Fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.
SHAKSPEARE.
The tardy summer of the north burst forth in all its splendor on the
woods and scattered settlements of Acadia, and even the harassed
garrison at St. John's, revived under its inspiriting influence. La Tour
had been compelled to return to France in the autumn, for a
reinforcement and supplies, leaving the fort defended only by a hireling
force, which could scarcely muster fifty men, fit for active service.
They were a mixture of Scotch and French, Protestants and Catholics;
their personal and religious disputes kept them at continual variance;
and the death of an experienced officer, who had been left in command,
produced a relaxation of discipline, which threatened the most serious
consequences. The protracted absence of La Tour became a subject of
bitter complaint; and, as their stores, of every kind, gradually wasted
away, they began to talk loudly of throwing down their arms, and
abandoning their posts. In this posture of affairs, the courage and
firmness of Madame la Tour alone restrained them from open mutiny. With
an air of authority, which no one presumed to question, she assumed the
supreme command, and established a rigid discipline, which the boldest
dared not transgress. She daily witnessed their military exercises,
assigned to every man his post of duty, and voluntarily submitted to the
many privations which circumstances imposed on those beneath her.
M. d'Aulney, in the mean time, kept a vigilant eye on the movements of
the garrison. As spring advanced, his light vessels were sent to
reconnoitre as near as safety would permit; and it was evident that he
meditated a decisive attack. Mad. la Tour used the utmost caution to
prevent a surprise, and deceive the enemy respecting the weakness of
their resources. She restricted the usual intercourse between her
people, and those without the fort; and allowed no one to enter
unquestioned, except a French priest, who came, at stated times, to
dispense ghostly counsel to the Catholics.
On one of these occasions, as the holy father issued from a small
building, which served as a chapel for his flock, he encountered the
stiff figure and stern features of a Scotch Presbyterian, whom the lady
of La Tour, a protestant in faith, had received into her family, in the
capacity of chaplain to her household. It was on a Sabbath morning, and
both had been engaged in the offices of religion with their respective
congregations. Each was passing on, in silence, when the Scot suddenly
stopped, directly in the other's path, and surveyed him with an
expression of gloomy distrust. An indignant glow flashed across the pale
features of the priest, but instantly faded away, and he stood in an
attitude of profound humility, as if waiting to learn the cause of so
rude an interruption. In spite of passion and prejudice, the bigoted
sectary felt rebuked by the calm dignity of his countenance and manner;
but he had gone too far to recede, without some explanation, and
therefore sternly said,
"Our lady admits no stranger within these gates, and wo be to the wolf
who climbs into the fold in sheep's clothing!"
"The priest of God," he replied, "is privileged by his holy office to
administer reproof and consolation, wherever there is an ear to listen,
and a heart to feel."
"The priest of Satan," muttered the other, in a low, wrathful tone, "the
emissary of that wicked one, who sitteth on the seven hills, filled with
all abominations."
The priest turned from him with a look of mingled pity and scorn; but
his reverend opponent caught his arm, and again strictly surveying him,
exclaimed,
"It is not thou, whom my lady's easy charity permits to come in hither,
and lead poor deluded souls astray, with the false doctrines of thy
false religion! Speak, and explain from whence thou comest, and what
are thy designs?"
"Thy wrath is vain and impotent," said the priest, coolly withdrawing
from his grasp; "but the precepts of my master enjoin humility, and I
disdain not to answer thee, though rudely questioned. Father Ambrose
hath been called to a distant province, and, by his passport I come
hither, to feed the flock which he hath left."
