The Sun of Quebec: A Story of a Great Crisis, Joseph A. Altsheler [good novels to read TXT] 📗

they had retreated in sullen silence, when they had felt sure they could have gone on, fought a new battle, and have crushed Montcalm. Now they waited impatiently for another call to advance on Canada, and win back their lost laurels. Both lads felt the tension.

"They are like the wounded bear," said Tayoga. "They feel very sore, and they wish for revenge."

They learned that Grosvenor was in his tent and soon found him there lying upon his blankets. Some of the ruddy color was gone from his cheeks, and he looked worn and thin. But he sat up, and welcomed Robert and Tayoga joyously.

"It's foolish of me to break down like this," he said, "but after we got back to civilization something seemed to cave in. I hope you chaps won't overlook the fact that I'm not as much used to the forest as you are, and bear in mind that I did my best."

"Red Coat's best was very good," said Tayoga in his grave, precise manner. "Few who have been in the forest as little as he could have done as much and have borne as much."

"Do you really think so, Tayoga? You're not merely flattering me?"

"Our wisest sachem would tell you so, Red Coat."

"Thanks, my friend. You make me feel better. I was lucky enough to go through the great battle with little hurt. It was a most ghastly slaughter, and I still dream of it. I stood up all right until we got back to Albany, and then I collapsed. But to-morrow I'll be on my feet again. Your friends, Colden, Wilton and Carson are all here. They showed great courage and they have some slight wounds, but not enough to trouble 'em."

Robert found the Philadelphians a little later, and they all went back to Grosvenor's tent, where they were joined[Pg 15] in a half hour by the Virginians, Walter Stuart and James Cabell, who had been with them in Braddock's defeat and whom Robert had known at Williamsburg. It was a tight squeeze for them all in the tent, but there was another and joyous reunion. Youth responded to youth and hope was high.

"Stuart and I did not arrive in time for Ticonderoga," said Cabell, "but we mean to be in the next great battle."

"So we do!" exclaimed Cabell. "The Old Dominion had a taste of defeat at Fort Duquesne and you've had the like here. Now we'll all wait and see how victory agrees with us."

"Some of us have been in at both defeats," said Grosvenor rather sadly.

But the presence of so many friends and the cheerful talk made him feel so much better that he averred his ability to go anywhere and do anything at once.

"You've leave of absence if you wish it?" asked Cabell.

"For several days more," replied Grosvenor.

"Then let's all go into the town. I haven't had a good look at Albany yet. I want to see if it's as fine a place as Williamsburg."

"It's larger," said Robert.

"But size is not everything. That's where you northern people make your mistake."

"But you'll admit that Philadelphia's a fine city, won't you?" said Colden, "and you know it's the largest in the colonies."

"But it's comparatively near to Virginia," said Cabell briskly, "and our influence works wonders."

"We've our own conceit in Philadelphia," said Wilton, "but conceit and Virginia are just the same words, though they may have a different sound."

"Come on to the George Inn," said Grosvenor, "and[Pg 16] you can argue it out there. Old England likes to see this healthy rivalry among her children. She doesn't mind your being bumptious."

"We're bumptious, because we're like our parent," said Cabell. "It's a matter of inheritance."

"Let the George Inn settle it. Come on, lads."

Grosvenor was feeling better and better. He was adaptable and this was a sprightly group, full of kindred spirits. The Virginians were as English as he was, and the others nearly as much so. He had acquitted himself well in the New World, in fields with which he was unfamiliar, and these lads were friends. Danger and hardships faded quite away into a forgotten past. He was strong and well once more.

"You shall all be my guests at the George Inn!" he exclaimed. "We shall have refreshment and talk, plenty of both."

"As we Virginians are the oldest people in the colonies, it's the right of Stuart and myself to be the hosts," said Cabell.

"Aye, so 'tis," said Stuart.

"As we're from Philadelphia, the greatest and finest city in the country, it's the right of Wilton, Carson and myself," said Colden.

But Grosvenor was firm. He had given the invitation first, he said, and nobody could take the privilege from him. So the others yielded gracefully, and in high good humor the eight, saying much and humming little songs, walked across the fields from the camp and into the town. Robert noticed the bustling life of Albany with approval. The forest made its appeal to him, and the city made another and different but quite as strong appeal. The old Fort Orange of the Dutch was crowded now, not only with troops but with all the forms of in[Pg 17]dustry that follow in the train of an army. The thrifty Dutch, despite their apprehension over the coming of the French, were busy buying, selling, and between battles much money was made.

The George Inn, a low building but long and substantial was down by the river. The great doors stood wide open and much life flowed in and out, showing that it too profited by war. The eight found seats at a table on a sanded floor, and contented themselves with lemonade, which they drank slowly, while they talked and looked.

It was a motley and strange throng; American, English, Dutch, German, Indian, Swedish. A half dozen languages were heard in the great room, forerunner of the many elements that were to enter in the composition of the American nation. And the crowd was already cosmopolitan. Difference of race attracted no attention. Men took no notice of Tayoga because he was an Indian, unless to admire his tall, straight figure and proud carriage. Albany had known the Iroquois a century and a half.

