The Lane That Had No Turning, Complete - Gilbert Parker
McGilveray gave the pass-word, and presently he was on the bank saluting
the sentry he had left three hours before.
"Malbrouk s'en va t'en guerre!" said the girl again with a gay insolence,
and pushed the boat out into the stream.
"A minnit, a minnit, me darlin'," said McGilveray.
"Keep your promise," came back, softly.
"Ah, come back wan minnit!"
"A flirt!" said the sentry.
"You will pay for that," said the girl to the sentry, with quick anger.
"Do you love me, Irishman?" she added, to McGilveray.
"I do--aw, wurra, wurra, I do!" said McGilveray. "Then you come and get
me by ze front door of ze city," said she, and a couple of quick strokes
sent her canoe out into the dusky middle of the stream; and she was soon
lost to view.
"Aw, the loike o' that! Aw, the foine av her-the tip-top lass o' the wide
world!" said he.
"You're a fool, an' there'll be trouble from this," said the sentry.
There was trouble, for two hours later the sentry was found dead; picked
off by a bullet from the other shore when he showed himself in the
moonlight; and from that hour all friendliness between the pickets of the
English and the French ceased on the Montmorenci.
But the one witness to McGilveray's adventure was dead, and that was why
no man knew wherefore it was that McGilveray took an oath to drink no
more till they captured Quebec.
From May to September McGilveray kept to his resolution. But for all that
time he never saw "the tip-top lass o' the wide world." A time came,
however, when McGilveray's last state was worse than his first, and that
was the evening before the day Quebec was taken. A dozen prisoners had
been captured in a sortie from the Isle of Orleans to the mouth of the
St. Charles River. Among these prisoners was the grinning corporal who
had captured McGilveray and then released him.
Two strange things happened. The big, grinning corporal escaped from
captivity the same night, and McGilveray, as a non-com said, "Got
shameful drunk." This is one explanation of the two things. McGilveray
had assisted the grinning corporal to escape. The other explanation
belongs to the end of the story. In any case, McGilveray "got shameful
drunk," and "was going large" through the camp. The end of it was his
arrest for assisting a prisoner to escape and for being drunk and
disorderly. The band of Anstruther's regiment boarded H.M.S. Leostaf
without him, to proceed up the river stealthily with the rest of the
fleet to Cap Rouge, from whence the last great effort of the heroic Wolfe
to effect a landing was to be made. McGilveray, still intoxicated but
intelligent, watched them go in silence.
As General Wolfe was about to enter the boat which was to convey him to
the flag-ship, he saw McGilveray, who was waiting under guard to be taken
to Major Hardy's post at Point Levis. The General knew him well, and
looked at him half sadly, half sternly.
"I knew you were free with drink, McGilveray," he said, "but I did not
think you were a traitor to your country too."
McGilveray saluted, and did not answer.
"You might have waited till after to-morrow, man," said the General, his
eyes flashing. "My soldiers should have good music to-morrow."
McGilveray saluted again, but made no answer.
As if with a sudden thought the General waved off the officers and men
near him, and betkcned McGilveray to him.
"I can understand the drink in a bad soldier," he said, "but you helped a
prisoner to escape. Come, man, we may both be dead to-morrow, and I'd
like to feel that no soldier in my army is wilfully a foe of his
country."
"He did the same for me, whin I was taken prisoner, yer Excillincy,
an'--an', yer Excillincy, 'twas a matter of a woman, too."
The General's face relaxed a little. "Tell me the whole truth," said he;
and McGilveray told him all. "Ah, yer Excillincy," he burst out, at last,
"I was no traitor at heart, but a fool I always was! Yer Excillincy,
court-martial and death's no matter to me; but I'd like to play wan toon
agin, to lead the byes tomorrow. Wan toon, Gineral, an' I'll be dacintly
shot before the day's over-ah, yer Excillincy, wan toon more, and to be
wid the byes followin' the Gineral!"
The General's face relaxed still more.
"I take you at your word," said he. He gave orders that McGilveray should
proceed at once aboard the flag-ship, from whence he should join
Anstruther's regiment at Cap Rouge.
The General entered the boat, and McGilveray followed with some non-com.
officers in another. It was now quite dark, and their motions, or the
motions of the vessels of war, could not be seen from the French
encampment or the citadel. They neared the flag-ship, and the General,
followed by his officers, climbed up. Then the men in McGilveray's boat
climbed up also, until only himself and another were left.
At that moment the General, looking down from the side of the ship, said
sharply to an officer beside him: "What's that?"
He pointed to a dark object floating near the ship, from which presently
came a small light with a hissing sound.
"It's a fire-organ, sir," was the reply.
