I can’t say enough about these two students.  They have naturally fallen into their roles as the teacher’s personal assistants - even though I never assigned them such roles.  She is intuitive as to what I need to present a lesson, and she takes it upon herself to do those things without being asked. He knows when something needs to be done even when I don’t think about it, and he is willing to make sure it all gets done correctly.  Both express their gratitude to me regularly, but I can’t tell them enough. AMELIAH and DAVID from my heart to yours, thank you.

12th July 1758. My Dearest Celeste, When I came to America with General de Montcalm, I realized the fight for New France would be a difficult one.  Four days ago, our defenses of Fort Carillon finally resulted in repressing the Union Jack.  Their attack came by portage, past the La Chute and onto the Heights of Carillon where General Montcalm had readied us outside the fort.  We spent days digging the trenches and fortifying a large defensive line that could only slow the offensive Redcoats and their guerillas.  Only when the general instructed us to construct an ambitious abatis could we have an opportunity to repel a force estimated to be four to five times our own. All day we battled the English.  They had no choice but to rush our defensive lines, but the abatis held.  I cannot count how many times I loaded and reloaded muskets for our assigned marksman.  We rained balls upon the offensive attackers until they quit the field, leaving hundreds of their carcasses tangled in the branches of the abatis.  Our great French brothers and our Mohawk allies still cart off the dead and bury them.

My Darling, I beg of you not to concern yourself with my wellbeing on these patrol maneuvers.  After repelling the rascals, our spying has become, once again, routine.  However, I must tell you of today's "routine" turned a bit awry.  Oarsmen struggled with moss and reeds weighing on the sweeps.  Their not-quite-calloused palms rotating the wood poles to rid the sweeps of the slime and avoid the reeds.  The mouth of the La Chute changes shape constantly, and we must be on the lookout for clear passage.

Ahead, our passage was to remain smooth, the water at times being described as glassy.  The sweeps propelled our craft easily, moving us quickly, but ahead an unexpected darkness approached.

Lucien trained the glass on Rattlesnake Hill, but I noticed the heavens to the west.  A patch of grey clouds grew on the horizon and emptied their contents in the valley ahead.  Without a doubt, our petite bateau could easily be in direct line of the storm if its rains persisted.  I instructed Lucien to look ahead and raise the rod at the bow in the possible event of nearby lightning.  Indeed lightning came, accompanied by awful thunder, sounding as if the fort artillery were firing upon us as it had the British less than a week before.

Farther and farther upstream we traveled, until finally, we grounded the boat.  No sooner had Lucien secured the bow with a rope when we were deluged with rainfall.  The storm came upon us so quickly that we had little choice:  tear through the mud to find a rock outcropping or simply wait as the storm soaked our uniforms.  We chose the latter as our uniforms would dry when we returned to our barracks, whereas we did not desire to clean caked and dried mud off of our coats and breeches.  You must recall, mi amor, how I detest laundry chores, and General Montcalm demands crisp and sharp appearances with no excuse.

The rains were unrelenting and cold and soaking, disturbing the otherwise smooth water with constant ripples and circles. If lily pads could express their joy, I am certain they would have demonstrated celebration at the continuing shower. Oarsmen held the sweeps across their laps as they shivered from the breeze that blew through us like unholy ghosts.  We drew our coats tighter at the throat to keep out the wind (Fortunately, the materials we wear tend to keep us warm in spite of precipitation.).  Lucien and I exchanged a look that said we both knew there was nothing that could be done to avoid this unexpected torrent.

One man in particular took much joy in tormenting the rest with bright and cheerful comments, beckoning the gale to become more forceful and begging the sky to open with still more precipitation.  As the helmsman, I could have silenced the rabble or threatened the perpetrator, but his teasing did more to lighten the mood than irritate.

The rain became pronouncedly harder for a few minutes, and I knew the end of this particular storm was near.  Two final and sharp thunders sounded the end of the rain, and we surmised that our crew had been through enough discomfort for the day.  Another crew could reconnoiter in the evening hours after we returned.  The wet muck and conditions would discourage the enemy from an attack for a short while - if that is what they had planned for us.

The men were miserable - drenched with the fresh smells of rain, hair plastered to their faces.  Their countenances gave away their moods.  Unexpectedly, comments turned from misery to jovial mirth, and soon we were all laughing about our experience.  Believe me, with the constant threat of British aggression, we do not often exchange frivolous conversation - indeed, I do not believe the general would have approved - but the men's crude comments and light moods were exactly what drove the sweeps to continue their pulling.  Lucien smiled and winked at me from the bow and I returned his expression.

We finally climbed the grade back to the parade grounds where our men stripped and dried around our dinner ovens, our bodies absorbing the smoke of red oak coals and the familiar odors of split pea soup.  The rest of the evening was cool and delightful, with little thought of the dangers that possibly awaited us.

My dearest, we remain warriors, but we relish the times when we can fellowship as brother countrymen.  More so, we covet the idea of returning home to our families or bringing our families to join us in this American wilderness once we secure it as Nouvelle Françoise.  I cannot predict when such time will come, but my hope remains firm that our loyal service to the nation will soon benefit us all.

My affection is yours,

Eduard [Desmarais]