Still dissatisfied, the chaplain was about to prosecute his
interrogatories, but the singular rencontre had already collected a
crowd around them, and the Catholics, with the vivacity of their
country, and the zeal of their religion, began loudly to resent the
insult offered the holy father. Voices rose high in altercation; but as
the worthy Scot was totally ignorant of their language, he remained, for
some moments, at a loss to conjecture the cause of this sudden
excitement. But the menacing looks which were directed towards him,
accompanied by gestures too plain to be misunderstood, at length
convinced him, that he was personally interested, and he commenced a
hasty retreat, when his progress was arrested by the iron grasp of a
sturdy corporal, from which he found it impossible to free himself. With
a countenance, in which rage and entreaty were ludicrously blended, he
turned towards the priest, whose earnest expostulations were addressed,
in vain, to the exasperated assailants. The corporal kept his hold
tenaciously, questioning him with a volubility known only to Frenchmen,
and, enraged that he was neither understood nor answered, he concluded
each sentence with a shake, which jarred every sinew in the stout frame
of the Scotchman. It is doubtful to what extremes the affray might have
been carried, as the opposite party began to rally with equal warmth,
for the rescue of their _teacher_; but, at that moment, a quick and
repeated note of alarum sounded in their ears, and announced some
pressing danger. Thrown into consternation by this unexpected summons,
the soldiers fled confusedly, or stood stupified, and uncertain what
course to pursue. Nor was their confusion diminished, when Madame la
Tour appeared in the midst of them, and, with a look, which severely
reproved their negligence, exclaimed,
"Why stand ye here, my gallant men, clamouring with your idle brawls,
when the enemy floats before our very gates? fly to your posts, or stay
and see what a woman's hand can do."
The appeal was decisive; in a moment every man filled his proper
station, and throughout the fort, the breathless pause of suspense
preceded the expected signal of attack or defence. M. d'Aulney had
entered the river with a strong force, and owing to the negligence of
the sentinels, appeared suddenly before the surprised garrison.
Emboldened by meeting no resistance, he drew up his vessels against the
fort, and incautiously approached within reach of the battery.
Perceiving his error too late, he immediately tacked, and gave a signal
to bear off, which was promptly obeyed by the lighter vessels. But
before his own, which was more unwieldly, could escape, Madame la Tour
seized the favourable moment, and, with her own hand, discharged a piece
of artillery, which so materially damaged the vessel, that it was found
difficult to remove her from the incessant fire, which was then opened
upon her. It was, however, effected; but, though repulsed at that time,
it was not probable that D'Aulney would relinquish his designs; and,
apprehensive that he might attempt a landing below the fort, a double
guard was set, and every precaution taken to prevent another surprise.
Madame la Tour, till the last moment of danger, was every where
conspicuous, dispensing her orders with the cool presence of mind, which
would have honored a veteran commander. It was near the close of day,
when she retired from the presence of the garrison, to seek repose from
her arduous duties. In passing an angle of the fort, she was attracted
by the sound of light footsteps; and, as she paused an instant, a figure
bounded from the shadow of the wall, and stood before her, wrapped in a
military cloak, which completely enveloped its person.
"Who are you?" demanded Madame de la Tour.
"I am ashamed to tell you," replied a soft, sweet voice, which the lady
instantly recognized; "but if you can forgive me, I will uncover myself,
for, indeed, I am well nigh suffocated already."
"Foolish child! where have you been, and what is the meaning of all
this?"
"I was coming to seek for you; but I lingered here a few moments, for,
in truth, I have no fancy to approach very near those formidable guns,
unless they are more peaceably disposed than they have been to-day, and,
now I must see if you forgive my cowardice!"
With these words the cloak was hastily unloosed, and the young page of
Mad. la Tour sprang lightly from its folds. A tartan kirtle, reaching
below the knees, with trews of the same material, and a Highland bonnet,
adorned with a tuft of eagle feathers, gave him the appearance of a
Scottish youth;--but the sparkling black eyes, the clear brunette
complexion, and the jetty locks which clustered around its brow and
neck, proclaimed him the native of a warmer and brighter climate. Half
laughing, yet blushing with shame, the boy looked with arch timidity in
his lady's face, as if deprecating the expected reproof; but she smiled
affectionately on him, and said,
"I have nothing to forgive, my child; God knows this is but a poor place
for one so young and delicate as you, and I wonder not, that your
courage is sometimes tested beyond its strength. I would not wish you
to share the dangers which it is my duty to encounter."
"I should fear nothing could I really be of service to you," replied the
page, "but, to-day, for instance, I must have been sadly in your way,
and I am very sure the first cannon ball would have carried me off the
walls."
"The enemy would doubtless aim at so important a mark," said the lady,
smiling, "but go now,--your valour will never win the spurs of
knighthood."
"I am not ambitious of such an honour," he answered gaily; "you know I
am but a fair-weather sort of page, fit only to hover around my lady's
bower, in the season of flowers and sunshine."
