At the fall of Montreal; or, A soldier boy's final victory

“It looks as if we’d have to fight after all, Morris.”

“What makes you think that?” questioned Dave, who had just come in from four hours of guard duty.

“I just got an inkling from headquarters,” said the soldier who had first spoken. “The Frenchmen don’t want to agree to General Amherst’s demands.”

“They will be foolish if they don’t,” said the young soldier. “With a combined army of seventeen thousand men to draw on we can knock Montreal higher than a kite if we start in to do it.”

“To be sure, Morris.”

“But I hope it doesn’t come to a fight,” went on Dave, his face clouding.

“Why; you are not afraid, are you?”

“No. I was thinking of the English prisoners in Montreal. They will be sure to suffer, with no way by which they can help themselves.”

“True for you. But the French sick will suffer, too. A cannon ball goes where it pleases, once it is fired.”

During the night had come one alarm. Some Canadians had attempted to leave the city with some plunder, taken from houses that happened to be deserted. A part of this crowd was shot down within the city walls by Lévis’ guards, and the others were shot down by the guards under Amherst and Murray.

“No matter what may happen, I will have no plundering,” said Vaudreuil; and Lévis, Amherst, and Murray said the same.

It must be confessed that the outcome of another council of war within the walls of Montreal was anxiously awaited by the English on both sides of the St. Lawrence. Each branch of the army was held in readiness for immediate service, the soldiers sleeping on their arms and the cannoneers under their pieces.

In the city the hubbub was greater than ever. The citizens gathered around headquarters and begged for peace. The Governor-General had to listen to endless advice. Lévis protested to the last that he wanted the honors of war accorded to his troops. But Amherst, as said before, was unyielding; and at last Vaudreuil signed the paper which, in the course of time, gave all of the Canadian possessions into the hands of the English government and made of the French-Canadians British subjects.

The news was carried far and wide as swift as horses and messengers could travel. “Canada has surrendered! The war is over!” was the glad tidings, and in every portion of the English colonies, as well as in England itself, there was great rejoicing. Cannon were fired, bonfires lit, and bells tolled, and in some places special church services were held, to give thanks to God that the agony of such long standing was at an end. Even the Canadians rejoiced to think that peace was come, and that they could again go to their farms unmolested alike by soldier or Indian.

The capitulation took place on September 8, 1760. It was agreed that the French soldiers and sailors should be allowed to return to France, and that the Canadians should return to their homes, unmolested. No one was to suffer because of his religion, and it was further agreed that, with a few exceptions, all military and political prisoners should be set free. The Indians on both sides were to be held in firm check, so that the atrocities of former campaigns should not be repeated. This last agreement made the Indians on both sides very angry, and the great majority of them tore up their wigwams in disgust and departed for parts unknown. Only a handful remained with Sir William Johnson, this band including White Buffalo and four old braves, the braves remaining to get some money that had been promised to them and the chief that he might be near Dave, to go home with the young soldier when the latter was discharged.

“Montreal is ours after all!” cried the young soldier, when the news reached camp. “And we didn’t have to fire a shot, excepting at the scoundrels who tried to plunder the place.”

Dave was anxious to get into Montreal, to learn something concerning Henry if possible. But it was a good two weeks before he got the chance to enter the city. Then he was placed on a detail sent to visit one of the hospitals.

As the detail was passing down a side street of the city the young soldier chanced to look into the window of one of the houses they were passing.

“Can it be possible!” burst from his lips. Then he ran to the officer in command of the detail. “Will you—you let me off a while—just a few minutes, lieutenant?”

“Why, what’s the matter, Morris?” queried the officer. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“Perhaps it was a ghost. I thought I saw my cousin Henry at the window of the house back there.”

“Indeed! All right, go back and make sure. But don’t stay too long.”

The caution was not yet finished when Dave started back on a run. As he gained the door of the residence the barrier was flung back and Henry came forth, cap in hand.

“Dave!”

“Henry!”

“I thought I saw you passing!”

“And I thought I saw you at the window!”

And then the pair fell into each other’s arms, while tears of joy stood in their eyes. They shook hands over and over again, and it was fully a minute before either could trust himself to speak again.

“How pale and thin you look,” declared Dave, at last. “Have you been sick?”

“I’ve been in prison.”

“You mean up at Quebec?”

“There and here too.” Henry’s face fell a little. “Then you know the news?”

