Not till the beginning of March of the following year did the expectant household at the Château of Candiac receive the order for Mercèdes and her party to set out and join her father at Rennes. He wrote thus to his wife:—
“Dearest,—The delay has been painfully trying; the Ministers have been hard to rouse. I have obtained money, men, and ammunition with great difficulty; but now the worst is over. I arrived at Rennes this morning, and shall remain here until my little Mercèdes appears, which will not be long now. I hope we shall be at Brest on the 21st of March, and everything will be on board by the 26th.
“My son has been here since yesterday, for me to coach him and get him a uniform made, in which he will give thanks for his regiment at the same time as I take my leave in my embroidered coat. Perhaps I shall leave debts behind; I wait impatiently for the bills. You have my will; I wish you would get it copied, and send it to me before I sail. I have much business on hand still. My health is good, and the passage will be a time of rest. I shall write up to the last moment. It is pleasant, I know, to hear particulars of those we love, and my mother, and you, my dearest and most beloved, will gladly read even the dullest details of my life. I am much pleased with my second officer in command, Chevalier Levis; he is brave and upright, full of expedients, and a man to be trusted. I might say the same of Chevalier Bougainville, the third in command. My greatest difficulty is getting sufficient troops to face such a campaign. Only twelve hundred men will embark with me. Now farewell; I embrace you, my dearest, my mother, and my daughters. Love to all the family,
“Your devoted husband,”Louis de Montcalm.”
Poor Mercèdes! When she saw the sea and the great ships, the troops of soldiers, and all the noise and bustle of the port, her heart sank for a moment within her. But she soon recovered herself, and when her father looked at her to see what impression the scene made upon her, she smiled and said quite quietly,—
“I suppose one can get accustomed to everything, but it does seem strange after our beautiful calm Candiac; I shall at least have seen something of the world before I bid it farewell.”
“The idea of crossing the sea does not then alarm you, my daughter?” asked the General.
“With God and with you, my father, what have I to fear?” she answered.
It was a bright spring day, the second of April, when they went on board. Six large vessels—large for those days—were in the harbour; their names have come down to us—the Léopard, Héros, Illustre, Licorne, Sauvage, and Sirène. Very different were they from the transport ships of to-day—devoid of every comfort, sailing vessels, subject to wind and weather. The General, with his officers Levis and Bougainville, and of course Mercèdes and Marthe, took passage in the Licorne; but they waited to see the troops go on board, which they did with incredible gaiety, so much so that Chevalier Bougainville exclaimed, “What a nation is ours; happy is he who commands it and commands it worthily!” And so, bravely with strong hearts, officers and men sailed for the first time across the Atlantic, at the command of a country which virtually forsook them in their hour of need.
Poor Marthe Dervieu was very ill during the whole voyage, but Mercèdes after the first few days recovered from the sea-sickness, and was so well and bright that she put the men to shame. Whenever she could leave Marthe she came with her father on deck, thankful to breathe the fresh sea-breeze in lieu of the dark, stuffy cabin.
“We are sure to arrive safely; we have a saint on board,” said the sailors. Nevertheless, when they were in mid-ocean a fearful gale overtook them, which lasted ninety hours. Many deemed their end was near. Mercèdes, as she lay lashed into her hammock, thought of the sunny plains of Provence, now bright with flowers; of the dear mother and grandmother, brothers and sisters; and it seemed to her that she could hear their prayers above the howling of the winds and the sound of many waters. Truly they were terrible nights and days, never forgotten by those who passed through them; but at last the winds and the waves were calmed, and the travellers breathed freely once more. Mercèdes was unlashed; but she was so stiff that, upon trying to stand, she would have fallen had not her father upheld and carried her on to the deck, to see the wonderful icebergs which, as they approached the St. Lawrence, threatened them with destruction, and made navigation so difficult that the ships advanced but slowly, those on board being in continual fear lest the floating masses should crash down upon them.
General Montcalm was fast losing patience. But for Mercèdes he would have landed, and made his way as best he could across country to Quebec; and one day, as Mercèdes was standing behind him, he gave expression to this wish with a certain amount of irritability.
“Father,” said she unhesitatingly, “I have not come to be a hindrance, but a help and comfort to you; if you hold back because of me, your duty will suffer. I am young and strong, and Marthe is well now and will be much better off the ship than on it. Let us land with you and make our way to Quebec.”
The General looked down upon the brave little creature and smiled. “You do not know what you are proposing, my child; it would be a difficult journey for men, impossible for you: it is not to be thought of.”
