22 Through the Gate

We slunk about the town, watching in shadows and hiding in corners, until daylight approached, finding in the meanwhile no opportunity to escape. Zeb said that only the Palace gate was left unbarricaded, and at last we decided that we would run the gantlet there, as it seemed to be our only chance. I regretted deeply our meeting with Savaignan. I knew that he would recover quickly from Zeb’s blow, and I feared that he would take some measure to prevent our escape.

I felt much apprehension as we approached the gate.

“It looks like rashness, Zeb,” I said.

“It is rashness, leftenant, but we’ve got to try it. There ain’t nothin’ else to do,” he replied.

“Ticonderoga is the password, you said?”

“Ticonderoga it is, an’ nothin’ else. That’s the reason we’ve got to get out now, for the password will be changed to-day an’ then we won’t know it.”

“All right, go on and I’ll take the chance with you.”

We were near the gate. The sun was rising high in the heavens, flooding the city, its stone walls, and red roofs with sunshine. Soldiers were passing out at the gate. With some such crowd as this we hoped to pass out too.

As we drew near we heard the steady beat of a drum.

“Fortune is with us,” I exclaimed. “Look, a company is passing out now.”

“So ’tis,” replied Zeb. “It’s our chance, leftenant. See the skirmishers hangin’ long behind there! We must drop in with ’em.”

It was easy enough to follow this suggestion, and in a few moments we were slouching along as if we belonged to the company. Some of the skirmishers had already gone through, and my heart was beating high at the prospect of the easy success of our plan when the officer in command at the gate told us to stop. Something in our appearance, the difference in the set of our costumes perhaps, aroused his suspicions.

Zeb and I stopped, for we knew that only by ready compliance could we allay his doubts.

“Do you belong to this company?” he asked sharply.

“We are attached to it as sharpshooters,” I replied.

You do not look like Frenchmen, “he replied. Savaignan! Savaignan! Come here!” he called the next moment.

I started violently when he called the name Savaignan, and then looked at Zeb. He made no movement, although he now knew what the name Savaignan meant, and I imitated his self-command.

Captain Savaignan approached, and, of course, recognized me instantly. The fellow knew that only the Palace gate was now used, and he must have come there for the express purpose of cutting us off.

“Captain,” said the officer, “here are two men who say they are skirmishers attached to the company that is passing out; they do not appear to me to be Frenchmen. Will you take a look at them?”

Savaignan could not restrain his exultation.

“They lie when they say they are Frenchmen,” he replied. “This man is Lieutenant Edward Charteris, an American officer who has been a prisoner at the Chateau de St. Maur, and has escaped. The other is a spy, who should be shot immediately.”

“Ah!” said the officer. “This is important.”

I saw that we must brazen it out in some manner.

“Monsieur is mistaken,” I said politely. “I never saw him before, and I do not think that he ever saw me. My name is Jean Duval, and my comrade here is Raoul Chapin.”

I spoke with great earnestness. It is not always necessary to tell the truth to appear earnest. The officer seemed to be impressed.

“Do you think you could be mistaken, Savaignan?” he asked doubtfully.

“Mistaken, sacre! I know the man as well as I do you, and I have been waiting for him here,” replied Savaignan.

“Monsieur is deceived by some facial resemblance,” I replied lightly. “I hope, sir, you will permit us to join our company at once.”

“These men should be arrested immediately,” said Savaignan fiercely.

This remark seemed to anger the officer. I suppose he resented Savaignan’s heat as an unjust interference with his own affair. Besides, he looked like a sympathetic fellow who would not care to have anybody hanged or shot.

“Do you know any one who can vouch for you?” he asked me.

“None except the Seigneur of Chateau de St. Maur,” I answered boldly. “Raoul and I have lived upon his estate in this province.”

It was a comprehensive lie, and I felt some fear about it the moment it was out.

“Then, if you know the seigneur so well,” said the officer, “doubtless you know his daughter, the beautiful Mlle. Louise?”

“Oh, yes,” I said glibly. “I have seen her scores of times.”

“That is fortunate,” he said, “for then we shall settle this matter instantly. It so happens that Mlle. de St. Maur herself has come to the gate this morning to see the soldiers pass out.—Felix, ask mademoiselle to have the goodness to come here.”

A soldier stepped aside and returned in a moment with Mlle. de St. Maur and her pert little maid Marie.

“Mlle. de St. Maur,” said the officer, bowing low, “here are two men, one of whom Captain Savaignan says is a spy and the other an American officer, Lieutenant Charteris, a prisoner who has escaped from your father’s house. The latter, on the contrary, says that they are French soldiers, and have been retainers of your father’s. Will you kindly decide this question for us?”

