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Answer : (B)
MULTICHOICE
6. What installation media source is the most common source for Linux packages?
(A) DVD
(B) NFS
(D) CD-ROM
Answer : (A)
7. What is the minimum number of user accounts that must be created at install time?
(A) one
(B) two
(C) three
(D) four
Answer : (B)
8. A hard drive or SSD can be divided into partitions. What is the maximum number of primary
partitions that can be used on these devices?
(A) 4
(B) 8
(C) 16
(D) 32
Answer : (A)
(A) 100 MB
(B) 200 MB
(C) 500 MB
(D) 1000 MB
Answer : (B)
10. Under the root directory in Linux, which directory contains system commands and utilities?
(A) /opt
(B) /var
(C) /boot
(D) /usr
Answer : (D)
11. After logging into a terminal, a user will receive an interface known as which option below?
(A) processor
(D) shell
Answer : (D)
12. When using command-line terminal, specific letters that start with a dash ("-") and appear after
command names are considered to be:
(A) Arguments
(B) Options
(C) Keywords
(D) Metacharacters
Answer : (B)
13. Which Linux command can be utilized to display your current login name?
(A) who
(B) whoami
(C) id
(D) w
Answer : (B)
14. After a shell is no longer needed, what command can be given to exit the shell?
(A) exit
(B) stop
(C) reset
(D) quit
Answer : (A)
15. A calendar for the current month can be shown on the command line by issuing which
command?
(A) date
(B) cal
(C) w
(D) id
Answer : (B)
(A) @
(B) ^
(C) &
(D) !
Answer : (C)
17. What metacharacter can be used to issue two commands to be run in consecutive order, without
piping or redirecting output?
(A) \
(B) &
(C) ;
(D) |
Answer : (C)
18. The apropos list command produces the same results as which command below?
Answer : (B)
(A) tty0
(B) tty1
(C) tty2
(D) tty4
Answer : (B)
20. What directory under / contains the log files and spools for a Linux system?
(A) /boot
(B) /usr
(C) /opt
(D) /var
Answer : (D)
21. Select the utility below that when run will start and perform a thorough check of RAM for
hardware errors:
(A) memcheck68
(B) memtest86
(C) fixram
(D) fsck
Answer : (B)
22. Some Linux distributions have the ability to boot an image from install media and run entirely
from RAM. What is the name for this kind of image?
Answer : (B)
23. Prior to performing an installation of Linux, the hardware components of the target system
should be checked against what known compatible list below?
Answer : (C)
24. What term describes the physical hardware and the underlying operating system upon which a
virtual machine runs?
Answer : (C)
(A) vmlinuz
(B) vmlinux
(C) kernel.0
(D) krn.linux
Answer : (A)
SHORTANSWER
26. A(n) specifies the parameters that tailor a command to the particular
needs of the user.Answer : argument
27. To print the current date and time, type the command .Answer : date
28. In Linux, the command displays currently logged-in users.Answer :
who
29. The process of requires that each user must log in with a valid user name and
password before gaining access to a user interface.Answer : authentication
30. Older systems often use hard disks that physically connect to the computer in
one of four different configurations.Answer : Parallel Advanced Technology Attachment (PATA)
ESSAY
Graders Info :
Virtual memory consists of an area on the hard disk that, when the physical memory (RAM) is being
used excessively, can be used to store information that would normally reside in the physical
memory.When programs are executed that require a great deal of resources on the computer,
information is continuously swapped from the physical memory to the virtual memory on the hard
disk, and vice versa.
32. Explain what a journaling file system is, and detail the benefits of using such a filesystem.
Graders Info :
A journaling filesystem keeps track of the information written to the hard disk in a journal. If you
copy a file on the hard disk from one directory to another, that file must pass into physical memory
and then be written to the new location on the hard disk. If the power to the computer is turned off
during this process, information might not be transmitted as expected and data might be lost or
corrupted. With a journaling filesystem, each step required to copy the file to the new location is
first written to a journal; this means the system can retrace the steps the system took prior to a
power outage and complete the file copy.
Graders Info :
A terminal is the channel that allows a certain user to log in to a Linux kernel, and there can be
many terminals in Linux that allow you to log in to the computer locally or across a network. After a
user logs in to a terminal, she receives a user interface called a shell, which then accepts input from
the user and passes this input to the kernel for processing. Since Linux is a multiuser and
multitasking operating system, thousands of terminals can be used. Each terminal can represent a
separate logged-in user that has its own shell.
