Herald, save thy labor;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
SHAKSPEARE.
The arrival of some fishermen on the following morning confirmed the
intelligence of father Gilbert--the name by which the priest, who
succeeded Father Ambrose, had announced himself at the fort. They had
eluded the enemy by night, and reported that several vessels lay
becalmed in the Bay of Fundy; and, though they had not been near enough
to ascertain with certainty, no doubt was entertained, that it was the
little fleet of M. la Tour, returning with the expected supplies.
The holy character and mission of father Gilbert was his passport in
every place; and, as his duty often called him to remote parts of the
settlement, and among every description of people, it was natural that
he should obtain information of passing events, before it reached the
ears of the garrison. The mysterious manner in which he had communicated
his intelligence on the preceding evening, occasioned some surprise; but
Mad. la Tour, in listening to the relation of her page, made due
allowance for the exaggerations of excited fancy; and she was also
aware, that the Catholic missionaries were fond of assuming an ambiguous
air, which inspired the lower people with reverence, and doubtless
increased their influence over them. Till within a day or two, father
Gilbert had never entered the fort; but he was well known to the poor
inhabitants without, by repeated acts of charity and kindness, though he
sedulously shunned all social intercourse, and was remarked for the
austere discipline, and rigid self-denial to which he subjected himself.
The spirits of the garrison revived with the expectation of relief,
which was no longer considered a matter of uncertainty. In the fulness
of these renovated hopes, a boat from M. d'Aulney approached with an
officer bearing a flag of truce. He was received with becoming courtesy,
and immediately shewn into the presence of Mad. la Tour. In spite of his
contempt for female authority, and his apathy to female charms, a
feeling of respectful admiration softened the harshness of his features,
as the sturdy veteran bent before her, with the almost forgotten
gallantry of earlier years. At that period of life, when the graces of
youth have just ripened into maturity, the lady of La Tour was as highly
distinguished by her personal attractions, as by the strength and energy
of her mind. Her majestic figure displayed the utmost harmony of
proportion, and the expression of her regular and striking features
united, in a high degree, the sweetest sensibilities of woman, with the
more bold and lofty attributes of man. At times, an air of hauteur
shaded the openness of her brow, but it well became her present
situation, and the singular command she had of late assumed. She
received the messenger of D'Aulney with politeness, but the cold reserve
of her countenance and manner, convinced him, that his task was
difficult, if not hopeless. For an instant, his experienced eye drooped
beneath her piercing glance; and, perceiving her advantage, she was the
first to break the silence.
"What message from my lord of D'Aulney," she asked, "procures me the
honor of this interview? or is it too bold for a woman's ear, that you
remain thus silent? I have but brief time to spend in words, and would
quickly learn what brave service he now demands of me?"
"My lord of D'Aulney," replied the officer, "bids me tell you, that he
wars not with women; that he respects your weakness, and forgives the
injuries which you have sought to do him."
"Forgives!" said the lady, with a contemptuous smile; "thy lord is
gracious and merciful,--aye, merciful to himself, perhaps, and careful
for his poor vessels, which but yesterday shivered beneath our cannon!
Is this all?"
"He requires of you," resumed the officer, piqued by her scornful
manner, "the restoration of those rights, which the lord of la Tour hath
unjustly usurped; he requires the submission of this garrison, and the
possession of this fort, and pledges his word, on such conditions, to
preserve inviolate the life and liberty of every individual."
"Thy lord is most just and reasonable in his demands," returned the
lady, sarcastically; "but hath he no threats in reserve, no terrors
wherewith to enforce compliance?"
"He bids me tell you," said the excited messenger, "that if you reject
his offered clemency, you do it at your peril, and the blood of the
innocent will be required at your hands. He knows the weakness of your
resources, and he will come with power to shake these frail walls to
their foundations, and make the stoutest heart within them tremble with
dismay."
"And bid him come," said the lady, every feature glowing with indignant
feeling, and high resolve; "bid him come, and we will teach him to
respect the rights which he has dared to infringe; to acknowledge the
authority which he has presumed to insult; to withdraw the claims, which
he has most arrogantly preferred. Tell him, that the lady of La Tour is
resolved to sustain the honor of her absent lord, to defend his just
cause to the last extremity, and preserve, inviolate, the possessions
which his king hath intrusted to his keeping. Go tell your lord, that,
though a woman, my heart is fearless as his own; say, that I spurn his
offered mercy, I defy his threatened vengeance, and to God, the
defender of the innocent, I look for succor in the hour of danger and
strife."
So saying, she turned from him, with a courteous gesture, though her
manner convinced him that any farther parley would be useless; and
endeavoring to conceal his chagrin by an air of studied civility, the
dissatisfied messenger was reconducted to the boat.