A deadly pallor overspread the face of Louise, and she trembled. I was about to step forward, declare myself, and release her from such a position when up spoke the good little Marie, bless her soul!

“Know them!” she exclaimed. “I should think mademoiselle would know them! And two lazy scamps they are!—Jean, you rascal, and you, too, Raoul, what are you doing here? Why are you not out there fighting the English like brave Frenchmen? The seigneur will use a stick on you both when he hears that you have been skulking here in the city. Give me your gun, Jean, and I’ll go fight if you’re afraid!”

She delivered these words with all the heat and fury of a little spitfire; she pulled one of Zeb’s long tow locks smartly, and the officer laughed loudly. He had not noticed Louise’s paleness.

“Savaignan,” said he, turning triumphantly to the captain, “there is a medical man in the city much skilled in the treatment of the eyesight. I would advise you to hold consultation with him as soon as the opportunity may permit.—Pass on, men!”

We obeyed the command, and a half minute later were outside of the walls of Quebec.

“Zeb,” I said, when we had gone a short distance, “we probably owe our lives to that little French maid.”

“A woman is curious,” said Zeb; “a city or a campaign is less to her than the luck of somebody she likes.”

We took a wide circuit, intending to reach the camp of Wolfe, which Zeb said was beyond the Montmorency.

We had followed along in the trail of the company to which we claimed to belong until we were a fair measure of space from the walls. Then we began to edge away. This we had no great difficulty in doing, and we continued the process with such success that soon we found ourselves beyond the sight of the French and on our way to our own army. We walked swiftly for some time and without interruption. Then Zeb began to grow suspicious, and he stopped at intervals to listen.

“Leftenant, I think some one is followin’ us,” said he at last.

“We’ve left them all behind long ago.”

“So I was beginnin’ to think myself, but I’ve changed my mind about it. There’s somebody hangin’ along on our tracks sure’s we’re both livin’ sinners.”

I could hear no suspicious sound, but the lad’s ears being more acute than mine, I thought he must be right. But we did not like to stop. So we went on a little farther, and Zeb again said we were followed.

“If you’ll wait here a minute, leftenant,” he said, “I’ll go back an’ see what it is. Don’t stir while I’m gone unless you have to.”

He returned in five minutes, a very large degree of disgust expressed upon his face.

“Whatever it was,” he said, “it’s been too smart for me, for it’s cleared out.”

“Some wandering Canadian peasant,” I said, and we resumed our flight.

Zeb calculated that we would reach the army in about four more hours. We were compelled to make our route circuitous in order to avoid the French and Indian skirmishers and scouts. I asked many questions of Zeb about the army, and it made me exceeding glad to hear that the men were in fine spirits and put great confidence in their general.

We came presently to a little clump of trees and sat down to rest a bit, for we had been on our feet many hours, and were growing tired. I leaned back against the tree, and before I had been there a half minute a rifle cracked in some adjacent bushes and a bullet buried itself in the tree very near to my head.

“Get behind a tree!” shouted Zeb, and in a minute both of us were burrowing behind trees like Indians.

“It’s the fellow that’s been followin’ us, whoever he is,” said Zeb, whose tree was very near to my own. “I was a fool not to hunt longer for him. Now he’s got us treed, an’ may keep us here until a lot of the French come along an’ take us.”

“You think it is only one man?” I asked.

“Certain,” replied Zeb. “When I heard the noise afore, it sounded like one man walkin’ along, an’, besides, it was only one that fired, and if there had been more’n one they’d all shot in a lump.” “If it is only one,” I said, “why can’t we stalk him? The trees are pretty thick here. You curve to the left, I’ll curve to the right, and we’ll come down on him on both sides.”

“Good ’nuff,” said Zeb. “You’ve got your pistol. You could have my rifle, but I guess it would be in your way. Don’t make any more noise than you can help.”

We instantly began the execution of our plan. I crept along the ground and made fair speed. I had fixed in my mind the point whence the rifle shot came, and hoped to surprise our enemy. It is not a pleasant thing to creep thus upon a foe who may turn and rend you, but its necessity was obvious. This skulking pursuer might continue to follow us and shoot us both down. His pursuit must be stopped.

