crying, "Hurrah for Annie! Bully for you!" which shout unfortunately
showed their position to the enemy, who at once fired a volley of shots
in the direction of the cheering. Annie rode to the end of the rear of
the line, then turned to look back, and as she did so, an officer
quickly pushed his horse between her and a large tree by which she was
standing, so that he might be sheltered behind her. She was staring at
him in astonishment at such an unchivalrous act, when a second volley
was fired; a ball whizzed past her, and the officer fell heavily against
her, then lifeless to the ground. At the same moment another ball grazed
Annie's hand (this was the only wound she received during the whole
war), cut through her dress, and slightly wounded her horse, who was so
frenzied by the pain that he set off on a run through the woods,
plunging in and out among the trees so rapidly that Annie was afraid of
being brushed from her saddle by the branches, or of having her brains
dashed out by being thrown against a tree trunk. Raising herself on her
saddle with a violent effort she crouched on her knees and clung to the
pommel and awaited what might come, but by a lucky chance, the
frightened animal dashed out of the woods and into the midst of the
Eleventh Corps, who stopped the runaway and gave a rousing cheer for
plucky Annie. Her regiment was by this time quite a distance away, and
Annie wanted to see and speak with General Berry, who was the commander
of her division, but was told by an aide that he was not there. "He _is_
here," replied Annie, "and I must see him." The aide turned his horse
and rode up to the General, who was near by, and told him that a woman
was coming up, who insisted on seeing him.
"It is Annie," said General Berry. "Let her come, let her come. I would
risk my life for Annie any time!" As Annie approached from one side a
prisoner was brought up on the other, and after some words with him, and
receiving his sword, the General sent him to the rear, and after
greeting Annie cordially he gave the prisoner into her charge,
directing him to walk by her horse. This was Annie's last interview with
the brave General, for he was killed early the next morning in the
desperate fight for possession of the plank road, in the woods not far
from the hospital, leading past the Chancellor House.
During the same battle Annie found an artillery man so badly wounded
that he could not move. The batteries had no surgeons of their own, and
despite his entreaties the infantry surgeons with their hands full in
caring for their own wounded men, had refused to assist him. Annie,
after binding up the poor man's wounds, insisted on having him cared
for, and a year later she received the following letter:
WASHINGTON, D. C., Jan. 14, 1864.
_Annie_:--_Dearest Friend_:--I am not long for
this world, and I wish to thank you for your
kindness ere I go.
You were the only one who was ever kind to me
since I entered the Army. At Chancellorsville, I
was shot through the body, the ball entering my
side and coming out through the shoulder. I was
also hit in the arm, and was carried to the
hospital in the woods where I lay for hours and
not a surgeon would touch me when you came along
and gave me water and bound up my wounds. Please
accept my heartfelt gratitude; and may God bless
you and protect you from all dangers; may you be
eminently successful in your present pursuit. I
enclose a flower, a present from a sainted mother;
it is the only gift I have to send you. Had I a
picture, I would send you one. I know nothing of
your history, but I hope you always have and
always may be happy, and since I will be unable to
see you in this world, I hope I may meet you in
the better world where there is no war. May God
bless you, both now and forever, is the wish of
your grateful friend.
Such rewards for loving service must have been very grateful to one of
Annie's sensitive nature, and she continued to toil on in the spirit of
love and heroism through the battle of Gettysburg, and the engagements
of Grant's closing campaign, where her gentleness and courage were
favourite themes of the soldiers, who could scarcely bear to have her
out of their sight when they were sick or wounded.
At the battle of the Wilderness, when the fighting was fiercest and the
balls were raining like hailstones, the Fifth Michigan, to which Annie
was now attached, together with other troops, were surrounded and nearly
cut off by the rebels and as the line of battle swung round, the rebels
at once took the places vacated by the Union men. Annie was at that
moment speaking to a little drummer boy when a bullet pierced his heart,
and he fell against Annie, dead. For the first and only time during the
war she was overcome by a panic of terror and laying the dead boy on the
ground, she ran like a hunted deer towards what she took to be the Union
troops, to find to her horror she was mistaken. It was the rebel forces,
but, too late to retrace her steps she dashed ahead, cutting her swift
way through the enemy's line, and though shots whistled after her, she
escaped in safety.
With every month of service, Annie's patriotism grew stronger and her
desire to serve the cause for which the Union was fighting, keener.
During the battle of Spotsylvania she met a number of soldiers
retreating, and when imploring them to turn back had no effect, she
offered to lead them herself, and shamed into doing their duty, by a
woman's courage, they turned, and led by the dauntless girl, went back
into the thick of the fight, under heavy fire from the enemy. Never did
Annie bear the regimental colours or flourish sword or flag, as has been
asserted; she simply inspired men to deeds of valour or to the doing of
their simple duty by her own contagious example of unwavering
patriotism.
