nting no less than twenty ships of the
line, under the command of Admiral Holborne, was to carry on the
operations by sea. They made a bad beginning, however, for nearly half
the year had slipped away before the fleet put to sea, and the end was
a complete and disastrous failure. Owing to the incapacity of the
commander-in-chief the time was simply wasted in marchings and
counter-marchings, and continually embarking, disembarking, and
re-embarking the troops. At sea a terrible hurricane scattered the
ships, of which many were wrecked and lost, while the rest, more or
less shattered, made their way back to England as they best could.

The one success of the year was gained by the French, and it was
unfortunately attended by horrors that will never be forgotten. The
capture of Fort William Henry, and the massacre which followed it, is
an oft-told tale, to which allusion needs only to be made here so far
as it bears on the fortunes of our young French soldier. Abandoned at
the most critical juncture by Colonel Webb, the brave but unfortunate
Munro was compelled to surrender the place to Montcalm, with the
stipulation that the garrison, numbering about two thousand men, should
be allowed to march out unmolested. Whilst they were doing so,
however, the Indian allies of the French fell upon them with all the
relentless fury of their savage race. A panic seized upon the wretched
victims, and then ensued a scene of slaughter such as defies
description. In vain did Montcalm interpose; the respect and even love
with which the Indians had come to regard him availed nothing. At the
imminent risk of his own life he rushed in and strove to stay the
carnage, but to no purpose; those of the ill-fated garrison of Fort
William Henry who escaped from the knives and tomahawks of their
vengeful foes, found their way to Fort Edward, or some other place of
safety.

In this matter the conduct of Montcalm and his officers is wholly free
from blame. Many of the latter, like their chief, exposed their lives
in their endeavour to save those whom they were bound to protect as far
as in them lay. Amongst the foremost of these was Isidore de
Beaujardin, and at one moment his life was in the greatest peril. An
English soldier who had been thrown down in the rush was just about to
rise, when a gigantic Indian, yelling out the dreaded war-whoop, darted
towards him. Isidore sprang between them. With a sweep of his
tomahawk the maddened sa