34. Explain what a metacharacter is, and detail the significance of the $ metacharacter.
Graders Info :
A metacharacter is a keyboard characters that has a special meaning. One of the most commonly
used metacharacters is the $ character, which tells the shell that the following text refers to a
variable. A variable is simply a piece of information that is stored in memory; variable names are
typically uppercase words and most variables are set by the Linux system automatically when you
log in.
35. Explain what the man pages and info pages are, and describe the differences between the two.
Graders Info :
The most common form of documentation for Linux commands is manual pages (commonly referred
to as man pages). Simply type the man command followed by a command name, and extensive
information about that Linux command is displayed page-by-page on the terminal screen. This
information includes a description of the command and its syntax as well as available options,
related files, and commands.
Another utility, originally intended to replace the man command in Linux, is the GNU info pages. You
can access this utility by typing the info command followed by the name of the command in
question. The info command returns an easy-to-read description of each command and also contains
links to other information pages (called hyperlinks). Today however, both the info pages and the
manual pages are used to find documentation because manual pages have been utilized in Linux
since its conception and for over two decades in the UNIX operating system.
MATCH
MULTICHOICE
(A) VFAT
(B) REISER
(C) ext2
(D) ext4
Answer :
38. What two disk systems allow for the use of more than four hard drives or SSDs in a single
system?
(A) SATA
(B) SCSI
(C) PATA
(D) SAN
Answer :
39. What two commands below will halt a Linux system immediately?
(C) halt
(D) poweroff
Answer :
(A) ext2
(B) VFAT
(C) ext3
(D) REISER
Answer :
41. In order to switch between terminals in Linux, a user can press what two keys in combination
with the F1-F6 keys?
(A) Shift
(B) Ctrl
(C) Alt
(D) Tab
Answer :
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“You here, Mercèdes!” he said, as she threw her arms round his
neck.
“Yes, father. Are you not glad to see me?” she answered, tears
filling her eyes.
“I am glad to see you, my child, but not under present
circumstances,” he answered. “You should not have left Quebec
without my permission. In the present state of Canada it is a
disgrace to the Government to incur such unnecessary expenses,
and it is not well that my daughter should be mixed up with such
dissipation. I shall not allow you to join in the gaieties which are
probably about to take place. As soon as I can find an escort to take
you back to Quebec you will return thither; but not to Madame
Péan’s house. You will enter the Ursulines, and commence your
novitiate at once. I have temporised too long. Whatever happens,
you will be safer there.”
He conducted her straight to the apartment he occupied. His
annoyance was very great. He perfectly understood that Mercèdes
had been used as a tool by his enemies, to give the appearance of
his sanction to what was wanton extravagance and display.
That night there was a grand ball, followed by a sumptuous
supper, at the Government House, but neither Montcalm nor his
daughter was present. For the first time he explained the difficulties
of his position to Mercèdes, and she responded, showing herself
intelligent, and capable of understanding the annoyances to which
he was daily subject.
“I am sorry I came, dear father,” she said; “but I only thought of the
pleasure of seeing you, and the journey with Madame Péan seemed
such a simple thing, that I attached no importance to it. For myself, I
am such an insignificant little personage; I forgot I was your
daughter!”
He smiled. “We will say no more about it, my child. Do not doubt
for one moment that it is a great delight to have you with me, even
for a few days, especially as indirectly I have had news from
Candiac. Your brother the Count is betrothed to an heiress, and will
be married shortly; and your eldest sister is already Madame
d’Espineuse. You know that has been an attachment of long
standing; it is a great pleasure to me to think of her happiness.”
“I am indeed glad!” said Mercèdes. “Dear Louise! This good
account of the family ought to cheer you, father. Soon, very soon
perhaps, you will join them,” and a sigh escaped her.
Her father heard it, and, putting his arm round her, kissed her
affectionately. “If I return to my dear Candiac, Mercèdes, I shall
certainly not leave you behind. Had you taken the veil immediately
upon your arrival in Canada, the case would have been different: you
would have become accustomed to your life; but now you would feel
yourself forsaken—besides, it is too late. The war must come to a
close before next autumn, and you will not then have completed your
novitiate: therefore your residence at the Ursulines can only be
temporary; but I think it decidedly safer for you to take refuge there
at once. What does my daughter say?”
“That you are quite right; and, besides, you have brought your
children up to obey, and not reason, father. As soon as I return to
Quebec I will enter the convent. I am no stranger there; the good
sisters know me; and from my window I have looked down for
months past into the convent gardens, feeling always that my home
was there.”
