"COME AND TAKE IT"
Fort Howe occupied an important position at the mouth of the St. John
River when the present Province of New Brunswick was a part of Nova
Scotia. It was well situated, and from the summit of a high hill
commanded the harbour, a large stretch of the river, and the entire
surrounding country for miles in extent. It looked down upon the ruins
of Fort Frederick, which it replaced, and across to the site of another
old Fort where the brave and noble Lady LaTour and her little band of
men made their gallant resistance to a treacherous foe.
Fort Howe proved a great comfort to the trading post at Portland Point,
and to the thirty or more families settled in the vicinity. Scarcely
had it been erected, and its guns mounted, when the rapacious pirate
from Machias, A. Greene Crabtree by name, appeared upon the scene, as
he had done before with disastrous results. But this time he received
the surprise of his life. He viewed with astonishment the new Fort
upon the hill, and the flag of England floating from the ramparts. So
great was his astonishment that he beat a hasty retreat, and troubled
no more the little settlement at Portland Point.
Fort Howe was not a large place, containing in all two blockhouses
and barracks, with twelve rooms for the officers, and accommodation
for one hundred men. The armament consisted of two five and a half
inch brass mortars, and eight iron guns, the latter including two
eighteen-pounders, four six-pounders, and two four-pounders.
Although Fort Howe was small, yet it meant a great deal to the people
scattered along the St. John River and its various tributaries. It was
the seat of authority where all knew that true British justice would be
meted out by the brave, sturdy commander in charge, Major Gilfred
Studholme. It had a restraining influence upon restless, warlike
Indians, and rebels dwelling along the river. At the same time it
filled the hearts of all loyal, peaceful people with a feeling of
security. To them it was a symbol of England's power, and they often
discussed it around their camp fires, and in their lonely forest homes.
As Dane Norwood paused for a minute upon the brow of the opposite hill,
after he had left the Indian, a feeling of pride and awe welled up in
his heart as he looked across at the Fort. He had heard much about it,
but never until this day had he set eyes upon the place. He saw the
big flag fluttering in the breeze, and the black muzzels of the cannon
frowning seaward. He longed to hear them roar again, and he wondered
how far they would shoot, much farther, he had been told, than the
largest flint-lock ever made.
Leaving the brow of the hill, he moved swiftly down a narrow trail
which led to a large pond of water below. At its outlet was a tidal
grist mill, back of which a strong dam had been built. Along this
latter was a foot path which he followed, and soon reached the opposite
bank. From here a well-constructed road, lined with trees, wound up
the hill to the Fort. Dane walked somewhat slower now, and his heart
beat fast. He was at the end of his long journey, and soon he would be
in the presence of the man of whom he had heard so much. He slipped
his hand beneath his buckskin jacket and felt, as he had done so often
during the last three days, a small package hidden in an inside pocket.
In a few minutes more it would be delivered into the hands of the
owner, and his responsibility would be ended.
When part way up the hill he came to a strong barricade, where he was
suddenly confronted and challenged by a sentry, who demanded where he
was going and what he wanted.
"I have a message for the commander of the Fort," Dane told him. "I
must see him at once."
"The Major is out at present," the soldier replied. "But let me have
your message and I shall give it to him as soon as he comes back."
"I have orders to give it to the Major himself and to no one else," the
courier explained. "It is very important."
"It certainly must be," and the soldier smiled. "But the Major is very
busy to-day, so may not have time to see you. He is down at the
trading post just now looking after the wants of those people who have
come in the ships. They have upset things in general, and are making
matters pretty lively around here, let me tell you that. The Major is
almost at his wits' end."
"Who are they?" Dane eagerly asked, "and where did they come from?"
"Why, don't you know?" the soldier asked in surprise.
"No, I have not the least idea. When I heard the Fort guns roar, I
thought maybe old Crabtree had come back again."
The soldier laughed and looked curiously at the young man.
"Say, where do you hail from, anyway, that you haven't heard about the
coming of the Loyalists? Why, we've been expecting them for some time."
"I never heard of them," Dane confessed, "and have no idea who they
are."
"They are the ones who stood by King George during the Revolutionary
War, of course. When England gave up the fight, and peace was decided
upon, the Loyalists were in a bad way. Their property was confiscated,
and they themselves treated very badly. They would not live under the
new flag of their enemies, so they got out, and here they are."
Dane glanced out toward the ships with the light of intense interest in
his eyes. What a story he would have to tell his comrades in the
wilderness. They all knew about the war, but no word had reached them
of the coming of the Loyalists.
"Didn't you want them to come here?" he asked turning to the sentry.
"Want them? Why, we had nothing to say about the matter."
"But didn't you fire upon them? I heard the roar of the guns when out
in the hills."
The soldier threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh. He was
enjoying this conversation, as it broke the monotony of his duty.
"We weren't firing upon them," he explained. "That was only a salute
of welcome."
"What are all those people going to do?" Dane asked. "How are they to
make a living?"
"Oh, I suppose many will settle here, while others will take up land
and farm. It will be some time, though, before everything is
straightened out. Just look at that crowd down there," and he motioned
to the trading post. "I guess we'll have our hands full keeping order.
I don't envy the Major his job."
"And there are others he must handle as well," Dane replied. "I must
see him at once. Which is the best road to take?"
"You better follow that one along the side of the hill," the soldier
advised, pointing to the right. "There is a short cut down over the
bank some distance ahead. You can't miss it. There is another along
the waterfront leading to the mill-pond. That's the best one to take
coming back."
Thanking the friendly sentry, Dane hurried away, and in about fifteen
minutes came near the trading post. He walked slower now, greatly
interested in everything he beheld, from the quaint store to the people
gathered ground the building.
