverhouse was with his regiment near the right end of the line, but the Highlanders were ranged alongside the Royal Americans, and Major McLean sat in the boat next to the one in which I had a place. I noted with pride that this old soldier, who had seen so much of the world and of the military life, was moved by the scene. There was a sparkle in his eye when he nodded to me and said:

“A most noble sight, young man, and a lake and mountains that my own Scotland herself can not surpass.”

It was a large admission to come from him, and I felt that if he were willing to say so much the truth must be even greater.

“But it lacks the history and the grand associations which our Highland lakes and mountains possess,” he said. “You are in the gristle here.”

“But those things will come,” I said. “And, in truth, we are not altogether without history as it is. Farther back was where we beat Dieskau last year. And are we not about to make history now?”

“Most truly! most truly!” he said, “and right glorious let it be! Where away is this fortress of Ticonderoga which has been such a sore trouble to you gentlemen of the colonies?”

“Across yonder, toward Champlain,” I replied.

We continued our progress in excellent order down the lake which the French call the Lac du St. Sacrement, but which the English have defiled with the name of George—a name which the Americans use, too, because the French words are too hard for tongues that have not learned the foreign twists. Soon we could see the dim outlines of the ridges beyond which Ticonderoga lay. I felt a new thrill when I looked upon the slopes and heights where we were going to find our enemy. We would hear from him very soon, I felt sure.

I had wondered much as we came down the lake why we had not heard from him already, but thus far we had encountered no sign of Montcalm and his men, either red or white. The same wonder had stirred the breast of Major McLean.

“Do you think the Frenchman will stay to meet us?” he asked.

“Politeness is said to be a trait of the marquis, as well as skill and courage,” I replied.

“That is good,” he replied. “I had a fear that the French would leave before we could get a glimpse of them. It is no glory for us to walk into an undefended fortress. But I dare say the French view with much alarm such an army as this. Even now, my young friend, despite your words, I fear that they have gone. I can see no sign of a human being save those who compose this army.”

There was, indeed, a wondrous silence on the part of the enemy. I began verily to believe that Montcalm, as the major suggested, had abandoned Ticonderoga and was now in full flight to Canada with his French and Indians. But that was not the character of Montcalm, the leader whose martial exploits even his enemies were compelled to admire.

Some changes in the line presently brought our boat near to that of the commander in chief. The large boat was crowded with officers in their most brilliant uniforms, all showing the greatest animation. General Abercrombie shared in the common eagerness. He had his large military glasses to his eyes, and was studying the distant slopes.

“I can make nothing of it, Panmure,” he said. “Even through the glasses I am no more able to discover life up there than I am with the naked eye.”

“Montcalm is a fox, they say, general,” said Panmure.

“Then it seems likely we shall have a fox chase all the way from here to Quebec,” replied the commander in chief.

There was a shout of approving laughter at the jest, and a moment later all the bands began to play O Richard! O mon Roi!

“It is a French air,” said Major McLean, “but it will serve well enough for us. May we fight to-day for the glory of the King, Lieutenant Charteris. And may we always do our duty to the King, lieutenant.”

“May we always do our duty to the King,” I said, “and may the King always do his duty to us.”

“It is a bold spirit, and sometimes a reckless one you gentlemen of the colonies show,” he said reprovingly.

“It is the spirit that we have inherited from our English and Scotch forefathers,” I replied.

“Perhaps I should not criticise it,” he said, and referred no more to the subject.

The general was still examining the ridges through his military glasses when a canoe containing a single occupant came from behind a screen of woods ahead of us.

“A Huron!” I exclaimed.

“One of our savage enemies,” said the major.

The Indian paddled his canoe farther out into the lake, but kept directly in front of us. Then he turned and looked back at the army. The speed of the entire fleet slackened in unison, the same feeling seizing all, I suppose.

“Some wandering fisherman or hunter,” said the major.

“No,” I replied, “a warrior.”

The sun fell full upon the warrior, and revealed every feature of his face and all the outlines of his shining and almost naked body. He was scarcely beyond rifle shot, but he regarded us with as much calm and unconcern as if we were a flock of waterfowl. His hair was gathered in the scalp lock, and his face and body glistened with the war paint. He was young and of imposing figure.

“A fierce-looking creature,” said the major. “His gaze makes me think of some of our own wild Highlanders.”

“And probably he would be a match for any of them,” I said.

“Perhaps! perhaps!” replied the major in an incredulous tone.

The sudden appearance of the savage had created much stir among the brilliant crowd in the boat of the commander in chief.

“An enemy at last, general!” cried Panmure. “Or perhaps it is a messenger come to treat for peace.”

“If the latter be true,” said General Abercrombie, “I shall refuse to receive him in such a scanty uniform. It is a lack of respect to me, and I shall hold M. Montcalm responsible for it.”

All the officers, remembering their duty, laughed at the general’s humor.

“He is no messenger of surrender,” I said to Major McLean.

“Nor do I think so either,” he replied, “though I am unaccustomed to the ways of these creatures of the wilderness. But certainly there is more of defiance than friendliness in that savage’s attitude.”

With easy and scarce perceptible stroke the savage propelled his canoe, the distance between him and the army neither widening nor narrowing. Nor did he once remove his gaze from us. It was an odd sight. As we moved down the lake it looked as if all that great army of near twenty thousand men was pursuing a lone Indian. “By my faith, the savage seems to defy all the power of Great Britain!” said the major.

So it seemed.

Thus we advanced some distance, and the heavy murmur that rose up from the army told that the warrior had aroused the curiosity of all the soldiers. Presently he gave several prolonged and vigorous sweeps with his paddle. The boat curved about and shot toward a little cove.

“He is going to leave us,” said the major. “This army was a rare sight for him. I dare say he will never again look upon such a martial spectcle.”

The canoe struck lightly against the bank, and the Indian stepped out. He faced us, rifle in hand, as erect and strong as a young oak. For a moment he regarded us seemingly with more intensity than ever. Then he raised his rifle, discharged it into the air, and, uttering a long and thrilling whoop, vanished in the forest.

Then I knew that Montcalm was waiting for us.

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