The vessels of M. d'Aulney left their anchorage below the fort, at an
early hour in the morning; but it was reported, that they still lay near
the mouth of the river, probably to intercept the return of La Tour. The
day passed away, and he did not arrive, nor were any tidings received
from him. Mad. la Tour's page remarked the unusual dejection of his
lady, and, emulous perhaps of her braver spirit, resolved, if possible,
to obtain some information, which might relieve her anxiety. With this
intention he left the fort soon after sunset, attended only by a large
Newfoundland dog, which was his constant companion, whenever he ventured
beyond the gates. For some time, he walked slowly along the bank of the
river, hoping to meet with some fishermen, who usually returned from
their labors at the close of day, and were most likely to have gathered
the tidings which he wished to learn. The gloom of evening, which had
deepened around him, was gradually dispersed by the light of the rising
moon; and as he stood alone in that solitary place, the recollection of
his interview with the strange priest on the preceding evening,
recurred to his imagination with a pertinacity, which he vainly
endeavored to resist. He looked carefully round, almost expecting to see
the tall, ghost-like figure of the holy father again beside him; but
there was no sound abroad, except the sighing of the wind and waves; and
the shadows of the trees lay unbroken on the velvet turf. From this
disquiet musing, so foreign to his light and careless disposition, the
page was at length agreeably roused by the quick dash of oars, and in a
moment he perceived a small bark canoe, guided by a single individual,
bounding swiftly over the waves. As it approached near the place where
he stood, Hector retreated to conceal himself in a tuft of ever-greens,
from whence he could, unseen, observe the person who drew near. He had
reason to congratulate himself on this precaution, as the boat shortly
neared the spot which he had just quitted, and in the occupant he
discovered the dark features of a young Indian, who had apparently been
engaged in the labor or amusement of fishing. Not caring to disclose
himself to the savage, the page shrunk behind the trunk of a large pine
tree, while the dog crouched quietly at his feet, equally intent on the
stranger's motions,--his shaggy ears bent to the ground, and his
intelligent eyes turned often inquiringly to his master's face, as if to
consult his wishes and inclination.
The Indian leaped from his canoe, the instant it touched the strand,
and began hastily to secure it by a rope, which he fastened around the
trunk of an uprooted tree. From his appearance, he belonged to one of
those native tribes, who, from constant intercourse and traffic with the
French Acadians, had imbibed some of the habits and ideas of civilized
life. His dress was, in many respects, similar to the European's; but
the embroidered moccasins, the cloak of deer-skins, and plume of scarlet
feathers, shewed that he had not altogether abandoned the customs and
finery of his own people. His figure was less tall and athletic than the
generality of Indian youth, and his finely formed features were animated
by an expression of vivacity and careless good-humour, very different
from the usual gravity of his nation. The page looked at him with a
degree of curiosity and interest which he could neither suppress nor
define. Half ashamed of his own timidity, he resolved to address him,
and seek the information he was so desirous of obtaining, if, indeed, he
had been sufficiently conversant with the French settlers to communicate
his ideas in that language. While he still hesitated, the Indian had
secured his canoe, and as he stooped to take something from it, he began
to hum in a low voice, and presently, to the great surprise of Hector,
broke into a lively French air, the words and tune of which were
perfectly familiar to his ear. The dog also seemed to recognize it; he
started on his feet, listened attentively, and then, with a joyful
bark, sprang towards the Indian, and began to fawn around him and lick
his hands, with every demonstration of sincere pleasure.
"By our lady, you are a brave fellow, my faithful Hero," said the
Indian, in very pure French, as he caressed the animal; then casting a
searching glance around, he continued to address him, "But how came you
here, and alone, to greet your master on his return?"
The page could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise, as he
listened to the well-remembered voice; but drawing his cloak more
closely round him, and confining his dark locks beneath the tartan
bonnet, which he pulled over his brow, he advanced nearer, though still
unseen, and said in a disguised tone,
"Methinks thou art but a sorry actor, to be thrown off thy guard by the
barking of a dog; if I had a tongue so little used to keep its own
counsel, I would choose a mask which it would not so readily betray."
"Thou art right, by all the saints," replied the other; "and be thou
friend or foe, I will see to whom I am indebted for this sage reproof."
So saying, he darted towards the place where the page was concealed, and
Hector, hiding his face as much as possible, bowed with an air of
profound respect before him.
"Ha! whom have we here?" he asked, surveying the page with extreme
curiosity.
"The page of my lady De la Tour;" returned Hector, his laughing eye
drooping beneath the inquisitorial gaze.
"A pretty popinjay, brought out for my lady's amusement!" said the
stranger, smiling; "you make rare sport with your antic tricks, at the
fort yonder, I doubt not, boy."