“General, do you see that canoe paddling towards us? I have been watching it for some time; it is bearing down upon us, and, if I mistake not, is full of Indians,” said Chevalier Levis, and he handed the General his long glass.
“You are right; they are coming straight up the river. I wonder whether it means peace or war. If I only knew the temper of the tribes towards us!” said Montcalm.
“That remains for us to find out in the future,” answered the Chevalier; “but they are decidedly gaining upon us, and if I mistake not there is a white man amongst them. Do you see that fellow standing up with the skin round his shoulders toga fashion, and the fur cap on his head?”
He had hardly finished speaking when the canoe glided up alongside the Licorne, and the man they had been observing called out in French:
“We are friends.”
“It is well,” said Montcalm, stooping over the bulwarks; “you are welcome. Will you come on board?”
“Willingly,” answered Charles Langlade, for it was he; and easily, without the slightest apparent effort, he swung himself up the sides of the great ship and stood in their midst, such a noble specimen of humanity that the General, stepping forward, held out his hand, saying,—
“Who are you? and what are you doing amongst those savages?”
A ringing, joyous laugh responded to this question. “I am Charles Langlade,” he said, “descended from the first French colonists, and now an Indian chief. They are my people, and I belong to them,” and then he rapidly told such portions of his story as he deemed advisable.
“But if you so desired to serve France, why did you not join the regular Canadian government and army?” asked the Chevalier Levis.
“When you have been in Quebec six weeks, and have made acquaintance with those who at present govern Canada, you will have no need to ask me that question,” answered Charles. “For months I have been waiting for your coming. If Canada is to be saved, it will be by you and not by them. And now I am on my way to Quebec with some six hundred men of my tribe; and when I saw your ships coming up the St. Lawrence, I knew that at last the old country had remembered us, and so I put off to see if I could be of any service to you.”
“Indeed you can,” said Montcalm eagerly. “I am very anxious to get to Quebec myself as quickly as possible; but being utterly ignorant of the country and the mode of travelling, I am at a loss how to proceed.”
“If you are willing to entrust yourself to me, I think the journey can be accomplished without great difficulty. Alone you would find it almost impossible. It is the season of the year when we take our furs up to Quebec for sale: if you will accompany us, I will ensure your reaching the city in safety, and as rapidly as may be.”
“I should be very grateful,” said the General, “but I am not alone. I cannot well leave my daughter and her servant to land with the troops.”
“Your daughter!” exclaimed Charles; for wrapped in a great cloak, with the hood drawn down over her face to protect it from the wind, Mercèdes, standing behind the officers, had escaped observation. Now she stepped forward, threw back her hood, and showed a small white face, whiter and thinner than when she left France, and with eyes which looked preternaturally large and brilliant.
“I can travel,” she said; “I am not afraid either of the cold or of the fatigue. I am very strong.” The pure intonation of the gentle voice, the delicate refinement of the high-bred girl, were evident, even in these few simple words, and came home to Charles Langlade with peculiar force, unaccustomed as he was to civilised life.
“Mademoiselle wishes to travel by land to Quebec?” he said, looking at her and instinctively baring his head before her.
“Yes,” she answered. “If my father goes I must go too; I cannot be a hindrance to him.”
“It will be difficult,” he said. “The snow and ice are only partially melted; there are still large fields of ice. You do not know our Canada; it is a rude country. If it were mid-winter it would be better than now; then the rivers are frozen over and the land is covered with snow, and with skates, sleighs, and snowshoes we can travel easily and rapidly; but now the thaw has set in, and the rivers are no longer safe, the floods are rising, and the land is inundated.”
“You said you could take my father by land to Quebec,” she answered, speaking imperatively; “therefore you must do it, and I and Marthe must go likewise. You know you can if you will to do so.”
He could not help smiling; she appeared such a child to him, so utterly fearless because so utterly ignorant of danger.
Take her! Of course he could take her, if, as she said, he so willed it; and it seemed suddenly as if he had no will but hers.
“It can be done, General,” he said, turning to the Marquis. “If you will trust me, I will conduct your party to Quebec.”
“Will it be safe?” said Chevalier Levis. “You do not know this man,” he added in a low voice to the General.
“If I say it is safe, who will dare gainsay me?” said Charles Langlade haughtily.
“We will go, father,” said Mercèdes, laying her hand on the General’s arm.
He hesitated one moment; then he looked up at the Canadian hunter, saying, “I will trust you. Go I must, for my duty calls me. When shall we start?”
“It is too late to-day; to-morrow at dawn I will be here to fetch you.”
“It is well; we will await you,” said the General.