“I am glad you are content,” answered her father. “I have blamed
myself for leaving you so long in the world, fearing it might have
taken hold of you and robbed you of your peace of mind.”
She coloured slightly. “I am satisfied,” she said, “to do what you
think best, father.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the General’s
servant entered and handed his master a slip of folded paper. It was
from Charles Langlade, requesting an interview with the General.
CHAPTER XXIII
A CONFESSION
“Certainly, tell Monsieur Langlade I shall be most happy to receive
him,” said the General; and turning to his daughter, he added, “You
will be glad to see your old friend. He has done me good service: at
Ticonderoga he conducted several scouting parties; now he is in the
neighbourhood of Montreal. I always feel that I have some one I can
depend upon when he is near. I shall never understand how he
came to join the Indians. Love of freedom, I suppose.”
He had scarcely finished speaking when the door opened and
Charles Langlade entered. Mercèdes was sitting in the shadow, so
that he did not see her immediately, but she noticed at once that a
great change had come over him. There was a look of pain—even
more than pain, of great sorrow—in his face. The General was also
quick to see that something was wrong; and, holding out his hand to
welcome him, as if moved by some instinct, he asked,—
“What has happened?”
“Ah! you see it!” answered the young man, drawing his brows
together and compressing his lips. “My mother told me I should
repent of my self-will, and now I am truly punished. God has
humbled me. My people are slain and the home of my fathers is in
ruins.”
“I suppose you mean the Indians have made a raid on the Marsh
settlement and destroyed it?” said the General.
“Yes,” answered Charles sadly. “I am given to understand that a
tribe of the Iroquois attacked the Marshes. I believe it is the same
tribe which has been following up my old friend Roger the Ranger,
and from which he twice escaped. They were fearfully irritated
against him, and of course in my position I could not interfere to
protect him; but the Marshes they knew to be my home, and it was
an understood thing they were to respect them. I suppose they were,
as usual, carried away by their desire for vengeance. The man who
brought me the news says most of the women and children escaped;
but the men have perished or been taken prisoners, which is worse,
and the village was in flames when he left. He has been stopped on
the road by illness, or I should have known this a month ago. It
appears that at the last moment some one, I do not know who,
warned those at the Marshes that an attack was meditated, and so
to a certain extent they were prepared; as I said, the women and
children were got rid of, and the men defended themselves to the
death. Some must have escaped, but my informant was unable to
tell me who they were.” And having spoken, he stood with his head
bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, with all the appearance of a
man who has lost heart.
“It is indeed a terrible misfortune,” said the General; “but, who
knows? perhaps you have heard an exaggerated account. Come
and sit down. We are just going to supper; stay and have it with us.
You have not noticed my daughter; she came with Bigot and Co.
from Quebec to-day. You may imagine I am not best pleased.”
On hearing of Mercèdes’ presence, Charles looked up, and a light
came into his eyes; and going up to her, he said quietly,—
“This is unexpected; it does me good, if anything can do me
good.”
“I am so sorry for you,” said Mercèdes, holding out her hand.
“Won’t you sit down and tell us more about it? Surely you will cease
to live with the Indians now, and return to your own people.”
“Alas! I cannot,” answered Charles; “I am bound to them.” He
hesitated. “I married Ominipeg’s daughter. I have a squaw wife.”
If any one had observed her closely they would have seen
Mercèdes’ cheek pale for a second—only for a second; it was her
father who answered.
“It seems incredible,” he said; “how came you to commit such an
act of folly?”
“As early as I can remember,” said Charles thoughtfully, “my father
took me with him on his hunting expeditions. He was very popular
with the Indians, delighted in sport of every kind; and I grew
accustomed to the freedom. I was more at home in an Indian
wigwam than at Alpha Marsh. There I was impatient of restraint. I set
myself against a regular life with the headstrong self-will of youth;
and when my father died it was worse still. More was then expected
of me. I was the heir, and had to stay at home and attend to the
business of the settlement. Father Nat humoured me, Roger and
Loïs screened me; but it was of no use, I was like a spoilt child. I
wanted my own way, my liberty, and nothing short of it could satisfy
me. Besides, my sympathies were enlisted on the side of the French.
