ade_ to the
life with the help of one or two ridiculous gracenotes: at which the
soldiers laughed again.

"I think, m'sieur," suggested the bowman politely, "they do not know
it very well, or they would doubtless have been heartier."

But the sergeant had heaved himself up with a curse and a lurch which
sent the canoe rocking, and was scanning the boats for the fellow who
had dared to insult him.

"How the devil can a man sing while that dog keeps barking!" he
growled, and let out a kick at the limp legs of the young Highlander.

Another growl answered. It came from the wounded prisoner behind
John--the man who had been muttering in Gaelic.

"It is a coward you are, big man. Go on singing your sculduddery,
and let the lad die quiet!"

The sergeant scowled, not understanding. John, whose blood was up,
obligingly translated the reproof into French. "He says--and I
also--that you are a cowardly bully; and we implore you to sing in
tune, another time. Par pitie, monsieur, ne scalpez-vous pas les
demi-morts!"

The shaft bit, as he had intended, and the man's vanity positively
foamed upon it. "Dog of a _ros-bif_, congratulate yourself that you
are half dead, or I would whip you again as we whipped you yesterday,
and as my regiment is even now again whipping your compatriots."
He jerked a thumb towards the south where, far up the lake, a pale
saffron glow spread itself upon the twilight.

"The English are burning your fort, maybe," John suggested amiably.

"They are burning the mill, more like--or their boats. But after
such a defeat, who cares?"

"If our general had only used his artillery--"

"Eh, what is that you're singing? _Oui-da_, if your general had only
used his artillery? My little friend, that's a fine battle--that
battle of 'If.' It is always won, too--only it has the misfortune
never to be fought. So, so: and a grand battle it is too, for
reputations. '_If_ the guns had only arrived '; and '_if_ the
brigadier Chose had brought up the reserves as ordered'; and '_if_
the right had extended itself, and that devil of a left had not
straggled'--why then we should all be heroes, we _ros-bifs_.
Whereas we came on four to one, and we were beaten; and we are
being carried north to Montreal and our general is running south from
an army one-third of his size and burning fireworks on his way.
And at Albany the ladies will take your standards and stitch '_If_'
on them in gold letters a foot long. Eh