Thus thinking, I made my way through the undergrowth, and when I came to a little knoll and looked down the other side of it I saw a man squatted in the grass behind a tree. He had just finished loading his rifle, and peeped from behind the tree as if looking for a target. I had no doubt that I was the target for which he was looking, for the man was old and gray, and none other than Pierre. I guessed it at once. In some manner he had contrived to follow us, and he intended either to take me back to Quebec or stop my further flight with a bullet from the ancient French weapon which he carried. I could have shot Pierre with perfect ease from where I sat, and perhaps I would have been justified in doing so, but I had no stomach for such an act. Instead I lay still and watched him for a little while. The old fellow squirmed about at a great rate, peeping first from one side of the tree and then the other, thrusting out the muzzle of his gun and then drawing it back. By and by a look of perplexity began to overshadow his face. I knew he was wondering what had become of us, and I could have laughed at his mystification. Presently I looked across and saw Zeb lying behind a tree on the other side of him. He had just raised his rifle and was drawing a bead on old Pierre when I shook my head at him violently. Fortunately he saw me, and, lowering his rifle, circled around and joined me.

“It’s the old fellow I choked in your room last night, ain’t it?” he asked.

I nodded.

“An’ I guess he’s been followin’ us all the time to bring you back.”

I nodded again.

“Waal, he may mean well ’nuff,” said Zeb, “but he ain’t much on the scout. He thinks he’s cornered us, an’ we’ve cornered him.”

“Let’s see what he’ll do,” I suggested.

“All right,” replied Zeb. “I don’t mind a little fun myself.”

The old fellow began to grow very impatient. He would put his ear to the earth and listen with great interest. Then he would crawl forward for a better view. At last he stretched his rifle by his side, holding it with one hand, and began to crawl toward another tree about fifteen feet farther on.

“Suppose we stop him now?” I said to Zeb.

He assented, and we began to stalk Pierre. We did it so successfully that we came close up to him and could have reached out and touched his foot, yet he never heard us. Zeb put his rifle down on the ground, rose up on all fours, and, suddenly springing through the air like a cat, came down upon the back of Pierre.

The Frenchman uttered a cry and flattened out on his face. Zeb hopped off his back, took the rifle from Pierre’s nerveless hand, and stood up. I, too, rose to my feet. Pierre gasped like a dying deer, and presently, when his breath began to return to him, sat up and began to look at us with surprised eyes.

“Were you looking for me, Pierre, my good man?” I asked.

“I was looking for monsieur,” he replied.

“An’ you have found him,” added Zeb.

“Pierre,” I said in an aggrieved tone, “why do you pursue me thus? The bullet that you fired at me just now missed me scarce an inch.”

“The seigneur’s commands were that I should watch you,” replied Pierre, “and I obey the seigneur.”

“Then you have certainly obeyed him,” I said. “You have performed your full duty; now go back to him and leave us alone.”

“But my orders were not to let you escape,” said Pierre obstinately.

“But how are you going to prevent it, my good Pierre?” I asked.

He seemed puzzled, and then repeated like a machine:

“But my orders from the seigneur were not to let you escape.”

“He ought to be a good soldier,” commented Zeb with a grin. “He’s so powerful partickler about orders.”

“Pierre,” I said, “you’ve done all you could. You’ve followed me a long distance. You shot at me, and it is the fault of your aim and not of your intent that I am not dead. Now return to the seigneur and tell him that you overtook me but could not bring me back.”

“An’ tell the pretty gal, his daughter, that Leftenant Charteris, of the Royal Americans, is well an’ a-doin’ well,” put in Zeb.

“Be silent, Zeb!” I cried, though I was not displeased.

“But what proof can I give the seigneur that I speak the truth?” asked Pierre plaintively.

“Here, take my hat, Pierre,” I replied, “and I will take yours. You can show that as evidence of the truth of what you say and that you really found me.”

He thought a moment and then said:

“I will do it, but monsieur will lose by the exchange; my hat is but a poor one.”

“You object to beatin’ him in a hat swap,” said Zeb, “but you tried mighty hard awhile ago to put a bullet through his head.”

“That is different,” said Pierre simply.

Then he put my hat on his head, handed me his own, turned and went back toward Quebec.

“He’s done the best he knowed how,” said Zeb as we resumed our flight.

Feeling comparatively safe now, I took the time to ask Zeb how he had managed to come to the seigneur’s house at such an opportune moment for me.

“I slipped into Quebec yesterday mornin’, spyin’ for the general,” he said, “an’ heard a Canadian say an American officer was a prisoner in the seigneur’s house. I thought from his description that it might be you, and concluded to see. I took the chance, and found it was you. I stole that dingy old uniform you’re wearin’.”

“I thank you for taking the chance, Zeb,” I said.

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