Robert's spirits, like Grovenor's, mounted. Here he was with many friends of his own age and kindred mind. Everything took on the color of rose. All of them were talking, but his own gift of speech was the finest. He clothed narrative with metaphor and illustration until it became so vivid that the others were glad to fall silent and listen to him, though Robert himself was unconscious of the fact. They made him relate once more his story of the battle as he saw it from inside the French lines at Ticonderoga, and, just as he came to the end of the tale, he caught a glimpse of a tall man entering the tavern.

"Tell us what you saw from the other side," he said to Grosvenor, and they compelled the reluctant English[Pg 18]man to talk. Then Robert turned his eyes toward the tall man who was now sitting at a small table in the corner and drinking from a long glass. Something familiar in his walk had caught his attention as he came in, and, under cover of Grosvenor's talk, he wished to observe him again without being noticed even by his own comrades.

The stranger was sitting with the side of his face to Robert, and his features were not well disclosed. His dress was that of a seafaring man, rough but rather good in texture, and a belt held a long dirk in a scabbard which was usual at that time. The hand that raised the long glass to his lips was large, red and powerful. Robert felt that his first belief was correct. He had seen him before somewhere, though he could not yet recall where, but when he turned his head presently he knew. They had met under such circumstances that neither was ever likely to forget time or place.

He was amazed that the stranger had come so boldly into Albany, but second thought told him that there was no proof against him, it was merely Robert's word against his. Among people absorbed in a great war his own story would seem wildly improbable and the stranger's would have all the savor of truth. But he knew that he could not be mistaken. He saw now the spare face, clean shaven, and the hard eyes, set close together, that he remembered so well.

Robert did not know what to do. He listened for a little while to Grosvenor's narrative but his attention wandered back to the seafaring man. Then he decided.

"Will you fellows talk on and excuse me for a few minutes?" he said.

"What is it, Lennox?" asked Colden.[Pg 19]

"I see an acquaintance on the other side of the room. I wish to speak to him."

"That being the case, we'll let you go, but we'll miss you. Hurry back."

"I'll stay only a few minutes. It's an old friend and I must have a little talk with him."

He walked with light steps across the room which was crowded, humming with many voices, the air heavy with smoke. The man was still at the small table, and, opposite him, was an empty chair in which Robert sat deliberately, putting his elbows on the table, and staring into the hard blue eyes.

"I'm Peter Smith," he said. "You remember me?"

There was a flicker of surprise in the Captain's face, but nothing more.

"Oh, yes, Peter," he said. "I know you, but I was not looking for you just at this moment."

"But I'm here."

"Perhaps you're coming back to your duty, is that it? Well, I'm glad. I've another ship now, and though you're a runaway seaman I can afford to let bygones be bygones."

"I hope your vessel has changed her trade. I don't think I'd care to sail again on a slaver."

"Always a particular sort of chap you were, Peter. It's asking a lot for me to change the business of my ship to suit you."

"But not too much."

The conversation was carried on in an ordinary tone. Neither raised his voice a particle. Nobody took any notice. His own comrades, engrossed in lively talk, seemed to have forgotten Robert for the moment, and he felt that he was master of the situation. Certainly the slaver would be more uncomfortable than he.[Pg 20]

"I was wondering," he said, "how long you mean to stay in Albany."

"It's a pleasant town," said the man, "as I have cause to know since I've been here before. I may remain quite a while. Still, I shall decide wholly according to my taste."

"But there is a certain element of danger."

"Oh, the war! I don't think the French even if they come to Albany will have a chance to take me."

"I didn't have the war in mind. There are other risks of which I think that I, Peter Smith, who sailed with you once before ought to warn you."

"It's good of you, Peter, to think so much of my safety, but I don't believe I've any cause for fear. I've always been able to take care of myself."

The last words were said with a little snap, and Robert knew they were meant as a defiance, but he appeared not to notice.

"Ah, well you've shown that you know how to look out for number one," he said. "I'm only Peter Smith, a humble seaman, but I've the same faculty. I bid you good-day."

"Good-day, Peter. I hope there's no ill feeling between us, and that each will have whatever he deserves!"

Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought, but he replied merely: "I trust so, too, and in that case it is easy to surmise what one of us would get."

He sauntered back to his comrades, and, lest he attract their attention, he did not look toward the slaver again for a minute or two. When he glanced in that direction he saw the man walking toward the door, not in any hurried manner, but as if he had all the time in the world, and need fear nobody. Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought a second time.[Pg 21]

The slaver went out, and Robert thought he caught a glimpse of a man meeting him, a second man in whose figure also there was something familiar. They were gone in an instant, and he was tempted to spring up and follow them, because the figure of which he had seen but a little at the door reminded him nevertheless of Achille Garay, the spy.[Pg 22]

CHAPTER II THE CHEST OF DRAWERS

It was but a fleeting glimpse that Robert had of the second man, but he believed that it was Garay. He not only looked like the spy, but he was convinced that it was really he. After the first moment or two he did not doubt his identity, and making an excuse that he wanted a little fresh air and would return in an instant he walked quickly to the door.