tart of Colborne? Why, he has known every movement of Papineau and
your rebels for the last two months. You can bluster and riot to-day,
but look out for to-morrow. I am the only Englishman here among you.
Kill me; but watch what your end will be! For every hair of my head
there will be one less habitant in this province. You haul down the
British flag, and string up your tricolour in this British village while
there is one Britisher to say, 'Put up that flag again!'--You fools!"

He suddenly gave the rope a pull, and the flag ran up half-way; but as
he did so a stone was thrown. It flew past his head, grazing his temple.
A sharp point lacerated the flesh, and the blood flowed down his cheek.
He ran the flag up to its full height, swiftly knotted the cord and put
his back against the pole. Grasping his stick he prepared himself for an
attack.

"Mind what I say," he cried; "the first man that comes will get what
for!"

There was a commotion in the crowd; consternation and dismay behind
Ferrol, and excitement and anger in front of him. Three men were pushing
their way through to him. Two of them were armed. They reached the
platform and mounted it. It was the Regimental Surgeon and two British
soldiers. The Regimental Surgeon held a paper in his hand.

"I have here," he said to the crowd, "a proclamation by Sir John
Colborne. The rebels have been defeated at three points, and half of
the men from Bonaventure who joined Papineau have been killed. The
ringleader, Nicolas Lavilette, when found, will be put on trial for his
life. Now, disperse to your homes, or every man of you will be arrested
and tried by court-martial."

The crowd melted away like snow, and they hurried not the less because
the stone which some one had thrown at Ferrol had struck a lad in the
head, and brought him senseless and bleeding to the ground.

Ferrol picked up the tricolour and handed it to the Regimental Surgeon.

"I could have done it alone, I believe," he said; "and, upon my soul,
I'm sorry for the poor devils. Suppose we were Englishmen in France,
eh?"

CHAPTER XVI

The fight was over. The childish struggle against misrule had come to a
childish end. The little toy loyalists had been broken all to pieces. A
few thousand Frenchmen, with a vague patriotism, had shied some harmless
stones at the British flag-staff on the citadel: that was all. Obeying
the instincts of blood, religion, race, and language, they had made a
haphazard