"I am but a poor substitute for my lord's lieutenant, whose mirth was as
far-famed as his courage;" returned the page, gravely.
"Thou art a saucy knave!" said the other, quickly; but instantly
checking himself, he added, "and how fares it with your lady, in the
absence of her lord?"
"She is well, thank heaven, but"--
"But what?" interrupted the stranger, eagerly; "is any one--has any
misfortune reached her?"
"None, which she has not had the courage to resist; the baffled foe can
tell you a tale of constancy and firmness, which the bravest soldier
might be proud to emulate."
"Bravely spoken, my little page; and your lady doubtless found an able
assistant and counsellor in you! ha! how fared it with you, when the din
of battle sounded in your ears?"
"Indifferently well," said the page, with a suppressed smile; "I am but
a novice in the art of war. But have you learned aught that has befallen
us?"
"A rumour only has reached me, but I hope soon to obtain more accurate
and satisfactory information."
"You will hardly gain admittance to the fort in that harlequin dress,"
said Hector; "and I can save you the trouble of attempting it, by
answering all the inquiries you may wish to make."
"Can you?" asked the other, with an incredulous smile; "then you are
more deeply skilled than I could think, or _wish_ you to be."
"It may be so," returned the page, significantly; "but you will soon
find that the knowledge which you seek to gain, is as well known to me,
as to any one whom you hope to find there."
"You speak enigmas, boy," said the other, sharply; "tell me quickly to
whom, and what you allude?"
"Go, ask my lady," said the page, with provoking calmness; "I may not
betray the secrets of her household."
"You!" said the other, scornfully; "a pretty stripling, truly, to
receive the confidence of your lady."
"If not my lady's," replied the page, "perhaps her young companion has
less discretion in her choice of confidants."
"Ha!" said the stranger, starting, and changing colour, in spite of his
tawny disguise; "what say you of _her_? speak; and speak truly, for I
shall soon know if thou art false, from her own lips."
"_Her_ lips will never contradict _my_ words," returned the boy; "but
go, take the pass-word, enter the fort, and see--you will not find her
there."
"Not find her there?" he repeated in astonishment, and with a bewildered
air; then suddenly grasping the page's arm, he said, in no gentle tone,
"Now, by my faith, boy, you test my patience beyond endurance; if I
thought you were deceiving me"--
He stopped abruptly, and withdrew his hand, as a laugh, which he could
no longer repress, burst from the lips of Hector, and at the same
instant the heavy cloak fell from his shoulders to the ground.
"What mountebank trick is this?" demanded the stranger, angrily; but, as
his eye glanced over the figure of the page, his countenance rapidly
changed, and in an altered tone, he exclaimed,
"By the holy rood, you are"--
"Hush!" interrupted Hector, quickly pressing his finger on the other's
lips; and, with a feeling of instinctive dread, he pointed to father
Gilbert, who was approaching, and in a moment stood calmly and silently
beside them. As the young man turned to scan the person of the priest,
Hector hastily gathered his cloak around him, and before they were aware
of his intention, fled from the spot, and was soon secure within the
walls of the fort. The pretended Indian would have pursued, when he
perceived the page's flight, but his steps were arrested by the nervous
grasp of the priest.
"Loose your hold, sirrah!" he said, impatiently; but instantly
recollecting himself, added, with a gesture of respect, "Pardon me, holy
father, my mind was chafed with its own thoughts, or I should not have
forgotten the reverence due to your character and office."
"Know you that boy?" asked the priest, in a tremulous voice, and without
appearing to notice his apology.
"I once knew him well," returned the other, looking at the monk in
surprise; "a few months since, we were companions in the fort of St.
John's. But why do you question me thus?"
"Ask me not," returned the priest, resuming his habitual calmness; "but,
as well might you pursue the wind, as seek to overtake that light-footed
page."
"You have kept me till it is too late to make the attempt;" murmured the
other; and, his thoughts reverting to what had just passed, he continued
to himself, "A pretty page, truly! and who, but a fool, or a mad-cap,
like myself, could have looked at those eyes once, and not know them
again?"
"You are disturbed, young man," said the priest, regarding him
attentively; "and that disguise, for whatever purpose assumed, seems to
sit but ill upon you."
"You speak most truly, good father; but I hope to doff these tawdry
garments before morning, if the saints prosper my undertaking."
"Time is waning, my son, and that which you have to do, do quickly; the
dawn of day must not find you lingering here, if your safety and honor
are dear to you."
"You know me!" said the young man, surprised, "but I am totally
unconscious of having ever seen you before."
"I am not sought by the young and gay," replied the priest, "but we may
meet again; yonder is your path," pointing towards the fort, "mine leads
to retirement and solitude."
With these words he turned from him; and the young man, with hasty
steps, pursued his lonely way to the fort of St. John's.