Chapter 1

Give me, oh! give me back the days
When I--I too--was young,
And felt, as they now feel, each coming hour,
New consciousness of power....

The fields, the grove, the air was haunted,
And all that age has disenchanted....

Give me, oh! give youth's passions unconfined,
The rush of joy that felt almost like pain.

+Goethe.+

Archibald Cameron of Lochiel, son of a Highland chief who had wedded
a daughter of France, was but four years old when he lost his mother.
Brought up by his father, who was, in the language of the Scriptures,
a valiant hunter in the sight of God, ever since ten years old he had
followed him in the chase of the roebuck and other wild beasts, scaling
the highest mountains, swimming the icy torrents, making his couch on
the wet sod with no covering but his plaid, no roof but the vault of
heaven. Under such a Spartan training the boy came to find his chief
delight in this wild and wandering life.

When Archie was but twelve years old, in the year 1745, his father
joined the standard of that unhappy young prince who, after the
old romantic fashion, threw himself into the arms of his Scottish
countrymen, and called upon them to win him back a crown which the
bloody field of Culloden forced him to renounce forever.

In the early days of this disastrous struggle, courage was triumphant
over numbers and discipline, and their mountains re-echoed to their
outmost isles the songs of victory. The enthusiasm was at its height.
The victory seemed already won. But short-lived was their triumph.
After achievements of most magnificent heroism they were forced to bow
their necks to defeat. Lochiel shared the fate of the many brave whose
blood reddened the heather on Culloden.

An uncle of Archie's, who had also followed the standard and fortunes
of the unhappy prince, had the good fortune, after the disaster of
Culloden, to save his head from the scaffold. Through a thousand
perils, over a thousand obstacles, he made good his flight to France
with his orphan nephew. The old gentleman, ruined in fortune and under
sentence of banishment, was having a hard struggle to support himself
and his charge, when a Jesuit, an uncle of the boy on his mother's
side, undertook a share of the burden. Archie was sent to the Jesuits'
College in Quebec. Having completed a thorough course in mathematics,
he is leaving college when the reader makes his acquaintance.

Archibald Cameron of Lochiel, whom the harsh hand of misfortune had
brought to an early maturity, knew not at first what to make of a boy
noisy, troublesome and mocking, who seemed the despair alike of masters
and students. To be sure, the boy had not all the fun on his own side.
Out of twenty canings and impositions bestowed upon his class, Jules
D'Haberville was sure to pocket at least nineteen for his share.

It must be acknowledged, also, that the older pupils, driven to the
end of their patience, bestowed upon him sometimes more knocks than
nuts; but you would have thought the youngster regarded all this as an
encouragement, so ready was he to resume his tricks. We may add that
Jules, without being vindictive, never wholly overlooked an injury.
In one way or another he always made matters even. His satire, his
home thrusts, which could bring a flush to the face of even the most
self-possessed, served his purpose very effectually with the masters or
with those larger students whom he could not otherwise reach.

He had adopted it as his guiding principle, that he would never
acknowledge himself beaten; and it was necessary, therefore, for his
opponents, when weary of war, to make him proposals of peace.

The reader will doubtless conclude that the boy was cordially disliked;
on the contrary, every one was fond of him; he was the pet of the
college. The truth is, Jules had such a heart as pulses all too rarely
in the breast of man. To say that he was generous to a fault, that he
was ever ready to defend the absent, to sacrifice himself in order to
conceal the faults of others, would not give an adequate description of
his character. The following incident will reveal him more effectively:
When he was about twelve years old, a senior student got out of
patience and kicked him; with no intention, however, of hurting him
much. It was contrary to Jules's code of honor to carry complaints to
the masters. He contented himself with replying to his assailant: "You
are too thick-headed, you big brute, for me to waste any sarcasm on
you. You would not understand it. One must pierce your hide in some
other way; but be patient, you will lose nothing by waiting!"

After rejecting certain more or less ingenious schemes of vengeance,
Jules resolved to catch his enemy asleep and shave his eyebrows--a
punishment which would be easy to inflict, as Dubuc, the youth who had
kicked him, was a mighty heavy sleeper. This plan had the further
advantage of touching him on a most sensitive point, for he was a
handsome fellow and a good deal of a dandy.