“Know the news? Didn’t Sam Barringford and I travel all the way to Quebec to help you? But when we got there you were missing.”

“Good for you and Sam, Dave! How is Sam now? I see you are in pretty good shape.”

“Poor Sam is in the hospital at Quebec. He was struck in the head with a bullet and it made him rather out of his head. But we’re hoping he’ll get over it.” Dave paused a moment. “Henry, I’m afraid you’ve gotten yourself into an awful hole,” he went on anxiously.

“How so?” And a faint smile crept around the corners of Henry’s mouth.

“Why, by running away after you were placed under arrest.”

“But I didn’t want to be hanged.”

“I know, but now the case will look blacker against you than ever. They will say you didn’t dare to stand trial.”

“But I can prove my innocence, Dave,” cried Henry triumphantly.

“What! How?”

“Easily enough, although the story is rather a wonderful one. You see, while I was in prison here we had a revolt, and all the prisoners broke jail. I ran away by myself and hid in this house, to escape the French soldiers. I was discovered by the lady and daughter who live here, and by the lady’s son, who was sick in bed. The son began to question me, and then he said he had seen me before. We compared notes, and I learned that the son was Captain Louis Gaulette, a noted French spy. Captain Gaulette was in Quebec on a secret mission for General Lévis, and he was in hiding in the cellar of the gold and silver smith’s shop when I went down there and tried to reason with Prent. He sent a note to General Murray about it, and he supposed I was set at liberty.”

“Good!” almost shouted Dave, and his face began to beam. “In that case, Henry, you can establish your innocence without much trouble.”

“That is what I expect to do,” answered Henry. “And let me tell you, I am mighty glad this affair has turned out as it has. But what about the war? Is it really ended?”

“Yes, Henry, and I reckon our soldier-boy days have ended with it,” answered Dave.

Let me add a few words more and then bring to a close this story of military adventure before and “At the Fall of Montreal.”

As both of the young soldiers had surmised, it was an easy matter to prove Henry innocent of the charge that had been made against him, and in the end he received not only a full pardon from General Murray, but also a letter exonerating him from all blame. For the despicable part he had played Prent was sentenced to five years in an English prison, and with him went Fenley and Harkness for a period of three years. Louis Gaulette became Henry’s firm friend and it may be mentioned here that, years later, Gaulette entered the American army under General Lafayette and served as a spy for Washington during the last years of the War of Independence.

As soon as Dave and Henry were free to come and go as they pleased they took passage on a sloop of war bound down the St. Lawrence to Quebec. At this point they had a man with a rowboat take them over to the Island of Orleans, which was still being used as a hospital. They inquired for Barringford of a guard they met and after some slight trouble were taken to the ward in which the sufferer belonged.

“Dave an’ Henry!” cried the old frontiersman, on seeing them, and Dave’s heart leapt with joy to see his eyes as bright and intelligent as ever. “Ef this ain’t better’n a dose o’ medicine. Whar did ye come from?” And he shook hands warmly.

“First tell us how you feel?” said Dave.

“Fust-rate, Dave, fust-rate. I had a mighty bad spell o’ it though—somethin’ like a nightmare—an’ the doctor says as how I aint quite strong enough yit to walk around much. Lost some o’ my ha’r, too,” the old hunter added, pointing to the scar over his ear. “But thet don’t count—I’m thankful to pull through with my life.”

“We can all be thankful,” said Henry.

“How is it you air free, Henry?” went on the frontiersman, and on being told he slapped his thigh in satisfaction. “Thet’s splenderiferous news. The folks ter hum will be glad to hear on it.”

“That they will,” answered Henry, “and I have already sent them a letter.”

“Be you goin’ home soon?”

“Just as soon as we can obtain our discharge and as soon as you can go with us, Sam,” answered Dave.

“Me?”

“To be sure. We wouldn’t go home without you; you know that.”

“I might hev knowed it, Dave.” A tear glistened in the old hunter’s eye, and he took their hands again. “Both my boys, aint ye?—through thick an’ thin!”

“Yes, we are, Sam,” said Henry.

“And glad of it,” added Dave.

The start for home did not take place until winter had again set in. They went with a great number of other soldiers as far as Philadelphia, and then struck out for themselves, in company with half a dozen neighbors and White Buffalo.

