Chapter 3
August 1777, Plains of Abrahams, Ste-Foy, Québec
Mingo followed Henry from a safe distance. His old "friend" had left at dawn from the edge of the St-Lawrence River where he and his men had moored their canoes.
Henry's men had been dispatched by Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie but Henry's fate was to be decided by Mingo.
A branch cracked suddenly, the noise deafening in the silence. Mingo had stepped on a rotten piece of wood, hidden partially by a mound of leaves. Unbalanced, he grabbed at a branch of a maple tree on his left. At his clutching, the branch snapped. Mingo managed to stay on his feet, holding his breath, taking in his surroundings.
Henry had heard him.
The British Major spun around, walking toward Mingo, who remained unseen. "Qui va là? Je suis armé, présentez-vous!" he ordered, thinking a rebellious Canadian was aiming to use him as target practice.
"It is I, Henry. Mingo," answered the tall Indian.
They walked toward one another; Henry holding his silver-handled pistol, Mingo's rifle at the ready.
"So it is, so it is, » said Henry Hartford maliciously, upon finally seeing him.
"What will it be, dear chap? Will you surrender to the King? Be judged as the traitor you are? Or must we face another in the last game of our life?" sneered Henry.
"I will not submit to your king, your regiment or your uniform and you know it. I will not play your game and be used against my father. You will lose all the Christham land, just as you lost your honor." Mingo's voice was fierce, loud, angry.
Both men stood frozen, eyes staring into each other's souls.
Gone were the boys of long ago, who had found solace together in days of grief and exile.
Two men, hardened enemies, faced one another. They would try to kill each other.
Mingo wondered if there was any surviving to be done after all.
"Why, Henry, just tell me why?" Mingo asked at last. The tone of his voice was low and his voice sounded cool and calm but his angry eyes betrayed him. "Have you forgotten all of our youth? Have you forgotten, Henry?" Anger bristled from him. Mingo had pulled his knife, to face an enemy.
"I've forgotten nothing, Christopher, nothing. The friend of my youth was British and he was called 'Christopher'. It sounds to me as if you killed him, Injun !" the major spat back, knife in hand as well.
They circled one another warily, strong, and willing to kill one another in anger and resentment.
In less than 10 minutes, Henry Hartford was unconscious; Mingo found an opening and hit him with the handle of his knife. Mingo tied him with leather bindings. He stood above the man who was the confidant of his London and Oxford life, the friend who had shared Shakespeare and dancing balls, endless nights of studying, bouts of wildness in the dark streets of London, bouts of freedom on the estate in Wales, and talk of their future hopes and dreams.
Mingo raised his arms high above his head and screamed loudly on the Plains of Abrahams, an old farmland, bloodied fifteen years ago by war.
When a friendship dies, a part of the soul leaves the body.
Mid-July 1759
Christopher and Henry played the game of silence and pretense expected by Lord Dunsmore all morning. Now they were roaming the huge domain that would belong to Christopher eventually, on the backs of the horses. Brian Lavery, the stable man, had saddled both horses, at Mister Parker's request. Lord Dunsmore had given his blessing to the boys' ride. Mister Parker followed behind them, on Lord Dunsmore's own stallion, a horse too mettlesome for the boys to manage.
Mister Parker was none too confident of his own ability to control such a strong animal, but it wouldn't do to let his doubts show. He knew Christopher too well by then.
He caught up to the boys as they were tying the bridles of their horses to a tree by the small lake. If he didn't stop them in time, they would undoubtedly undress and start swimming. Christopher knew he could use the lake to his heart's content, although not with others. A gentleman undressed in front of his valet only, and then only in the privacy of his bedroom. Christopher had never learned that lesson.
"Boys, if you absolutely must swim, you will each take a turn. Master Dunsmore, you will stay with me by this tree. You can read the Latin essay you handed me yesterday and tell me where you made mistakes; it is here in my satchel. Master Hartford will swim alone. Then you may swim after he is dry and dressed."
"What if Henry isn't as good a swimmer as I am, Mister Parker? I could help him, I could teach him," answered Christopher.
"Hush, young master. You know the rules. If your young friend cannot swim alone, he must tell us and you may swim while he stays with me," Mister Parker answered swiftly.
"I can swim all right, my pa taught me when I was young. We swam together all the time back home. I don't understand why Christopher and I can't swim together like pa and I did," interrupted the younger boy.
"Young man, you are not living a colonial life anymore. Your rank in England will afford you many privileges but many duties and rules will follow. You will follow them, as per your grandfather's wishes. You either swim alone or you do not swim at all. It is the only choice you have or ever will." Mister Parker tone was final.
The boys shared a look. Swimming together was something they would manage to do; today, they would let Mister Parker have the last word. They agreed politely and each took his turn.
As Christopher read the essay he had written yesterday, his mind started to wander. There was a river near his Indian village and his father, strict Lord Dunsmore, had once taken him there. He removed his heavy British clothing and threw himself in the river. They had spent all afternoon together, splashing, swimming. If Christopher swam as well as he did today, it was because his father, the gentleman, the lord, had once taught him the joy of the water. As Indians did back home.
He sighed. Hoping that his father would ever want to swim with him again, was beyond any possible wish he might make. He dragged his mind back to reading his homework. Henry was playfully splashing around in the river.
Summer 1760
The summer Christopher turned 14, his tutor took him and Henry to London. They would spend three weeks under Madame de la Rochellière's tutelage. She would begin to turn them into gentlemen. Christopher had learned to love reading and he had brought with him his favorite books.
Madame de la Rochellière would teach them manners, dancing and French. She was a sweet, small woman, old enough to be their mother. Both boys liked her, and the perfume she wore pleased them both.
As years went, they would spend more weeks with Madame de la Rochellière. She traveled to Wales during the regular seasons, they came to London in the summer. She told them both that she would attend their first ball and she would make certain they would be ready.
They had discovered the world of women. They found it quite pleasing.