"Mary A. Turzillo - Ben Cruachan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Turzillo Mary A)

the French to reconnoiter.""Tarnation, sir! There's foul water and varmints
down there!" Polecat warned.But Duncan crashed through thicket to the bottom,
crossed a lively brookcanopied by forest, and climbed the other side.He
clambered up, hauling himself by vines and roots smelling of crushed
leaves,until, near the other side, he had to stop and rest. His hands and
knees wereraw from the rough bark and stones. The falls thundered nearby, but
unseen, andhe longed to plunge into cold water, to sooth the rash he had from
thethree-leaved vines and the insect bites.As he drew breath, he saw a pair of
dark, naked legs, only a few feet above him.He raised his gaze to look into
the sardonic eyes of a dark Native, who seemedamused by a kilted Scotsman's
Black Watch tartan, sporran, and other regalia.Indeed, Duncan would have been
equally amused at the outrageous costume of thepainted Native, with its beads,
leathers, and feathers, had his position notbeen so precarious."Je vais vous
crever!" Duncan yelled, groping for his pistol. It was the direstFrench threat
he could think, and he was certain this was a Frenchallied Indian.Worse luck,
the man probably spoke no white man's language.The Native held up a musket,
still with an air of detached amusement. "I speakyour language, English man.
Your uniform, however, is strange. More beautifulthan the French, the English,
or any of the colonials.""I'm Scots, damn it," said Duncan, lowering the
pistol, but not putting it away.The Indian did not have a red ribbon tied
around his musket to signal Britishalliance, and the weapon itself appeared to
be of French issue. "Of theForty-second Highlanders.""Tell me why I should not
kill you now," said the Native.Duncan heaved himself up to the level of the
Native and looked him in the eye."I do not fear death today.""All men die.
Perhaps I have your death in my gun here. Or perhaps I shall putyou to the
test. Will you cry out, Highlander, when my brothers peel off yourscalp, or
roast you slowly? Can you keep silent, grub-colored man?"Duncan thought he
could hear his heart beat, even over the roar of the falls. "Imay be mortal,
but I shall na die here, lad. A ghost has doomed that I shall dieat a place
called Ticonderoga."The enemy laughed, a single barking laugh. "Do you not
know the name of thisplace, Highlander?""The name is Fort Carillon, for the
sound of the falls, which are calledCarillon Falls.""Listen to the water."And
Duncan listened to the chime-like falls."My people have a fancy that the falls
sing a sound like Ti-con-deroga."Duncan felt cold wash over his skin as if the
falls themselves had drenched him.At the same time, bagpipe music liked over
the ravine, playing "The Flowers ofthe Forest." Duncan glanced away from the
Native, and when he looked back, theman was gone.He shook his head, as if he
had seen another ghost. Ticonderoga! The pipe musicstopped, and the piper
started another tune, "The Lament for the Only Son." Itwas his own piper,
playing to lead him back to the scouting party.When Duncan reported to
Abercromby, he told the General that there was highground, called by the
colonial American Mount Defiance, and that Abercrombyshould put his cannon
atop it, from whence he could bombard the Fort and forcethe French to
surrender."No time, no time," said Abercromby, chewing his thumbnail.
"Montcalm hasreinforcements of seven thousand men who will join him by
nightfall, and withthem a huge complement of redskins.""Begging your pardon,
sir, but the Fort will contain na more than four hundred.""They'll hold the
Heights of Carillon, which is high ground, Major Campbell."So the cannon sat
useless, still on the batailles, and Abercromby ordered aSuperintendent
Johnson with his Natives to the top of Mount Defiance. Duncanbowed his head