At Winchester both James and Joseph Morris met them, and the meeting between fathers and sons was a most affectionate one. Nor were Sam Barringford and White Buffalo forgotten. There were many embraces, and the story of the boys’ doings, and of the others, had to be told over and over again.

“The best news from home is that Rodney is improving fast,” said Joseph Morris. “The last operation on his leg was a complete success, so the doctors say, and by next spring they think he will be almost as strong as any of us.”

“Next spring I am going back to the Kinotah,” said James Morris. “My claim to that land is now fully established, and with Jean Bevoir dead there is little likelihood that anybody will ever try to disturb me again.”

“Bevoir dead?” burst out Dave. “How do you know that?”

“Why didn’t you hear of it?” queried his father. “And you right on the ground too!”

“I heard nothing of him later than when he threatened Henry at Montreal.”

“When Montreal was besieged Jean Bevoir joined a crowd of men who tried to loot many of the houses and stores. The French guard got after the pilferers and shot some of them down, and then they fled out of the city, and the English soldiers shot down the rest, or made them prisoners. Among the number shot down was Jean Bevoir. This news came straight to me from two soldiers who were at Winchester last week.”

“Shot down!” repeated Dave. Then he drew a deep breath. “Well, if he was shot down outside of the city perhaps I had a hand in it. But I don’t know for sure, and—and—I’m rather glad of it.”

“He deserved what he got,” came from Barringford. “He was a traitor to everybuddy, even his best friends.” And the others felt that the old frontiersman spoke the exact truth.

Yet though they all thought Jean Bevoir dead such was not a fact. The French trader was seriously wounded, and for a long while lay between life and death. But he ultimately recovered, and how he crossed the path of our friends later on will be told in another volume, to be entitled, “On the Trail of Pontiac; or, The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio,” in which we shall meet many of our old characters again and learn something of what was done to establish trading-posts on the Kinotah and elsewhere after the war with France, and of how the wily Indian chief Pontiac did his best to wipe out all white settlements in that territory.

The home-coming was an event long to be remembered. As the riders came in sight of the new cabin Mrs. Morris, Rodney, and little Nell rushed out to greet them.

“Home again! Home again!” shouted Dave and Henry, and flung themselves into the arms out-stretched to receive them.

“My son!” murmured Mrs. Morris, as she kissed Henry, “and my Dave!” she added, as she also kissed her nephew.

“Oh, but aint I dreadfully delighted to see you back,” piped up little Nell, and kissed them all around, even to White Buffalo. “And now you mustn’t go away again, none of you, but stay with me for years and years and years!”

“That’s the way to talk, Nell,” said Rodney, also beaming with pleasure. “We’ve had enough of this going-away to last for a lifetime.” And then he added: “Just watch how I can walk now!” and led the way to the cabin, walking almost as well as any of them.

It was an old-time feast that awaited those who had come to the cabin, and it lasted far into the night. During that time many neighbors dropped in, wishing them well.

“It would seem that all of our troubles are at an end,” said Mrs. Morris. “Now if the Indians will only keep the peace I am sure we will prosper.”

“They must keep the peace,” said White Buffalo. “My war hatchet is buried, and White Buffalo will not dig it up again unless there is no help for it.”

“I’ve had enough of war,” came from Dave. “In the future let me till the soil and hunt game, and I’ll be content.”

And here let us bid our friends, for the time being, good-by.

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 325 pages Illustrated from photographs $1.25

Ever since the enormous success of Mr. Stratemeyer’s “American Boys’ Life of William McKinley” there has been an urgent demand that he follow the volume with one on the life of our present President, and this has now been done with a care and a faithfulness certain to win immediate appreciation everywhere.

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The Appendix contains a Chronology of Theodore Roosevelt, and also brief extracts from some of his most famous speeches and addresses.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers.

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 300 pages Illustrated by A. B. Shute, and from photographs $1.25

Here is told the whole story of McKinley’s boyhood days, his life at school and at college, his work as a school teacher, his glorious career in the army, his struggles to obtain a footing as a lawyer, his efforts as a Congressman, and lastly his prosperous career as our President. There are many side lights on the work at the White House during the war with Spain, and in China, all told in a style particularly adapted to boys and young men. The book is full of interesting anecdotes, all taken from life, showing fully the sincere, honest, painstaking efforts of a life cut all too short. The volume will prove an inspiration to all boys and young men, and should be in every one’s library.

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