Of these sad occurrences it was my fortune not to be informed for many months. In some senses this was a beneficent ignorance. Had I known that, under the dear old roof which so long sheltered me, Mr. Stewart was helplessly stricken with paralysis1, and poor Daisy lay ill unto death with a brain malady2, the knowledge must have gone far to unfit me for the work which was now given into my hands. And it was work of great magnitude and importance.
Close upon the heels of the Bunker Hill intelligence came the news that a Continental4 army had been organized; that Colonel Washington of Virginia had been designated by Congress as its chief, and had started to assume command at Cambridge; and that our own Philip Schuyler was one of the four officers named at the same time as major-generals. There was great pleasure in Albany over the tidings; the patriot5 committee began to prepare for earnest action, and our Tory mayor, Abraham Cuyler, sagaciously betook himself off, ascending6 the Mohawk in a canoe, and making his way to Canada.
Among the first wishes expressed by General Schuyler was one that I should assist and accompany him, and this, flattering enough in itself, was made delightful7 by the facts that my friend Peter Gansevoort was named as another aide, and that my kinsman8 Dr. Teunis was given a professional place in the general's camp family. We three went with him to the headquarters at Cambridge very shortly after, and thenceforward were too steadily9 engrossed10 with our novel duties to give much thought to home affairs.
It was, indeed, a full seven months onward11 from the June of which I have written that my first information concerning the Cedars12, and the dear folk within its walls, came to me in a letter from my mother. This letter found me, of all unlikely places in the world, lying in garrison13 on the frozen bank of the St. Lawrence--behind us the strange, unnatural14 silence of the northern waste of snow, before us the black, citadel15-crowned, fire-spitting rock of Quebec.
Again there presses upon me the temptation to put into this book the story of what I saw there while we were gathering16 our strength and resolution for the fatal assault. If I am not altogether proof against its wiles17, at least no more shall be told of it than properly belongs here, insomuch as this is the relation of my life's romance.
We had started in September with the expedition against Canada, while it was under the personal command of our general; and when his old sickness came unluckily upon him and forced his return, it was at his request that we still kept on, under his successor, General Richard Montgomery. It was the pleasanter course for us, both because we wanted to see fighting, and because Montgomery, as the son-in-law of Mr. Livingston, was known to us and was our friend. And so with him we saw the long siege of St. John's ended, and Chambly, and then Montreal, Sorel, and Three Rivers, one by one submit, and the habitants acclaim18 us their deliverers as we swept the country clean to the gates of Quebec.
To this place we came in the first week of December, and found bold Arnold and his seven hundred scarecrows awaiting us. These men had been here for a month, yet had scarcely regained19 their strength from the horrible sufferings they encountered throughout their wilderness20 march. We were by this time not enamoured of campaigning in any large degree, from our own experience of it. Yet when we saw the men whom Arnold and Morgan had led through the trackless Kennebec forest, and heard them modestly tell the story of that great achievement--of their dreadful sustained battle with cold, exhaustion21, famine, with whirling rapids, rivers choked with ice, and dangerous mountain precipices--we felt ashamed at having supposed we knew what soldiering was.
Three weeks we lay waiting. Inside, clever Carleton was straining heaven and earth in his endeavor to strengthen his position; without, we could only wait. Those of us who were from the Albany and Mohawk country came to learn that some of our old Tory neighbors were within the walls, and the knowledge gave a new zest22 to our eager watchfulness23.
This, it should be said, was more eager than sanguine24. It was evident from the outset that, in at least one respect, we had counted without our host. The French-Canadians were at heart on our side, perhaps, but they were not going to openly help us; and we had expected otherwise. Arnold himself, who as an old horse-dealer knew the country, had especially believed in their assistance and sympathy, and we had bills printed in the French language to distribute, calling upon them to rise and join us. That they did not do so was a grievous disappointment from the beginning.
Yet we might have been warned of this. The common people were friendly to us--aided us privily25 when they could--but they were afraid of their seigneurs and curés. These gentry26 were our enemies for a good reason--in their eyes we were fighting New England's fight, and intolerant New England had only the year before bitterly protested to Parliament against the favor shown the Papist religion in Quebec. These seigneurs and priests stood together in a common interest. England had been shrewd enough to guarantee them their domains27 and revenues. Loyalty28 meant to them the security of their rentes et d?mes, and they were not likely to risk these in an adventure with the Papist-hating Yankees. Hence they stood by England, and, what is more, held their people practically aloof29 from us.
But even then we could have raised Canadian troops, if we had had the wherewithal to feed or clothe or arm them. But of this Congress had taken no thought. Our ordnance30 was ridiculously inadequate31 for a siege; our clothes were ragged32 and foul33, our guns bad, our powder scanty34, and our food scarce. Yet we were deliberately35 facing, in this wretched plight36, the most desperate assault of known warfare37.