For years this post at Portland Point had been the Mecca for the entire
country. The owners, Simonds and White, carried on an extensive trade
with both Indians and whites. Enduring and overcoming great
difficulties, they laid the foundation of what to-day is the City of
St. John. The most important event, however, in all their career at
Portland Point was the arrival of the thousands of exiles in their
midst. They gave them a hearty welcome, and did all in their power to
aid them in the land of their adoption.
As Dane approached the crowd, he looked keenly about for Major
Studholme. Although he had never seen him, he imagined that he would
know him at once. He surely would be a large man, of princely bearing,
who would be busy issuing orders to his men. But although he saw a
number of soldiers, there was no one who measured Up to his ideal of
the commander of the Fort.
At length he observed a man, who from his uniform seemed to be an
officer, seated at a small rough table near the store door. He was
busy writing, and passing pieces of paper to men standing before him.
Surely he must be the Major, Dane thought, so stepping forward, he
stood for a few minutes close to the table. He soon learned that the
officer was issuing orders to the Loyalists for boards, shingles,
clapboards, and bricks for the building of their houses. For a while
he had no chance to speak to the man, but waiting his opportunity, he
at last stood before him.
"Are you Major Studholme?" he asked.
"No," the officer replied, laying down his pen with a sigh of
weariness. "I am merely acting in the Major's place."
Then he looked at Dane more closely, and his interest became aroused.
He knew at once that this young man was not one of the newly-arrived
exiles, but a courier from the wilderness. He noted his buckskin garb,
finely-built body, erect manner, and the bright open countenance. He
had seen special couriers before, and they had all been men worthy of
more than a passing glance. But this young man surpassed them all, and
he looked upon him with admiration.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he at length asked.
"I have a message for the Major," Dane explained, "and I must deliver
it to him."
"Give it to me," and the officer reached out his hand. "I am
Lieutenant Street, and I shall see that the Major gets it."
"That I cannot do," Dane replied as he drew back a step. "I have
strict orders to give it to Major Studholme, and to no one else."
"It must be very important, then," and the officer smiled.
"It is, and the Major must get it at once. Where is he?"
"Over there," and the Lieutenant motioned across the water to the right
where the small boats were still busy landing people from the ships.
"He's got his hands full straightening things out. But he can do it if
any one can."
The officer now turned his attention to several impatient men who were
standing near, so further conversation was out of the question. Dane
had taken no notice of those around him. Neither did he see three men
watching his every movement. They had evidently overheard his
conversation with the officer, and seemed greatly pleased. As Dane
left the place and walked toward the road leading to the mill-pond, the
three followed. They kept some distance behind until they came to a
grove of rough tangled trees, when they started forward at a run.
Dane, hearing them coming, stopped and looked back. Instinctively the
caution of the wild possessed him, causing him to stand on the
defensive, and his eyes to gleam with the light of danger.
"What do you want?" he demanded, as the three suddenly stopped before
him. "You seem to be in a hurry."
"We are," one of the men replied. "We want that message you have for
the Major."
"What do you want it for?"
"Never mind about that. Hand it over, and be damn quick about it, too."
Dane's body now quivered with excitement, and the thrill of battle
swept upon him. His eyes narrowed until they became mere slits, and
his hands clenched hard as he drew himself to his full height.
"If you want the message I carry, come and take it," he challenged.
"That is the only way you can get it."
"Don't be a fool," another of the men warned. "You might as well hand
over that message first as last. It will save you a lot of trouble.
We're going to get it, so make up your mind to that."
"How?" Dane asked.
"Oh, you'll soon know. Out with it. We're in a hurry."
"So am I," Dane replied.
Then he slightly crouched, and with a sudden tiger-like spring he was
upon them. A sledge-hammer drive to the jaw of one sent him reeling
backwards among the trees, while a mighty swinging blow to the right
crumpled up another in the middle of the road. So astonished was the
third at this unexpected attack, and the complete knock-out of his
companions, that he did not raise a hand in their defence. A sudden
terror possessed him, so leaping aside just in time to escape the
whirlwind of a man charging upon him, he ran as he had never run in his
life before.
Dane stood looking after him, and a smile overspread his face.
"Hi, there, you've forgotten the message," he called. "Come back and
get it."
But the man paid no heed. He kept steadily on, and only slowed down to
a walk as he neared the store. Dane next turned his attention to the
other two men. They had both recovered, and were sitting upon the
ground, rubbing their injured faces in the most doleful manner.
"Why, what's the matter?" he bantered. "Did something hit you?"
"Did it?" one of them growled. "Did lightning ever hit a tree? Who in
h---- are you, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm the man with the message. I've got it yet; don't you want it?
I thought you were in a hurry."
As the crestfallen men made no reply, Dane stepped toward them.
"I'll tell you who I am," he began. "I am the King's Arrow. I go
where I am sent, and I hit the bull's eye every time, and hit it hard,
too. Do you doubt it?"
"Good Lord, no!" was the gasping confession from each.
"And let me tell you further," Dane continued, "that as I have dealt
with you now, so others will deal with you in the future if you try any
more of your mean tricks. Perhaps you will not get off so easily then
as you have this time. I know who you are. You are employed by the
slashers to spy upon the King's men, engaged in the lawful business of
cutting masts for his Majesty's navy. They are well named, for they
are slashing everywhere, and ruining the forests. But they have about
reached the end of their tether, and you can tell them so from me, Dane
Norwood, the King's Arrow."
Without another word he turned, and walked rapidly along the road
leading to the mill-pond.