Jules had just decided on this revenge, when he heard Dubuc say to one
of his friends, who had rallied him on looking gloomy:

"Indeed, I have good reason to be, for I expect my father to-morrow. I
have got into debt with the shop-keepers, hoping that my mother would
come to Quebec ahead of him, and would relieve me without his knowing
anything about it. Father is close-fisted and violent. He will probably
strike me in the first heat of his anger; and I don't know where to
hide my head. I have a mind to run away until the storm is over."

"Oh," said Jules, "why don't you let me help you out of the scrape?"

"The devil you say!" exclaimed Dubuc, shaking his head.

"Why," said Jules, "do you think that on account of a kick, more or
less, I would leave a fellow-student in a scrape and exposed to the
violence of his amiable papa? To be sure, you almost broke my back, but
that is another affair, which we will settle later. How much cash do
you want?"

"My dear fellow," answered Dubuc, "that would be abusing your kindness.
I need a large sum, and I know you are not in funds just now; for you
emptied your purse to help that poor woman whose husband was killed the
other day."

"A pretty story," said Jules. "As if one could not always find money
to save a friend from the wrath of a father who is going to break his
neck! How much do you want?"

"Fifty francs!"

"You shall have them this evening," said the boy.

Jules, an only son, belonging to a rich family, indulged by everybody,
had his pockets always full of money. Father and mother, uncles and
aunts, godfathers and godmothers, they all kept loudly proclaiming that
boys should not have too much money to spend. At the same time they
outdid each other in surreptitiously supplying his purse!

Dubuc, however, had spoken truly; the boy's purse was empty for the
moment. Fifty francs was, moreover, quite a sum in those days. The King
of France was paying his red allies only fifty francs for an English
scalp. His Britannic Majesty, richer or more generous, was paying a
hundred for the scalp of a Frenchman!

Jules did not care to apply to his uncles and his aunts, the only
relations he had in the city. His first thought was to borrow fifty
francs by pawning his gold watch, which was worth at least twenty-five
louis. Revolving the matter, however, he bethought himself of a certain
old woman, a servant of the house, whom his father had dowered at her
marriage, and to whom he had afterward advanced enough money to set
her up in business. The business had prospered in her hands. She was a
widow, rich and childless.

There were difficulties to surmount, however. The old dame was rather
avaricious and crusty; and on the occasion of Jules's last visit they
had not parted on the best terms possible. She had even chased him
into the street with a broomstick. The boy had done nothing more,
however, than play her a little trick. He had given her pet spaniel a
dose of snuff, and when the old lady ran to the help of her dog, who
was conducting himself like a lunatic, he had emptied the rest of the
snuff-box into a dandelion salad which she was carefully picking over
for her supper.

"Hold on, mother," he cried, as he ran away, "there is a good seasoning
for you."

Jules saw that it was very necessary to make his peace with the good
dame, and hence these preliminaries. He threw his arms about her neck
on entering, in spite of the old woman's attempt to shield herself from
these too ardent demonstrations, after the way he had affronted her.

"See, my dear Madeleine," he cried, "I am come to pardon thine offenses
as thou must pardon all who have offended against thee. Everybody says
thou art stingy and revengeful, but that is no business of mine. Thou
wilt get quit of it by roasting a little while in another world. I wash
my hands of it entirely."

Madeleine hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry at this fantastic
preamble; but, as she was fond of the boy, for all his tricks, she took
the wiser course and smiled good-naturedly.

"Now that we are in a better humor," continued Jules, "let us proceed
to business. I have been a little foolish and have got into debt, and I
dread to trouble my good father about it. In fact, I want fifty francs
to settle the unfortunate business. Can you lend me that much?"

"Indeed, now, Master D'Haberville," answered the old dame, "if that
were all I had in the world, I would give it all to save your father
any trouble. I owe so much to your father."