The weeks went by swiftly enough. Much of the time I was with the commander at our headquarters in Holland House, and I grew vastly attached to the handsome, gracious, devoted38 young soldier. Brigadier-General Montgomery had not, perhaps, the breadth of character that made Schuyler so notable; which one of all his contemporaries, save Washington, for that matter, had? But he was very single-minded and honorable, and had much charm of manner. Often, during those weeks, he told me of his beautiful young wife, waiting for his return at their new home on the Hudson, and of his hope soon to be able to abandon the strife39 and unrest of war, and settle there in peace. Alas40! it was not to be so.
And then, again, we would adventure forth41 at night, when there was no moon, to note what degree of vigilance was observed by the beleaguered42 force. This was dangerous, for the ingenious defenders43 hung out at the ends of poles from the bastions either lighted lanterns or iron pots filled with blazing balsam, which illuminated44 the ditch even better than the moon would have done. Often we were thus discovered and fired upon, and once the General had his horse killed under him.
I should say that he was hardly hopeful of the result of the attack already determined46 upon. But it was the only thing possible to be done, and with all his soul and mind he was resolved to as nearly do it as might be.
The night came, the last night but one of that eventful, momentous47 year 1775. Men had passed each day for a week between our quarters and Colonel Arnold's at St. Roch, concerting arrangements. There were Frenchmen inside the town from whom we were promised aid. What we did not know was that there were other Frenchmen, in our camp, who advised Carleton of all our plans. The day and evening were spent in silent preparations for the surprise and assault--if so be it the snow-storm came which was agreed upon as the signal. Last words of counsel and instruction were spoken. Suppressed excitement reigned48 everywhere.
The skies were clear and moonlit in the evening; now, about midnight, a damp, heavy snowfall began and a fierce wind arose. So much the better for us and our enterprise, we thought.
We left Holland House some hours after midnight, without lights and on foot, and placed ourselves at the head of the three hundred and fifty men whom Colonel Campbell (not the Cherry Valley man, but a vain and cowardly creature from down the Hudson, recently retired49 from the British army) held in waiting for us. Noiselessly we descended50 from the heights, passed Wolfe's Cove45, and gained the narrow road on the ledge3 under the mountain.
The General and his aide, McPherson, trudged51 through the deep snow ahead of all, with Gansevoort, and me keeping up to them as well as we could. What with the very difficult walking, the wildness of the gale52, and the necessity for silence, I do not remember that anything was said. We panted heavily, I know, and more than once had to stop while the slender and less eager carpenters who formed the van came up.
It was close upon the fence of wooden pickets53 which stretched across the causeway at Cape54 Diamond that the last of these halts was made. Through the darkness, rendered doubly dense55 by the whirling snowflakes with which the wind lashed56 our faces, we could only vaguely57 discern the barrier and the outlines of the little block-house beyond it.
"Here is our work!" whispered the General to the half-dozen nearest him, and pointing ahead with his gauntleted hand. "Once over this and into the guard-house, and we can never be flanked, whatever else betide."
We tore furiously at the posts, even while he spoke--we four with our hands, the carpenters with their tools. It was the work of a moment to lay a dozen of these; another moment and the first score of us were knee-deep in the snow piled to one side of the guard-house door. There was a murmur58 from behind which caused us to glance around. The body of Campbell's troops, instead of pressing us closely, had lingered to take down more pickets. Somebody--it may have been I--said, "Cowards!" Some one else, doubtless the General, said, "Forward!"
Then the ground shook violently under our feet, a great bursting roar deafened59 us, and before a scythe-like sweep of fire we at the front tumbled and fell!
I got to my feet again, but had lost both sword and pistol in the snow. I had been hit somewhere--it seemed in the side--but of that I scarcely thought. I heard sharp firing and the sound of oaths and groans60 all around me, so it behooved61 me to fight, too. There were dimly visible dark forms issuing from the guard-house, and wrestling or exchanging blows with other forms, now upright, now in the snow. Here and there a flash of fire from some gun or pistol gave an instant's light to this Stygian hurly-burly.
A heavy man, coming from the door of the block-house, fired a pistol straight at me; the bullet seemed not to have struck me, and I leaped upon him before he could throw the weapon. We struggled fiercely backward toward the pickets, I tearing at him with all my might, and striving with tremendous effort to keep my wits as well as my strength about me, in order to save my life. Curiously63 enough, I found that the simplest wrestling tricks I tried I had not the power for; even in this swift minute, loss of blood was telling on me. A ferocious64 last effort I made to swing and hurl62 him, and, instead, went staggering down into the drift with him on top.
As I strove still to turn, and lifted my head, a voice sounded close in my ear, "It's you, is it? Damn you!" and then a great mashing65 blow on my face ended my fight.
Doubtless some reminiscence in that voice caused my mind to carry on the struggle in the second after sense had fled, for I thought we still were in the snow wrestling, only it was inside a mimic66 fort in the clearing around Mr. Stewart's old log-house, and I was a little boy in an apron67, and my antagonist68 was a yellow-haired lad with hard fists, with which he beat me cruelly in the face--and so off into utter blackness and void of oblivion.
One morning in the latter half of January, nearly three weeks after, I woke to consciousness again. Wholly innocent of the lapse69 of time, I seemed to be just awakening70 from the dream of the snow fort, and of my boyish fight with little Philip Cross. I smiled to myself as I thought of it, but even while I smiled the vague shadows of later happenings came over my mind. Little by little the outlines of that rough December night took shape in my puzzled wits.
