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CROSSED SWORDS - A Canadian-American Tale of Love and Valor
CROSSED SWORDS - A Canadian-American Tale of Love and Valor
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This ebook edition has been proofed, corrected and compiled to be read with without errors!
***
INTRODUCTION
This tale of love and valor is woven around an episode of international history, the fifth siege of Quebec by the Continental troops, under General Richard Montgomery, during the war of the American Revolution. No event chronicled in the annals of the Republic or of the Dominion surpasses it in romantic interest and picturesqueness of detail; and for daring, courage and endurance of hardship, few adventures equal that midwinter attack on what was then an impregnable stronghold.
The swords forming the cover design of this volume are reproductions of two of the identical weapons which figured in that notable assault. The one on the left was carried by Sir Guy Carleton, the commander of the Canadian forces, the other by an officer under Colonel Benedict Arnold's command. As the two rusty and trusty old blades now lie peacefully side by side in the picture-gallery of the Château de Ramezay, in Montreal, we hope that after a century of peace, the occasion may never arise when the two nations they represent will again cross swords.
CONTENTS
I.
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
II.
A BLOOD-STAINED MESSENGER
III.
VOWS
IV.
MARCH HE WILL!
V.
THE CURÉ OF LORETTE
VI.
ALARM BELLS RING
VII.
PARTINGS
VIII.
THE MONKS
IX.
THE FLIGHT
X.
BESIEGED
XI.
MORAL SUASION
XII.
DISCRETION THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
XIII.
SHIPS IN BATTLE
XIV.
DO OR DIE!
XV.
A MOURNFUL DINNER PARTY
XVI.
A GALLANT SIGHT
XVII.
CHALLENGED
XVIII.
WHO SHALL WIN?
XIX.
THE BITTER END
XX.
JOY-BELLS AND BONFIRES
XXI.
MARRIAGE BELLS
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
"'Tis but a dreary month at best! I love not bleak November," exclaimed sweet Phyllis Davenant, as she turned from the window with its uninviting outlook, and drew near the hearthstone, the room bright in the warm coloring of waxed floor, rafter and firelit pane.
On that evening in the year of grace 1775 the skies hung sullen and grey over the little walled town of Montreal, lying 'twixt mountain and river. The mellow Indian summer, with its splendor of golden sunshine and crimsoning woods, had been brief, the Canadian autumn setting in earlier than usual. The trees were already bare, and sharp gusts of wind drove the fallen leaves into withered heaps on the brick sidewalks and cobble-stone pavements of the narrow streets, which followed the old winding trails of the red man along the shore.
Drawing a chair toward the glowing maple logs, before which her mother sat, apparently absorbed in some disquieting train of thought, the girl, throwing off her momentary depression, said, as she seated herself contentedly within the circle of light and warmth:
"Of a truth the fireside cheer seems most grateful when 'tis so chill and forbidding without. Thérèse avows that the rough winds on such a day as this work woeful havoc with her complexion, upon which she bestows such care, so she, too, in all likelihood is keeping close to the château chimney-corner."
Seeking to divert their minds and break her mother's brooding silence, she pleaded persuasively:
"Let me draw your chair closer, mother. Sit here beside me and talk to me of our dear England. I have but dim memories of it, but there is something in the twilight hour that ever brings it to my mind, though I was but a child when we set sail to come hither to America."
"Alack! we are far away from it to-night, and with but scant certainty of seeing its shores for many a day to come," sighed the gently-born English lady, whose soldier-husband was doing military duty in the Canadian colony, which but a few years before had been wrested from the French. As she gazed dreamily at the crackling logs, Phyllis dropped at her feet and laid her golden head in her mother's lap.
***
INTRODUCTION
This tale of love and valor is woven around an episode of international history, the fifth siege of Quebec by the Continental troops, under General Richard Montgomery, during the war of the American Revolution. No event chronicled in the annals of the Republic or of the Dominion surpasses it in romantic interest and picturesqueness of detail; and for daring, courage and endurance of hardship, few adventures equal that midwinter attack on what was then an impregnable stronghold.
The swords forming the cover design of this volume are reproductions of two of the identical weapons which figured in that notable assault. The one on the left was carried by Sir Guy Carleton, the commander of the Canadian forces, the other by an officer under Colonel Benedict Arnold's command. As the two rusty and trusty old blades now lie peacefully side by side in the picture-gallery of the Château de Ramezay, in Montreal, we hope that after a century of peace, the occasion may never arise when the two nations they represent will again cross swords.
CONTENTS
I.
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
II.
A BLOOD-STAINED MESSENGER
III.
VOWS
IV.
MARCH HE WILL!
V.
THE CURÉ OF LORETTE
VI.
ALARM BELLS RING
VII.
PARTINGS
VIII.
THE MONKS
IX.
THE FLIGHT
X.
BESIEGED
XI.
MORAL SUASION
XII.
DISCRETION THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
XIII.
SHIPS IN BATTLE
XIV.
DO OR DIE!
XV.
A MOURNFUL DINNER PARTY
XVI.
A GALLANT SIGHT
XVII.
CHALLENGED
XVIII.
WHO SHALL WIN?
XIX.
THE BITTER END
XX.
JOY-BELLS AND BONFIRES
XXI.
MARRIAGE BELLS
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
"'Tis but a dreary month at best! I love not bleak November," exclaimed sweet Phyllis Davenant, as she turned from the window with its uninviting outlook, and drew near the hearthstone, the room bright in the warm coloring of waxed floor, rafter and firelit pane.
On that evening in the year of grace 1775 the skies hung sullen and grey over the little walled town of Montreal, lying 'twixt mountain and river. The mellow Indian summer, with its splendor of golden sunshine and crimsoning woods, had been brief, the Canadian autumn setting in earlier than usual. The trees were already bare, and sharp gusts of wind drove the fallen leaves into withered heaps on the brick sidewalks and cobble-stone pavements of the narrow streets, which followed the old winding trails of the red man along the shore.
Drawing a chair toward the glowing maple logs, before which her mother sat, apparently absorbed in some disquieting train of thought, the girl, throwing off her momentary depression, said, as she seated herself contentedly within the circle of light and warmth:
"Of a truth the fireside cheer seems most grateful when 'tis so chill and forbidding without. Thérèse avows that the rough winds on such a day as this work woeful havoc with her complexion, upon which she bestows such care, so she, too, in all likelihood is keeping close to the château chimney-corner."
Seeking to divert their minds and break her mother's brooding silence, she pleaded persuasively:
"Let me draw your chair closer, mother. Sit here beside me and talk to me of our dear England. I have but dim memories of it, but there is something in the twilight hour that ever brings it to my mind, though I was but a child when we set sail to come hither to America."
"Alack! we are far away from it to-night, and with but scant certainty of seeing its shores for many a day to come," sighed the gently-born English lady, whose soldier-husband was doing military duty in the Canadian colony, which but a few years before had been wrested from the French. As she gazed dreamily at the crackling logs, Phyllis dropped at her feet and laid her golden head in her mother's lap.
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