"Tut!" said Jules, "if you talk of those ha'pennies, there's an end of
business. But listen, my good Madeleine, since I might break my neck
when I least expect it, or still more probably when climbing on the
roof or among the city bells, I must give you a bit of writing for
security. I hope, however, to pay you back in a month at latest."

At this Madeleine was seriously offended. She refused the note, and
counted him out the money. Jules almost choked her with his embrace,
sprang through the window into the street and hurried back to the
college.

At recess time that evening Dubuc was freed from all anxiety on the
score of his amiable papa.

"But remember," said D'Haberville, "I still owe you for that kick."

"Hold on, dear boy," exclaimed Dubuc, with feeling. "I wish you would
settle that right now. Break my head or my back with the poker, only
let us settle it. To think that, after all you have done for me, you
are still bearing me a grudge, would be nothing less than torture."

"A fine idea that," exclaimed the boy, "to think that I bear any one
a grudge because I am in his debt in regard to a little exchange of
compliments! So that is how you take it, eh? Shake, then, and let us
think no more about it. You may brag of being the only one to scratch
me without my having drawn his blood in return."

With these words he sprang upon the young man's shoulders like a
monkey, pulled out a few hairs to satisfy his conscience, and scampered
off to join the merry group which was waiting for him.

Archibald of Lochiel, matured by bitter experiences, and on that
account more self-contained and more reserved than other boys of his
age, on his first coming to college hardly knew whether to smile or
be angry at the frolics of the little imp who seemed to have taken
him for his special butt, and who hardly left him any peace. He could
not be expected to divine that this was Jules's manner of showing his
affection for those he loved the most. One day, driven to the end of
his forbearance, Archie said to him:

"Do you know, you would try the patience of a saint! Verily I don't
know what to do with you."

"But you have a way out of your difficulties," answered Jules. "My skin
itches; give me a good hiding, and I'll leave you in peace. That will
be easy enough for you, you young Hercules."

Lochiel, indeed, accustomed from his infancy to the trying sports of
the young Highlanders, was at fourteen marvelously strong for his years.

"Do you think," exclaimed Archie, "that I am such a coward as to strike
a boy younger and weaker than myself?"

"Oh, no," said Jules; "I see we agree on that score--never a knock for
a little fellow. What suits me is a good tussle with a fellow of my
own age, or even a little older; then shake hands and think no more
about it. By the way," continued Jules, "you know that comical dog De
Chavigny? He is older than I am, but so weak and miserable that I have
never had the heart to punch him, although he has played me such a
trick as even St. Francis himself would hardly pardon. Just think of
him running to me all out of breath and exclaiming: 'I've just snatched
an egg from that greedy Letourneau, who had stolen it out of the
refectory. Here, hide it; he's after me!'

"'Where do you want me to hide it?' said I.

"'Oh, in your hat,' he answered; 'he'll never think of looking for it
there.'

"As for me, I was fool enough to do it. I ought to have mistrusted him."

In a moment Letourneau came up and jammed my cap down over my eyes.
The accursed egg nearly blinded me, and I swear did not smell like a
rose-garden! It was an addled egg found by Chavigny in a nest which the
hen had probably abandoned a month before. I got out of that mess with
the loss of a cap, a vest, and other garments. Well, after the first
of my fury was over, I could not help laughing; and if I bear him any
grudge at all, it is for having got ahead of me with so neat a trick. I
should love to get it off on Derome, who keeps his hair so charmingly
powdered. As for Letourneau, since he was too stupid to have invented
the trick myself, I contented myself with saying to him, 'Blessed are
they of little wit'; and he professed himself proud of the compliment,
being glad enough, after all, to get off so cheaply.

"And now, my dear Archie," continued Jules, "let us come to terms. I
am a kindly potentate, and my conditions shall be most easy. To please
you, I undertake, on the word of a gentleman, to diminish by one third
those tricks of mine which you lack the good taste to appreciate.
Come, now, you ought to be satisfied with that if you are not utterly
unreasonable, for you see, my dear boy, I love you. I would not have
made peace with any one else on such advantageous terms."

