Cameron of Lochiel
yet alive, two grenadiers carried him to a little brook near the mill,
where he soon returned to consciousness. It was rather loss of blood
than the severity of his hurt that had caused the swoon. A blow from a
saber had split his helmet and gashed his head without fracturing the
skull. Jules wished to return to the fight, but one of the grenadiers
said to him:
"Not for a little while, my officer. You have had enough for the
present, and the sun beats like the devil out there, which is very
dangerous for a wound on the head. We are going to leave you in the
shade of these trees." D'Haberville, too weak to oppose them further,
soon found himself lying among a number of the wounded, who had had
strength enough to drag themselves into the grove. Every one knows
its result, this second battle of the Plains of Abraham. The victory
was dear bought by the French and the Canadians, who suffered no less
severely than their enemies. It was a useless bloodshed. New France,
abandoned by the mother country, was ceded to England by the careless
Louis three years after the battle.
Lochiel had cleared himself nobly of the suspicions which his foe,
Montgomery, had sought to fix upon him. His wide knowledge, his zeal
in the study of his profession, his skill in all military exercises,
his sobriety, his vigilance when in guard of a post, all these had put
him high in esteem. His dashing courage tempered with prudence in the
attack on the French lines at Montmorency and on the field of the first
Battle of the Plains had been noticed by General Murray, who commended
him publicly.
On the defeat of the English army at this second battle, Lochiel,
after tremendous fighting at the head of his Highlanders, was the
last to yield a position which he had defended inch by inch. Instead
of following the throng of fugitives toward Quebec, he noticed that
Dumont's Mill was now evacuated by the French, who were pursuing their
enemies with great slaughter. To conceal his route from the enemy,
Archie led his men between the mill and the adjoining wood. Just then
he heard some one calling his name; and turning, he saw an officer, his
arm in a sling, his uniform in tatters, his head wrapped in a bloody
cloth, staggering to meet him sword in hand.
"What are you doing, brave Cameron of Lochiel?" cried the unknown.
"The mill has been evacuated by our brave soldiers, and is no longer
defended by women and children and feeble old men. Return, valorous
Cameron, and crown your exploits by burning it down."
It was impossible to mistake the mocking voice of Jules D'Haberville,
although his face was unrecognizable for blood and powder.
On hearing these insulting words, Archie felt nothing but tenderest
loving pity for the friend of his youth. His heart beat as if to break;
a sob labored from his bosom, and again he seemed to hear the witch of
the manor crying ominously: "Keep your pity for yourself, Archibald de
Lochiel. You will have need of it all on that day when you shall carry
in your arms the bleeding body of him you now call your brother!"
Forgetting the critical position in which he was keeping his men,
Archie halted his company and went forward to meet Jules. For one
moment all the young Frenchman's love for his adopted brother seemed to
revive, but, restraining himself sternly, he cried in a bitter voice:
"Defend yourself, M. de Lochiel; you, who love easy triumphs, defend
yourself, traitor!"
At this new insult, Archie folded his arms and answered, in a tone of
tender reproach:
"Thou, too, my brother Jules, even thou, too, hast thou condemned me
unheard?"
At these words a nervous shock seemed to paralyze the little remaining
strength of poor Jules. The sword dropped from his hand and he fell
forward on his face. Archie sent one of his men to the brook for water,
and, without thinking of the danger to which he exposed himself, took
his friend in his arms and carried him to the edge of the woods, where
some of the wounded Canadians, touched at the sight of an Englishman
bestowing so much care on their young officer, made no move to injure
him, although they had reloaded their guns at the approach of his men.
Archie examined his friend's wounds, and saw that he had fainted from
loss of blood. A little cold water in his face soon brought him back
to consciousness. He opened his eyes and looked at Archie, but made no
attempt to speak. The latter clasped his hand, which seemed to return a
gentle pressure.
"Farewell, Jules," said Archie. "Farewell, my brother. Harsh duty
forces me to leave you; but we shall meet again, in better days." And
he turned back sorrowfully to his troop.
"Now, my boys," said Lochiel, after throwing a rapid glance over the
plain and listening to the confused noises of the distant flight, "now,
my boys, no false delicacy, for the battle is hopelessly lost. We must
now display the agility of our Highland legs, if we want to take a hand
in future battles. Forward now, and do not lose sight of me."
Taking advantage of every inequality of the ground, lending heedful ear
to the shouts of the French, who were endeavoring to crowd the English
into the St. Charles, Lochiel led his men into Quebec without further
loss. This valiant company had already suffered enough. Half its men
had been left on the field of battle, and of its officers Lochiel was
the sole survivor.
All honor to vanquished heroism! Honor to the English dead, whose
bodies were buried in confusion with those of their enemies on the
twenty-eighth day of April, 1760! Honor to the soldiers of France, over
whose bodies grows green, with every succeeding spring, the turf of
the Plains of Abraham! When the last trump shall sound, and these foes
shall rise from their last sleep side by side, will they have forgotten
their ancient hate, or will they spring once more at each other's
throats?
