chill through the openings, and
suddenly there appeared before us a mountain of snow. Our commander
pitched his tent and unfurled the Continental flag. One of our officers
ran up to its summit, in the hope of seeing the spires of Quebec."

Sieur Sarpy smiled again and shook his head.

"That officer should have given his name to the mountain," said Zulma,
laughing.

"So he did. We named it Mount Bigelow."

"And what did he see from the top of it?"

"Nothing but a wintry waste, and desolate woods. From this point, our
sufferings and dangers increased until they became almost unbearable.
Wading fords, trudging through the snow, hauling boats--it seemed that
we should never cross the distance which separated us from the
headwaters of the Chaudiere. A council of war was held, the sick and
disabled were ordered back to the rear, and, to add to our
discouragement, Colonel Enos, the second in command, gave up the
expedition and returned to Cambridge with his whole division."

"Traitor!" exclaimed Zulma, with characteristic enthusiasm.

"But the rest of us pressed on, spurred by the energy of despair.
Seventeen falls were passed, and on a terrible October day, amid a
blinding snow-storm, we reached the height of land which separates New
England from Canada. A portage of four miles brought us to a small
stream upon which we launched our boats and floated into Lake Megantic,
the principal source of the Chaudiere. We encamped here, and the next
day, our commander with a party of fifty-five men on shore, and thirteen
men with himself, proceeded down the Chaudiere to the first French
settlements, there to obtain provisions and send them back to us. They
experienced unprecedented hardship. As soon as they entered the river,
the current ran with great rapidity, boiling and foaming over a rocky
bottom. They had no guide. Taking their baggage and stores to the boats,
they allowed themselves to drift with the stream. After a time the roar
of cascades and cataracts sounded upon their ears, and before they could
help themselves, they were drifting among rapids. Three of the boats
were dashed to pieces, and their contents lost. Six men were thrown into
the water, but were fortunately rescued. For seventy miles falls and
rapids succeeded each other, until at length, by a providential escape,
the party reached Sertigan, the first French outpost."

"Saved!" exclaimed Zulma.

"And how were they treated there?" asked Sieur Sarpy with m