Lochiel could not help laughing as he shook the irrepressible lad. It
was from this conversation that the friendship between the two boys
took its beginning--on Archie's part with a truly Scottish restraint,
on the side of Jules with the passionate warmth of which the French
heart is capable.

A few weeks later, about a month before the vacation, which began then
on the 15th of August, Jules seized his friend's arm and whispered:

"Come into my room. I have just had a letter from father which concerns
you."

"Concerns me!" exclaimed the other in astonishment.

"Why are you surprised?" retorted D'Haberville. "Do you think you
are not of sufficient importance for any one to concern himself about
you? Why, all New France is talking about the handsome Scotchman. The
mammas, fearing your influence on the inflammable hearts of their
daughters, talk seriously of petitioning our principal never to let you
appear in public except with a veil on, like the women of the East."

"Come, stop your fooling, and let me go on with my reading."

"But I am very much in earnest," said Jules. And, dragging his friend
along with him, he read him part of a letter from his father, which ran
as follows:

"What you tell me about your young friend, Master de Lochiel, interests
me very much. I grant your request with the greatest pleasure. Give
him my compliments, and beg him to come and spend his next vacation
with us, and all his vacations so long as he is attending college. If
he does not consider this invitation sufficiently formal, I will write
to him myself. His father sleeps upon a glorious field. Soldiers are
brothers everywhere; so should their sons be likewise. Let him come to
our own hearth-stone, and our hearts shall open to him as to one of our
own blood."

Archie was so affected by the warmth of this invitation that for some
moments he could not answer.

"Come, my haughty Scotlander, will you do us the honor?" said his
friend. "Or must my father send, on a special embassy, his chief
butler, José Dubé, with the bagpipes slung on his back in the form of
a St. Andrew's cross--as is the custom, I believe, among your Highland
chiefs--to present you his invitation with all due formality?"

"As, fortunately, I am no longer in my Highlands," said Archie,
laughing, "we can dispense with these formalities. I shall write at
once to Captain D'Haberville, and thank him with my whole heart for his
noble generosity to the exiled orphan."

"Then, let us speak reasonably for once," said Jules, "if only
for the novelty of the thing. You think me very light, silly, and
scatter-brained. I acknowledge that there is a little of all that in
me, which does not prevent me from being in earnest more often than
you think. I have long been seeking a friend, a true and high-hearted
friend. I have watched you very closely, and I find you all I could
wish. Lochiel, will you be my friend?"

"Without a moment's question, my dear boy," answered Archie, "for I
have always felt strongly attracted toward you."

"Well, then," cried Jules, grasping his hand warmly, "it is for life
and death with us Lochiel!"

Thus, between a boy of twelve and a boy of fourteen, was ratified a
friendship which in the sequel will be exposed to the crudest tests.

"Here's a letter from mother," said Jules, "in which there is a word
for you":

"I hope your friend, Master de Lochiel, will do us the pleasure of
accepting your father's invitation. We are all eager to meet him. His
room is ready, alongside of your own. In the box which José will hand
you there is a parcel for him which he would grieve me greatly by
refusing. In sending it I am thinking of the mother he has lost."

The box contained equal shares for the two boys of cakes, sweetmeats,
jams, and other dainties.

The friendship between the two boys grew stronger day by day. They
became inseparable. Their college-mates dubbed them variously Damon and
Pythias, Orestes and Pylades, Nisus and Euryalus. At last they called
them the brothers.

All the time Lochiel was at college he spent his vacations with the
D'Habervilles, who made no difference between the two boys unless to
lavish the more marked attentions upon the young Scotchman who had
become as it were a son of the house. It was most natural, then, that
Archie, before sailing for Europe, should accompany Jules on his
farewell visit to his father's house.

The friendship between the two young men, as we have already said, is
destined to be put to the bitterest trial, when that code of honor
which has been substituted by civilization for the truest sentiments
of the human heart, shall come to teach them the obligations of men
who are fighting under hostile flags. But why anticipate the dark
future? Have they not enjoyed during almost ten years of college life
the passing griefs, the little jealousies, the eager pleasures, the
differences and ardent reconciliations which characterize a boyish
friendship?