You know I am descended from a Chevalier de Langlade, one of the
earliest French colonists, and I considered, and do still consider, that
by right of pre-occupation Canada belongs to France and not to
England; and yet for no consideration would I have served under the
present Canadian Government. I am willing to fight for France freely
and independently, but not with those who are robbing her and
virtually bringing about her ruin. This was my excuse to my own
conscience for breaking the bonds which had become irksome to
me; and yet I loved my mother and sisters—above all, Loïs; and of
Roger I cannot speak. I do not think, if I had realised how completely
this contemplated act of mine would have parted us, I should have
had the courage to go through with it. But I imagined time would
reconcile him to the change, and that he would continue to join our
hunting parties and visit me in my wigwam; instead of which he
entirely withdrew himself, and after the expedition against Old Britain
it was open enmity between us. From that time to this he has waged
incessant war against the tribes. He is greatly feared; his name is
coupled with a sort of superstitious terror, and his unusual strength,
and the way in which he always manages to escape capture, tend to
make the Indians believe him invulnerable, and so they are set upon
destroying him. When I joined the Indians my first act was to marry
Nadjii, the chief Ominipeg’s daughter.”
He said this in a low voice, with averted head.
“You mean to say you deliberately married one of those wild
Indian women?” exclaimed Montcalm.
“Yes, in all honour, according to Indian rites, I took Nadjii for my
squaw. We have a son. I am irrevocably bound to her,” he continued.
“Fully as I recognise the mistake I have made, I would not have you
misjudge her. Nadjii is no wild Indian woman: she is very gentle,
tender, and true; her devotion to me is unbounded. I believe she
would lay down her life for me. No, she is not to blame; if a wrong
has been done it has been of my own doing, and in all honour I must
abide by it.”
“I pity you with all my heart,” said the General.
“I never felt the need of pity until now,” answered the hunter. “Of
course you cannot understand the charms of such a life as I have led
for nearly seven years. It is purely physical. To gallop over the
prairies, to hunt in the forests, to penetrate into mountain fastnesses
and deep, glorious valleys—no one who has not partaken of it can
conceive the delight of such an existence. The mere fact of living is
in itself a joy. You, with your high European civilisation, have mental
and intellectual enjoyments; but we colonists have nothing of all that
—we know only the primitive pleasures of hunting, fishing, and
warfare. And then there is a strange poetry, a wonderful charm, in
this Indian life. To lie in a birch canoe throughout the calm summer
days upon the bosom of some great inland lake, to cast the line into
its deep, pellucid waters, and, gazing down into its depths, watch the
trout glide shadowy and silent over the glistening pebbles, has a
mysterious fascination; or, again, to explore the forests, floating
down rivers or lakes beneath the shadows of moss-bearded firs, to
drag the canoes up on the sandy beach, and, lighting the camp fire,
recline beneath the trees, and smoke and laugh away the sultry
hours, in a lazy luxury of enjoyment, indescribable, and which you
cannot realise, but which I have lived and revelled in, forgetful, alas?
that there are higher duties incumbent upon man than mere personal
indulgence. And now I reap the bitter fruit. If I had remained at my
post, all this would not have happened.”
“But where was the Ranger?” asked Montcalm.
“In October he was, you know, somewhere up by Ticonderoga.
You remember he had a skirmish with one of our scouting parties
about that time?”
“Yes,” said Montcalm, “and he punished our men terribly, driving
them back with such heavy loss that I determined that for the winter,
at least, no more scouting parties should be sent out. But now what
are your plans? What do you propose doing?”
“I came to let you know that I am going down to the Marshes to
reconnoitre, and see with my own eyes the extent of the misfortune.
As you say, there may be exaggeration in the account I have
received, which was by no means through a direct channel. You will
not begin operations till March, and I shall be back long before that.”
“I hope so,” answered the General; “for I depend greatly upon you
to keep the Indians in order. I expect the English will attack us by
way of Lakes Champlain and Ontario; in any case, I am preparing
even now to resist them.”
“I am more inclined to think they will attack Quebec itself.”
“Hardly,” answered Montcalm; “the navigation of the St. Lawrence
is too difficult and dangerous for any hostile fleet to attempt. Besides,
the position of Quebec renders it impregnable unless we are
betrayed. I have a plan of defence which will prevent the enemy
approaching Quebec.”
“I am satisfied to believe such to be the case,” said Charles; “and
now, farewell, sir; you may trust me to be back before the rivers and
lakes are unthawed.”
“Will you not stay to supper?” said Montcalm. “We are alone; all
my officers are dancing attendance upon the Quebec ladies.”
“Thank you,” answered Charles; “I have still certain things to settle
with the chiefs, and I start to-morrow before dawn. I must therefore
take leave of you now. Farewell, Mademoiselle,” he said,
approaching Mercèdes.
