Upon St. John's Day, June 24, 1604, De Monts piloted by Champlain,
coasting along the monotonous forest-clad shores of New Brunswick,
sailed into the mouth of the River St. John, and named it in memory of
the day of its discovery. Off the entrance is Partridge Island, now
surmounted by a lighthouse and what is said to be the most powerful
fog-siren in the world, whose hoarse blasts can be heard thirty miles
away, a necessity in this region, where fogs prevail so generally.
From the Negro Head, a high hill on the western shore, a breakwater
extends across the harbor entrance, and within is the city covering
the hills running down to the water as the inner harbor curves toward
the westward. Timber being the great export, lumber-piles and
timber-ships fill the wharves, sawdust floats on the water, and
vessels are anchored out in the stream loading deals from lighters.
De Monts found some Micmac Indians at St. John, but he did not remain
there, and it was not until 1634 when Claude de St. Estienne, Sieur de
la Tour, a Huguenot who had been granted Acadie by King Charles I. of
England, came out with his son and built a fort at the mouth of St.
John River, the son Charles de la Tour for some years afterwards
holding it and enjoying a lucrative trade. The French King, however,
had made a rival grant of Acadie, which had come into possession of
Charles de Menon, Sieur d'Aulnay Charnisay, who made a settlement at
Annapolis Royal over in Nova Scotia, where De Monts took the remnant
of his unfortunate colony from St. Croix River. D'Aulnay envied La
Tour his prosperity, provoked a quarrel, accused him of treason, and
finally came over and blockaded the mouth of the St. John with six
ships. La Tour, anticipating this attack, had implored aid from the
Huguenots in France, and they sent out the ship "Clement" with one
hundred and forty men, which remained in the offing. One cloudy night
La Tour and his wife slipped out of the harbor on the ebb tide in a
boat and got aboard the ship, which carried them to Boston, where
additional help was sought. Old Cotton Mather records that the
Puritans hearkened unto him and searched the Scriptures to see if
there was Divine sanction for interference in a French quarrel. They
found sundry texts that were interpreted as possibly forbidding such
action, but they nevertheless concluded "it was as lawful for them to
give La Tour succor as it was for Joshua to aid the Gideonites against
the rest of the Canaanites, or for Jehoshaphat to aid Jehoram against
Moab." So they quickly started five Massachusetts ships that way, with
which La Tour raised the blockade and drove D'Aulnay across the Bay
of Fundy back to his own post of Annapolis Royal. D'Aulnay did not
rest content under defeat, however, but two years later again attacked
the fort. Two spies, who had gained entrance in the disguise of monks,
informed him La Tour was absent, the fort being under command of his
wife. Expecting easy victory, he ordered an assault, but was met by
Madame La Tour at the head of the little garrison and defeated with
heavy loss. He awaited another opportunity, and in 1647 when La Tour
was away on a trading expedition, leaving but a small force, he again
attacked. During three days his assaults were repulsed, but a
treacherous sentry admitted the enemy within the fort. Even then the
brave woman fought with such intrepidity that she was given her own
terms of capitulation. No sooner had she surrendered, however, than
D'Aulnay violated his agreement and hanged the garrison, compelling
Madame La Tour to witness it with a halter around her neck. This so
preyed upon her mind that a few days afterwards she died of a broken
heart. Whittier has woven this story into his romantic poem _St.
John_, describing La Tour returning to the fort and expecting his
wife's greeting, but instead he found its walls shattered and the
buildings burnt. A priest appearing, La Tour seizes him, demanding an
explanation, and thus spoke the priest:
"'No wolf, Lord of Estienne, has ravaged thy hall,
But thy red-handed rival, with fire, steel and ball!
On an errand of mercy, I hitherward came,
While the walls of thy castle yet spouted with flame.
"'Pentagoet's dark vessels were moored in the bay,
Grim sea-lions roaring aloud for their prey.'
'But what of my lady?' cried Charles of Estienne:
'On the shot-crumbled turret, thy lady was seen:
"'Half-veiled in the smoke-cloud, her hand grasped thy pennon,
While her dark tresses swayed in the hot breath of cannon!
But woe to the heretic, evermore woe!
When the son of the Church and the Cross is his foe!
"'In the track of the shell, in the path of the ball,
Pentagoet swept over the breach of the wall!
Steel to steel, gun to gun, one moment--and then
Alone stood the victor, alone with his men!
"'Of its sturdy defenders, thy lady alone
Saw the cross-blazoned banner float over St. John.'
'Let the dastard look to it,' cried fiery Estienne,
'Were D'Aulnay King Louis, I'd free her again.'
"'Alas for thy lady! No service from thee
Is needed by her whom the Lord hath set free:
Nine days in stern silence her thraldom she bore,
But the tenth morning came, and Death opened her door!'"
La Tour returned, but hardly in the manner justifying the revenge
indicated in the poem. D'Aulnay died shortly afterwards, whereupon La
Tour recaptured his fort and domain in 1653, but not at the head of an
army, diplomatically accomplishing his victory by marrying D'Aulnay's
widow. This post was known as Fort La Tour until the British conquest
in the eighteenth century, when it was changed to Fort Frederick. It
then became a fishing station, and was plundered in the Revolution.
Afterwards, in 1783, about ten thousand exiled tories from the United
States were landed there, this being the "Landing of the Loyalists"
commemorated on May 18th as the founding of St. John, the charter
dating from that day in 1785. Benedict Arnold was one of these
refugees, he living in St. John for several years from 1786. A
Monument in King Square commemorates the landing of the loyalists and
the grant of the charter. Being built largely of wood, the city
suffered from many disastrous fires, the worst being in June, 1877,
when one-third of the place was burnt, involving a loss of over
sixteen hundred buildings and nearly $30,000,000. St. John rose from
the ruins with great vitality, the new construction being largely of
brick and stone. The population now exceeds forty thousand.