"Mine is no bower of ease," said Mad. la Tour; "but with all its perils,
I am resolved to guard it with my life, and resign it only into the
hands of my lord. You have promised to assist me," she added, after a
moment's pause, "and I wish you to redeem your word by remaining here
till I return. I care not to trust the faith of those idle soldiers,
who, perchance, think they have done enough of duty to-day, and your
keener eyes may keep a closer watch on the landing place, and sooner
espy the motions of the enemy, who still hold their station below."
"This I can do with pleasure," said the page, "and I am as brave as
heart can wish, when there is no danger nigh. I love to linger under the
open sky in the twilight of these bright days, which are so cheering
after the damp fogs of spring, that I can hardly regret the eternal
sunshine of my own dear France."
"Well, do not forget my commission in your romantic musings," replied
Mad. la Tour.
The page promised obedience, and, left to himself, assumed the post of
observation, retreating as far as possible from the view of the
soldiers. The soft and brilliant tints of twilight slowly faded away,
and the smooth surface of the river gradually darkened as its waves beat
in monotonous cadence against the walls of the fort. A slight breeze, at
intervals, lifted the silken folds of the banner, which drooped from the
tall flag-staff, displaying the escutcheon of La Tour, surmounted by the
arms of France. Far up, the noble stream, on either side, was skirted by
extensive intervals, covered with the rich, bright verdure, peculiar to
early summer, and occasionally rising into gentle acclivities, or
terminating in impervious forests. Tufts of woodland, and large trees
scattered in groups, or standing singly, like the giants of past ages,
spreading their broad arms to the winds of heaven, diversified the
scene; while here and there, the smoke curled gracefully from the humble
cabin of the planter, and at times, the fisherman's light oar dimpled
the clear waves, as he bounded homeward with the fruits of successful
toil. A bright moonlight, silvering the calm and beautiful landscape,
displayed the vessels of D'Aulney, riding at anchor below the fort,
while a thin mist, so common in that climate, began slowly to weave
around their hulks, till the tall masts and white top-sails were alone
visible, floating, like a fairy fleet, in the transparent atmosphere.
The page had gazed long in silent admiration, when his attention was
arrested by the appearance of a human figure, gliding cautiously along
beneath the parapet on which he stood. His tall, attenuated form was
clothed in the loose, black garments of a monk, and the few hairs which
the rules of a severe order had left on his uncovered head, were white
as the snows of winter. A cowl partially concealed his features, his
waist was girt by a cord of discipline, and, as he moved with noiseless
steps, he seemed counting the beads of a rosary, which he carried in his
hand. The page was at first on the point of speaking, believing it to be
father Ambrose, the Catholic missionary; but a second glance convinced
him he was mistaken, and with curiosity, mingled with a degree of awe,
he leaned forward to observe him more attentively. After proceeding a
few paces, he stopped, and threw back his cowl, and as he did so, his
eye encountered the page, whom he surveyed strictly for a moment, then
turned slowly away, and disappeared by an aperture through the outer
works. The boy looked over the wall, expecting the return of this
singular intruder; nor was he aware how fixedly he remained in that
position, till the touch of a hand, laid lightly on his arm, recalled
him to recollection. Turning quickly round, he involuntarily started
back, on perceiving the object of his curiosity close beside him. His
gliding footsteps and peculiar appearance awakened a transient feeling
of dread; but instantly repressing it, he ventured to raise his head,
and as he did so, the clear light of the moon fell full on his youthful
face. The stranger was about to speak, but as the page looked towards
him, the words died away on his lips, his cheeks were flushed, and his
cold features glowed with sudden and strong excitement.
"Holy St. Mary, who are you?" he asked, in an accent of deep feeling, as
he grasped the arm of the trembling youth.
"I am called Hector, the page of Mad. la Tour," he answered, in a voice
scarce audible from terror, and shrinking from the hand which held him.
"May God forgive me!" murmured the monk to himself, as he relaxed his
grasp; while, evidently by a strong effort, every trace of emotion was
banished from his countenance and manner. Hector still stood before him,
longing, yet afraid to flee, till the other, apparently comprehending
his feelings, said, in a slow, solemn voice,
"Fear me not, boy, but go, bear this message to the lady of La Tour.
Tell her, that her lord hath already spread his homeward sails, and a
few hours, perhaps, will bear him hither. Tell her, that M. d'Aulney
will send to parley with her for surrender; but bid her disdain his
promises or threats; bid her hold out with a brave heart, and the hour
of succor will surely arrive."
So saying, he turned away; and Hector hastened to the apartment of his
lady.