“Adieu,” she answered; and for one second as their fingers
touched their eyes met. He bowed his head over her hand; then
turned away, and, with a hurried salutation to the General, left the
room.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE PRODIGAL
The moon was shining brightly on the snow-covered earth,
causing the outlines of the houses and buildings of the Marshes to
stand forth in bold relief, while the snow hid under its whiteness the
ruins of the late invasion. Not a sound was heard; perfect stillness
reigned over the land, even as it reigns in the chamber of death
where the still figure lies beneath the white shroud, soon to be put
away out of sight, until the dawn of the great resurrection day, when
earth and sea shall give up their dead.
In springtime the earth bursts forth, leaf and bud and flower, and
the heart of man rejoices and is made glad. Surely it is but the
shadow of that joy which shall be ours when the graves shall give up
their dead, and we shall see our loved ones glorified, made perfect,
released from the bondage of earth, knowing but one law, the great
law of Love, by the divine power of which their chains have been
broken and they have been loosed. Truly then, and then only, shall
we give utterance to the cry, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave,
where is thy victory?”
Oh! how the heart aches and strains after that consummation. Our
loved ones, who are gone before, whose spirits are still with us by
night and by day, in the busy crowd as in the solitude of our
chamber, whose voices we long to hear, whose hands we long to
press—what agony of patient waiting!
But there was one standing out in the snow looking up at the
Marshes travel-stained and worn, not daring to approach the home
of his fathers. He had come many miles over a trackless country,
over ice-bound rivers, through deep forests, over mountains and
valleys covered with snow, enduring hardships which would have
seemed intolerable to a less hardy nature, until at last he stood
before the home of his childhood; and tears blinded his eyes when
he saw that it was not utterly destroyed, that all had not perished,
that still the village steeple rose in the moonlight, telling of God’s
mercy.
Suddenly the loud bark of the house-dog warned him that, unless
he retreated, his presence would be discovered. He had been
standing in the high road; he moved quickly behind a clump of trees,
only just in time. The front door opened, and a stream of light poured
forth as Marcus stepped out on to the garden path and looked
around, cautiously peering into the dark shadows cast by the house
and the trees. He heard him say, “I can see no one. Had I better let
Bob loose?” The dog’s bark had changed into a whine, which
Charles Langlade knew full well to mean that his instinct had
discovered a friend, not a foe, in the night watcher.
“It might be as well,” said a woman’s voice; and a second later
there was a rush and a bound, and Charles Langlade felt two great
paws upon his shoulders, and a loud whine of welcome went up into
the still night air.
“Who’s there?” asked Marcus, in a clear, loud voice.
“Down, Bob; down, old boy,” said Charles, stepping out of the
shadow; and crossing the road, he opened the wicket gate and
entered.
“Marcus!”
“Charles!”
And the two brothers clasped hands.
“My poor boy! Will you ever forgive me?” said the elder.
“I have nothing to forgive,” answered Marcus; “you did what you
thought right.”
“Nay, I did what pleased me,” answered Charles. “But tell me who
is living and who is dead?”
At this moment Loïs came out of the house.
“Oh, Charles, my brother!” and her arms were round his neck.
The three stood there in the snow, so deeply moved they could
give no utterance to their feelings, and Bob leapt around them, giving
vent to his delight in short, sharp barks.
“Come in,” said Loïs. “We have so much to tell you.”
“My mother, the children?” said Charles.
“Are unhurt,” said Loïs.
“And Father Nat?”
“Ah! that is the worst of all; still, he is living. Come,” and she drew
him across the threshold of what had been his home; and as he
stood once more in the old familiar place, the glamour fell from his
eyes, and he exclaimed bitterly,—
“How could I forsake you?”
The front kitchen was empty; but there was fire on the hearth, and
the lighted lamp showed Loïs how worn and travel-stained he was.
His face was thin and haggard, his lips shrivelled with exposure and
cold; his bearskin partially hid the dilapidated condition of his clothes.
He drew near the fire and stretched out his hands to the flame.
Marcus, looking at him, said,—
“You will eat, Charles?”
“I have had no food since yesterday,” he said; “my provisions have
come to an end, and there is no game abroad in this weather.”
“Sit down and warm yourself,” said Loïs, pushing him gently into
the chair which had been his father’s. “All are gone to rest. I will get
your supper.”
“Tell me first what of Father Nat. Does Roger know?”
“Father Nat was terribly wounded,” said Loïs; “and for a long time
we despaired of saving him; but within the last fortnight there have
been signs of gradual improvement; he has seemed to recognise us
at times. But now ask no more until you are refreshed,” and she left
the kitchen, whilst Marcus filled a pipe and handed it to his brother.