Honor to the vanquished brave! Among the soldiers whose names are
bright on the pages of history there is but one who, on the morrow of
a glorious triumph, uncovered his head before his captives and cried,
"All honor to the vanquished brave!" He knew that his words would last
forever, graven on the heart of France. Great soldiers there are many;
but niggard Nature takes centuries to frame a hero.
The field of battle after the victory presented a ghastly sight.
Men and horses, the wounded and the dead, were frozen into the mire
of blood and water, and could be extricated only with pain and
difficulty. The wounded of both nations were treated by the Chevalier
de Lévis with the same tender care. Most of them were carried to the
Convent of the Hospital Nuns. The convent and all its outbuildings were
crowded. All the linen, all the clothing of the inmates was torn up for
bandages, and the good nuns had nothing left for themselves but the
clothes they were wearing upon the day of battle.
Taking refuge after his defeat behind the ramparts of Quebec, General
Murray made a vigorous resistance. As they had but twenty guns with
which to arm their siege-batteries, the French could do little more
than blockade the city and wait for the re-enforcements which never
came. The English general requested permission to send an officer
three times a week to visit his wounded in the hospital. This request
was readily granted by the humane De Lévis. Lochiel knew that his
friend must be lying in the hospital, but he could get no news of him.
Although consumed with anxiety, he dreaded to put himself in a false
position by inquiries too minute. It might have been considered natural
that he would wish to visit his wounded countrymen, but with true
Scotch caution he let none of his anxiety appear. It was not till the
tenth day after the battle, when his regular turn came, that he found
himself approaching the hospital under the escort of a French officer.
"I wonder," said Lochiel, "if you would consider it an indiscretion on
my part were I to ask for a private interview with the lady superior?"
"I see no indiscretion in it," answered the Frenchman," but I fear I
would be exceeding my orders were I to permit it. I am ordered to lead
you to your countrymen and nothing more."
"I am sorry," said the Scotchman indifferently. "It is a little
disappointing to me; but let us speak no more of it."
The French officer was silent some minutes; he thought to himself that
the Scotchman, speaking French like a Parisian, had probably made the
acquaintance of some Canadian families shut up in Quebec; that he was
perhaps charged with some message from the relations or friends of the
superior, and that it would be cruel to refuse his request. Presently
he said:
"As I am persuaded that neither you nor the lady superior can be
forming any designs against our batteries, I think that perhaps, after
all, I might grant your request without exceeding my duty."
Lochiel, who had been staking all his hopes of a reconciliation with
the D'Habervilles upon this interview, could scarcely conceal his joy;
but he answered quietly:
"Thank you, monsieur, for your courtesy to myself and the good lady.
Your batteries, protected by French valor, might feel reasonably secure
even if we were conspiring against them."
The corridors of the hospital which he had to traverse before reaching
the parlor of the superior were literally thronged with the wounded;
but Archie, seeing none of his own men, hastened on. After ringing the
bell, he walked restlessly up and down the room. It was the same room
in which he and Jules had had so many a dainty lunch in their happy
school days; for the good superior was Jules's aunt.
The superior received him with cold politeness, and said:
"I am very sorry to have kept you waiting, sir; please take a seat."
"I fear," said Archie, "that madam does not recognize me."
"A thousand pardons," replied the superior. "You are Mr. Archibald
Cameron of Lochiel."
"Once you called me Archie," said the young man.
"The times are changed, sir," replied the nun, "and many things have
happened since those days."
Sighing deeply, Lochiel echoed her words:
"The times are indeed changed, and many things have happened since
those days. But at least, madam, tell me how is my brother, Jules
D'Haberville?"
"He whom you once called your brother, sir, is now, I hope, out of
danger."
"Thank God!" answered Lochiel, "now all hope is not utterly dead in my
heart! If I were speaking to an ordinary person there would be nothing
more for me to do but thank you for your condescension and retire;
but I have the honor to address the sister of a brave soldier, the
inheritor of a name made illustrious by many heroic deeds; and if madam
will permit, if she will forget for a moment the ties which bind me to
her family, if she will judge impartially between me and that family,
then I might dare attempt, with some hope of success, to justify myself
before her."
"Speak, M. de Lochiel," replied the superior, "and I will listen, not
as a D'Haberville but as a stranger. It is my duty as a Christian
to hear impartially anything that might palliate your barbarous and
heartless conduct toward a family that loved you so well."
The sudden flush which covered the young man's face was followed by a
pallor so ghastly that the superior thought he was about to faint. He
grasped the grating between them with both hands, and leaned his head
against it for some moments; then, mastering his emotion, he told his
story as the reader already knows it.
Archie went into the most minute details, down to his misgivings when
his regiment was ordered to leave for Canada, down to the hereditary
hatred of the Montgomerys for the Camerons; and he accused himself of
cowardice in not having sacrificed even his honor to the gratitude he
owed the D'Habervilles. From the utterance of Montgomery's barbarous