I had been wounded, evidently, and had been borne back to Holland House, for I recognized the room in which I lay. My right arm was in stiff splints; with the other hand I felt of my head and discovered that my hair had been cut close, and that my skull71 and face were fairly thatched with crossing strips of bandage. My chest, too, was girdled by similar medicated bands. My mental faculties72 moved very sedately73, it seemed, and I had been pondering these phenomena74 for a long time when my cousin Dr. Teunis Van Hoorn came tip-toeing into the room.
This worthy75 young man was sincerely delighted to find me come by my senses once more. In his joy he allowed me to talk and to listen more than was for my good, probably, for I had some bad days immediately following; but the relapse did not come before I had learned much that was gravely interesting.
It is a story of sufficient sorrow and shame to American ears even now--this tale of how we failed to carry Quebec. Judge how grievously the recital76 fell upon my ears then, in the little barrack-chamber of Holland House, within hearing of the cannonade by which the farce78 of a siege was still maintained from day to day! Teunis told me how, by that first volley of grape at the guard-house, the brave and noble Montgomery had been instantly killed; how Arnold, forcing his way from the other direction at the head of his men, and being early shot in the leg, had fought and stormed like a wounded lion in the narrow Sault-au-Matelot; how he and the gallant79 Morgan had done more than their share in the temerarious adventure, and had held the town and citadel at their mercy if only the miserable80 Campbell had pushed forward after poor Montgomery fell, and gone on to meet those battling heroes in the Lower Town. But I have not the patience, even at this late day, to write about this melancholy81 and mortifying82 failure.
Some of our best men--Montgomery, Hendricks, Humphreys, Captain Cheseman, and other officers, and nearly two hundred men--had been killed out-right, and the host of wounded made veritable hospitals of both the headquarters. Nearly half of our total original force had been taken prisoners. With the shattered remnants of our little army we were still keeping up the pretence83 of a siege, but there was no heart in our operations, since reverse had broken the last hope of raising assistance among the French population. We were too few in numbers to be able now to prevent supplies reaching the town, and everybody gloomily foresaw that when the river became free of ice, and open for the British fleet to throw in munitions84 and re-enforcements, the game would be up.
All this Dr. Teunis told me, and often during the narration85 it seemed as if my indignant blood would burst off the healing bandages, so angrily did it boil at the thought of what poltroonery86 had lost to us.
It was a relief to turn to the question of my own adventure. It appeared that I had been wounded by the first and only discharge of the cannon77 at the guard-house, for there was discovered, embedded87 in the muscles over my ribs88, a small iron bolt, which would have come from no lesser89 firearm. They moreover had the honor of finding a bullet in my right forearm, which was evidently a pistol-ball. And, lastly, my features had been beaten into an almost unrecognizable mass of bruised90 flesh by either a heavy-ringed fist or a pistol-butt.
"Pete Gansevoort dragged you off on his back," my kinsman concluded. "Some of our men wanted to go back for the poor General, and for Cheseman and McPherson, but that Campbell creature would not suffer them. Instead, he and his cowards ran back as if the whole King's army were at their heels. You may thank God and Gansevoort that you were not found frozen stiff with the rest, next morning."
"Ah, you may be sure I do!" I answered. "Can I see Peter?"
"Why, no--at least not in this God-forgotten country. He has been made a colonel, and is gone back to Albany to join General Schuyler. And we are to go--you and I--as soon as it suits your convenience to be able to travel. There are orders to that purport91. So make haste and get well, if you please."
"I have been dangerously ill, have I not?"
"Scarcely that, I should say. At least, I had little fear for you after the first week. Neither of the gunshot wounds was serious. But somebody must have dealt you some hearty92 thwacks on the poll, my boy. It was these, and the wet chill, and the loss of blood, which threw you into a fever. But I never feared for you."
Later in the year, long after I was wholly recovered, my cousin confided93 to me that this was an amiable94 lie, designed to instil95 me with that confidence which is so great a part of the battle gained, and that for a week or so my chance of life had been held hardly worth a son marquee. But I did not now know this, and I tried to fasten my mind upon that encounter in the drift by the guard-house, which was my last recollection. Much of it curiously eluded96 my mental grasp for a time; then all at once it came to me.
"Do you know, Teunis," I said, "that I believe it was Philip Cross who broke my head with his pistol-butt?"
"Nonsense!"
"Yes, it surely was--and he knew me, too!" And I explained the grounds for my confidence.
"Well, young man," said Dr. Teunis, at last, "if you do not find that gentleman out somewhere, sometime, and choke him, and tear him up into fiddle-strings, you've not a drop of Van Hoorn blood in your whole carcass!"
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1
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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acclaim
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| v.向…欢呼，公认；n.欢呼，喝彩，称赞 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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beleaguered
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| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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behooved
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| v.适宜( behoove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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65
mashing
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| 捣碎 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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70
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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85
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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poltroonery
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| n.怯懦，胆小 | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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instil
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| v.逐渐灌输 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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