“It is the calumet of peace,” he said.
“You heap coals of fire on my head.”
But nature was so exhausted that he sank back in his chair, and,
putting the pipe to his lips, slowly smoked.
The relief of finding that those nearest and dearest to him were
living was so great, that in his weariness he seemed powerless to
realise anything more; mind and body were alike benumbed; and
when Loïs brought in the supper they had to rouse him and force him
to eat. It was evident he had no idea of what had occurred, by the
words to which he had already given utterance. After he had eaten,
looking up at Loïs, he said,—
“I heard the settlement was burnt to the ground, and you were all
slain. The man who told me said he was an eye-witness, and had
fled when the village was in flames.”
“But for Nadjii’s warning and Roger’s sudden arrival, such would
have been the case,” answered Loïs.
“Nadjii! what had Nadjii to do with it?” said Charles sharply.
“She told me you had bidden her watch over us. She came to me,
and gave us notice that the Indians were coming to attack us; and so
they did not surprise us, and we were able to defend ourselves until
Roger came. It seems he had been warned by one of her people.”
“My true-hearted Nadjii, my brave little squaw!” said Charles, his
whole face lighting up with pleasure and emotion. “Where is she?
What has become of her? Has she returned to her tribe?”
There was a moment’s silence; he was quick to notice it.
“What has become of her? Where is she?” he asked hastily.
“She saved my life, she saved Father Nat’s life,—she died for us;”
and standing before him, Loïs burst into tears.
He started; every particle of colour forsook his face.
“Tell me all,” he said, in a low voice.
And Marcus told him, for Loïs could not, how Nadjii had covered
them with her own body, and how she had been wounded unto
death.
“And the child?” said Charles, burying his face in his hands. “She
would not have left it behind.”
Again there was a moment’s silence; then Loïs knelt down beside
him, and, laying her hand on his arm, said,—
“When she was dying, she told us where to find it—in the trunk of
a tree in the forest where she had laid it. Roger went to fetch it.”
“Roger did that?” exclaimed Charles. “Let me see my boy, Loïs!”
She hesitated just for one moment, then continued slowly, not
daring to raise her tearful eyes to his face,—
“He looked for the child carefully; he found the spot where Nadjii
had told him the babe was, but it was gone.”
Charles sprang up. “Stolen!” he exclaimed, his eyes flashing.
“We fear so,” said Loïs. “Certainly there was no trace of any bodily
harm having befallen him; he had simply been taken away.”
“Did Nadjii know of this before she died?” asked Charles, with set
teeth.
“No,” answered Loïs; “she thought she saw him. Her last words
were ‘Jesus, Nenemoosha.’ Was she a Christian, Charles?”
“Yes, thank God, I taught her all she could understand,” he
answered, “and her gentle soul delighted in the stories of Christ’s
love. She was a better Christian than many who enjoy far greater
privileges than did my squaw wife. I am glad she thought the child
was safe. The Indians must have found and taken him. If they have
wrought him harm, then his mother’s tribe will avenge him. He was
such a bonnie two-year-old boy, Loïs;” and as one oppressed with a
weight of sorrow, he let his head sink on to his bosom, and heavy
tears fell from his eyes. It was the strong man’s agony.
His past life of physical enjoyment, without thought of the morrow,
was fading as a mirage fades away even as he gazed, and his soul
was steeped in stern reality. Ruin and death were around him. He
had deemed himself all-powerful, capable of choosing his own way,
shaping his own course, unmindful of any will save his own. A
rebellious son! Even as the prodigal he had gone forth in the pride of
his youth and manhood, feeling himself strong, and he had wasted
his life, forgetful, or ignorant perhaps, that there is in man, made in
God’s image, a higher, nobler nature than in the brute creation. Soul,
heart, intellect, are surely given to bring the body into subjection—
not doing away with material enjoyment, but tempering it; and as
years go on we recognise that our bodies are but the caskets made
to contain the never-dying spirit which God breathed into man, even
the breath of life.
“My son was dead and is alive again.” Dead, though full of life and
health, clothed in rich raiment, going forth, having gathered together
all his substance, rich in friends and in all the world can give; yet he
was dead!
“Alive again!” when hungry and athirst, his rich raiment in tatters,
his head bowed in sorrow, and his lips giving utterance to the words,
“Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee!” And his
father rejoiced over him.
Suddenly Charles rose to his feet, threw one arm round Loïs, and
drew her close up to him.