A fire-organ was a raft, carrying long tubes like the pipes of an organ,
and filled with explosives. They were used by the French to send among
the vessels of the British fleet to disorganise and destroy them. The
little light which the General saw was the burning fuse. The raft had
been brought out into the current by French sailors, the fuse had been
lighted, and it was headed to drift towards the British ships. The fleet
was now in motion, and apart from the havoc which the bursting fire-organ
might make, the light from the explosion would reveal the fact that the
English men-o'-war were now moving towards Cap Rouge. This knowledge
would enable Montcalm to detect Wolfe's purpose, and he would at once
move his army in that direction. The west side of the town had meagre
military defenses, the great cliffs being thought impregnable. But at
this point Wolfe had discovered a narrow path up a steep cliff.
McGilveray had seen the fire-organ at the same moment as the General.
"Get up the side," he said to the remaining soldier in his boat. The
soldier began climbing, and McGilveray caught the oars and was instantly
away towards the raft. The General, looking over the ship's side,
understood his daring purpose. In the shadow, they saw him near it, they
saw him throw a boat-hook and catch it, and then attach a rope; they saw
him sit down, and, taking the oars, laboriously row up-stream toward the
opposite shore, the fuse burning softly, somewhere among the great pipes
of explosives. McGilveray knew that it might be impossible to reach the
fuse--there was no time to spare, and he had set about to row the
devilish machine out of range of the vessels which were carrying Wolfe's
army to a forlorn hope.
For minutes those on board the man-o'-war watched and listened. Presently
nothing could be seen, not even the small glimmer from the burning fuse.
Then, all at once, there was a terrible report, and the organ pipes
belched their hellish music upon the sea. Within the circle of light that
the explosion made, there was no sign of any ship; but, strangely tall in
the red glare, stood McGilveray in his boat. An instant he stood so, then
he fell, and presently darkness covered the scene. The furious music of
death and war was over. There was silence on the ship for a time as all
watched and waited. Presently an officer said to the General: "I'm afraid
he's gone, sir."
"Send a boat to search," was the reply. "If he is dead"--the General took
off his hat "we will, please God, bury him within the French citadel
to-morrow."
But McGilveray was alive, and in half-an-hour he was brought aboard the
flag-ship, safe and sober. The General praised him for his courage, and
told him that the charge against him should be withdrawn.
"You've wiped all out, McGilveray," said Wolfe. "We see you are no
traitor."
"Only a fool of a bandmaster who wanted wan toon more, yer Excillincy,"
said McGilveray.
"Beware drink, beware women," answered the General.
But advice of that sort is thrown away on such as McGilveray. The next
evening after Quebec was taken, and McGilveray went in at the head of his
men playing "The Men of Harlech," he met in the streets the woman that
had nearly been the cause of his undoing. Indignation threw out his
chest.
"It's you, thin," he said, and he tried to look scornfully at her.
"Have you keep your promise?" she said, hardly above her breath.
"What's that to you?" he asked, his eyes firing up. "I got drunk last
night--afther I set your husband free--afther he tould me you was his
wife. We're aven now, decaver! I saved him, and the divil give you joy of
that salvation--and that husband, say I."
"Hoosban'--" she exclaimed, "who was my hoosban'?"
"The big grinning corporal," he answered.
"He is shot this morning," she said, her face darkening, "and, besides,
he was--nevare--my hoosban'."
"He said he was," replied McGilveray, eagerly.
"He was awway a liar," she answered.
"He decaved you too, thin?" asked McGilveray, his face growing red.
She did not answer, but all at once a change came over her, the
half-mocking smile left her lips, tears suddenly ran down her cheeks, and
without a word she turned and hurried into a little alley, and was lost
to view, leaving McGilveray amazed and confounded.
It was days before he found her again, and three things only that they
said are of any moment here. "We'll lave the past behind us," he
said-"an' the pit below for me, if I'm not a good husband t' ye!"
"You will not drink no more?" she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Not till the Frenchies take Quebec again," he answered.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
We'll lave the past behind us
The furious music of death and war was over
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE "LANE HAD NO TURNING":
Ah, let it be soon! Ah, let him die soon!
All are hurt some time
But a wounded spirit who can bear
Did not let him think that she was giving up anything for him
Duplicity, for which she might never have to ask forgiveness
Frenchman, slave of ideas, the victim of sentiment
Frenchman, volatile, moody, chivalrous, unreasonable
Her stronger soul ruled him without his knowledge
I love that love in which I married him
Let others ride to glory, I'll shoe their horses for the gallop
Lighted candles in hollowed pumpkins
Love has nothing to do with ugliness or beauty, or fortune
Man grows old only by what he suffers, and what he forgives
Nature twists in back, or anywhere, gets a twist in's brain too
Rewarded for its mistakes
Some are hurt in one way and some in another
Struggle of conscience and expediency
The furious music of death and war was over
We'll lave the past behind us
You--you all were so ready to suspect