“Dearest,” he said, “if I have sinned in the past, God pardon me! I
will find the boy and bring him to you; and when this war is over I will
come home, and ease the burden from your shoulders, Marcus, so
that you may take up your calling and be a minister of God,
according to your heart’s desire, and I will care for our mother and
the younger ones, and strive to do my duty in the land, as you, my
younger brother, have done in my stead.”
He held out his hand to Marcus, who grasped it, saying,—
“Why not stay with us now, Charles?”
“Because my honour is pledged,” he answered. “Not to the
Indians; I shall never again dwell among them or be one with them;
but to Canada, to General Montcalm. I have sworn to stand by him to
the end, and I will do so, not as an Indian chief if I can help it. I shall
join the Canadian militia as a volunteer, as I ought to have done from
the first, and fight for the cause which I still believe to be the right
one. Tell Roger this; he will understand. And now let me have one
look at Father Nat, after which I will lie down and sleep, for I am
terribly weary. I have been three weeks on the road from Montreal,
and must return as quickly as possible. Is Roger still here to protect
you?”
“He will not leave us till the spring,” said Marcus. “He is gone now
for a couple of days to Cauterets on business; when he does go for
good he will leave us well protected. You need not fear; we have
sentries out by night and by day now.”
“It is well; let me see Father Nat,” said Charles; and they led the
way to the room where Nathaniel Boscowen lay sleeping. Shading
the lamp she carried in her hand, Loïs approached the bed, and was
surprised to see that his eyes were open and that he moved
restlessly.
“Is that you, Loïs?” he asked.
“Yes, father,” she answered; “shall I arrange your pillows?” and
signing to the two young men to keep in the shadow, she bent over
him.
He lifted his hand. “My pillows are all right,” he said; “but I heard
voices in the room below, and it seemed to me I recognised
Charles’s. I would it were so; I loved the lad: if only I might see him
before I die!”
“You are not going to die, Father Nat; you are getting well, and will
be as hale and hearty as ever. Do you wish to see Charles so very
much?” said Loïs.
“Yes,” answered Nathaniel shortly, as if the question irritated him.
“Then I will tell you something. It was his voice you heard; he is
here,” said Loïs.
“Where?” asked Father Nat, trying to lift his head, but Charles was
quickly beside him.
“Dear Father Nat,” he said, “forgive me.”
“Ay, my lad, I forgive thee,” and he clasped his hand. “I always told
you they were a treacherous people. You will come back to us now?”
“Please God I will,” said Charles.
“Then I am content. The breach is healed; Langlade and
Boscowen are not riven!” and closing his eyes, he settled himself to
sleep. They watched him for a few minutes, and then crept softly out
of the room.
CHAPTER XXV
TO THE FORE
At the first sign of spring, General Montcalm prepared to take the
field and oppose a steady resistance to an attack which it was
generally believed would be made upon Quebec by way of Lakes
Champlain and Ontario.
He was sitting in his tent one afternoon, in company with General
Bougainville and Chevalier Levis. On a table before them maps were
spread out, and Montcalm was explaining his plan of defence,
supposing the English should attempt a regular siege of Quebec.
“I do not believe it possible for the English to approach the town,”
he said. “All round, on the high ground overlooking it, I shall station
the principal part of the army; the right wing will extend along the
river St. Charles and the left on to Montmorenci; by this means our
troops will cover an area of from seven to eight miles. The steep
ground rises almost from the water’s edge, and the guns from the
citadel itself will do the rest. Are you not both of my opinion?”
“We are,” said Levis. “If we can hold out till the winter, I believe we
shall see the last of the English.”
Even while he was speaking, voices were heard outside the tent,
and the sentinel, looking in, said,—
“A soldier with a despatch for the General.”
“Let him come in,” said Montcalm, looking up.
A Canadian, recognisable as such by his dress, entered. He was
covered with dust, and had evidently ridden hard. He laid a letter on
the table before the General.
“Who has sent you?” asked Montcalm, as he opened the
despatch.
“Captain Langlade,” was the ready answer.
The General’s face grew visibly sterner as he read, and when he
had finished, he laid the letter on the table, kept his hand upon it,
and said emphatically,—
“The decisive moment is approaching, gentlemen. This letter is to
inform me that the English with a great fleet are within three leagues
of Quebec; they have on board a large army, commanded by the
young General Wolfe. We know full well what sort of man he is! The
fate of Canada is now in the balance.”
“And you will come forth victorious, General, as you did at Fort
William Henry and Ticonderoga,” said Levis.
“God grant it!” answered the General. “I think our measures are
well taken,” he said, turning to the two officers. “In my opinion,
unless there be treason in the camp, the English will never make
themselves masters of the town. I believe it to be impregnable.”
“I am certain that, with intrenchments, I could hold the city with
three or four thousand men,” said Bougainville; adding, “In a few
days we shall muster sixteen thousand men in and round its walls.
There is nothing to fear; let the English come!”
“I am satisfied you are right,” answered the General.
Then, turning to the man who had brought the message, he said,
“You will return at once to Captain Langlade, and tell him we shall
join the army at Quebec as quickly as possible. And now, gentlemen,
we will call a general council of officers, and then to-morrow at dawn
en route; we are approaching the end.”
“And a good thing too,” said Bougainville. “We have shilly-shallied
long enough. It is time the English understood once for all that we
intend to remain masters of Canada, and to hold the fortress upon
which old Samuel Champlain first planted the French flag.”
The following day the whole forces of the French and Colonial
army were on their way to Quebec. Only three battalions were left at
Ticonderoga, and a strong detachment placed so as to resist any
possible attack by Lake Ontario. The French took up positions at the
mouth of the St. Charles on the east, and the river Montmorenci on
the north-east, which Montcalm had fortified with the greatest
possible skill. Across the mouth of the St. Charles a boom of logs
chained together was placed, protected by mounted cannon. A
bridge of boats crossing the river connected the city with the camp.
All the gates of Quebec except that of St. Charles were closed and
barricaded. A hundred and six cannon were mounted on the walls,
whilst on the river there was a floating battery of twelve heavy
pieces, a number of gunboats, and eight fireships.
The army for the defence mustered, they posted sixteen thousand
men, for the most part advantageously, behind defensive works. A
large portion of these were Canadians, who were of little use in the
open field, but fought well behind intrenchments; there were also
upwards of a thousand Indians from the brave tribes of the Iroquois,
or five nations. It was at the end of June, and the country round
Quebec, naturally fertile, was in the height of its summer glory. On
the curving shore from the St. Charles to the rocky gorge of
Montmorenci, for a distance of seven to eight miles, were to be seen
the whitewashed dwellings of the parish of Beauport, and the fields
on both sides studded with tents, huts, and Indian wigwams. Midway
between the little river of Beauport, on a rising ground, stood a large
stone house, round which tents were thickly clustered. Here
Montcalm had his headquarters.
Looking down upon her defenders, Quebec sat perched upon her
rock, a congregation of stone houses, palaces, convents, and
hospitals; the uniformity being broken by the green trees of the
seminary gardens, the spires of the cathedral, the Convent of the
Ursulines, and the monastic buildings of the Recollets and the
Jesuits. A firm, solid mass she looked in the summer sunshine,
unconquered, and it seemed unconquerable. A lovable town, quaint
even then, with its one-storied houses, built heavily of stone and
stuccoed brick, with two dormer windows full of house plants in each
roof. Here and there, higher still, a weather-worn wood-coloured
gallery was seen, pent-roofed and balustered, geraniums showing
through the balusters, and white doves circling around and cooing
upon the windowsills. Such as she was in her homely fashion,
French and English alike looked up to her—the one with loving pride,
the other with covetous desire.
On the 26th of June the English fleet anchored off the Island of
Orleans, a few miles below Quebec. A small party attempting to land
was opposed by the Canadians, but they were beaten off, and the
whole army then landed.
When William Pitt gave the command of the English army in
Canada to General Wolfe, it was but natural that such an act should
arouse feelings of jealousy in men older than himself, and under
whose orders he had served in the earlier part of the campaign.
Wolfe himself was more alive to the responsibility than to the honour
which was almost thrust upon him. The state of his health was most
precarious; in fact, he was rarely free from acute pain, and it required
an immense power of self-command and energy to enable him to
bear up against fatigue and mental anxiety. Nevertheless, he had
accepted the command unhesitatingly, and with the determination of
conquering Quebec and adding this new jewel to the English crown.
To accomplish this he knew that half measures were no longer
feasible. From the end of the Island of Orleans he could see and
judge the full strength of the enemy; three great batteries frowned
down upon him from above Quebec, behind which rose the redoubts
and parapets of Cape Diamond, whilst three other batteries down to
the river’s edge guarded the lower part of the town. The whole
country round was covered with earthworks, redoubts, and
intrenchments; the river with floating batteries, fireships, and other
engines of war. His first act was to issue a proclamation in the king’s
name:—