When the enemy was attacked by the Second Corps, as they were at Deep
Bottom, Annie became separated from her regiment, and with her usual
attendant--the surgeon's orderly, who carried the medicine chest, went
in search of the troops, but before she realised it, found herself
beyond the line of the Union pickets. An officer at once told her she
must turn back, that the enemy was near, and almost before the words
were spoken, the rebel skirmishers suddenly appeared, and as suddenly
the officer struck spurs into his horse and fled, Annie and the orderly
following as fast as they could, until they reached the Union lines. As
the rebels had hoped to surprise the Union troops they did not fire lest
they should give an alarm, which is probably the reason why Annie
escaped uninjured, and in this as in many other cases it seemed as if
the loving thoughts and prayers of those to whom she had been mother,
sister and friend in hours of blackest despair protected the brave girl
from harm.
So strong was the confidence of the soldiers in Annie's ability to shape
even circumstances to her will, that this confidence amounted almost to
a superstition, and whenever a battle was to be fought, were uneasy as
to results, also as to the care of the wounded unless she was at hand,
and there was never a more fitting tribute paid to man or woman, old or
young, than that paid to Annie by the brilliant General Birney. After
watching her closely and observing her invaluable service and dauntless
courage one day at twilight he gathered together his troops, and amid
shouts of appreciative applause presented her with the glittering
Kearney Cross, a token of noble self-sacrifice and heroic service
rendered to the Union army, and it is pleasant to picture the brave girl
as she received the reward of her faithful service, with that modest
diffidence which is so charming in a woman, but with shining eyes and
cheeks flushed with appreciation of the token that her work had not been
in vain.
Many verses have been written in honour of Annie, and this fragment of
one of them seems a fitting tribute to the pure, sweet, patriotic
Daughter of the Regiment.
To Miss Anna Etheredge.
(THE HEROINE OF THE WAR.)
Hail dauntless maid! whose shadowy form,
Borne like a sunbeam on the air,
Swept by amid the battle storm,
Cheering the helpless sufferers there,
Amid the cannon's smoke and flame,
The earthquake sound of shot and shell,
Winning by deeds of love, a name
Immortal as the brave who fell.
Hail angel! whose diviner spell
Charmed dying heroes with her prayer,
Staunching their wounds amid the knell
Of death, destruction and despair.
Thy name by memory shall be wreathed
Round many desolate hearts in prayer;
By orphan lips it shall be breathed,
And float in songs upon the air.
MADELEINE DE VERCHERES:
The Heroine of Castle Dangerous
IT was the twenty-second of October. Hills until recently tapestried,
and valleys which had been flaming with the glory of autumn were now
putting on the more sombre garb of early winter, though still the soft
haze of fall hung over fields and forests in the small Canadian colony,
on the bank of the St. Lawrence River, twenty miles below Montreal, a
settlement commanded by the French officer Seignieur de Vercheres.
Peace and quiet reigned throughout the small community on that October
morning, while all its inhabitants except the very young or the infirm
were busy harvesting.
Because of its location in a direct route between the hunting ground of
the Iroquois Indians and Montreal, the fort protecting the settlement
was known as the "Castle Dangerous" of Canada. At night all the farmers
and other settlers of the community left their log cabins and gathered
in the fort for protection, then went out in the morning, with hoe in
one hand and gun in the other, to till the fields, leaving the women and
children safe inside the fort, which stood in an exposed position beyond
the homes of the settlers. Outside the fort stood a strong block house
connected with it by a covered passage, and both were surrounded by a
palisaded wall. Fort and blockhouse and wall were necessary protections
in those days when English, French and Indians were at war in the
Canadian provinces in the name of Church or King, or for personal
betterment, and when the Indians were resisting with powerful
determination the religion and customs which the white men were trying
to thrust upon them, and attempting to prevent the aliens from securing
the rich supplies of skins which were annually brought down the Ottawa
river by fur-traders from the frozen North.
It was indeed a time of warfare in Canada--that latter part of the
seventeenth century, when Frontenac was governor of the French
possessions, and two nations were striving so bitterly for supremacy. At
that time the river Ottawa, as Parkman, the historian, tells us, "was
the main artery of Canada, and to stop it was--to stop the flow of her
life blood."
The Iroquois, a powerful and cunning tribe of Indians who were a menace
to all foreigners, knew this, and their constant effort was to close it
so completely that the annual supply of beaver skins would be prevented
from passing, and the French colony thus be obliged to live on credit.
It was the habit of the Iroquois to spend the latter part of the winter,
hunting in the forests between the Ottawa and the upper St. Lawrence,
and when the ice broke up to move in large bands to the banks of the
Ottawa and lie in ambush to waylay the canoes of the fur-traders with
their cargoes of skins. On the other hand, it was the constant effort of
Frontenac and his men to keep the river open, an almost impossible task.
Many conflicts great and small took place, with various results, but in
spite of every effort on the part of the French, the Iroquois blockade
was maintained for more than two years.
[Illustration: MADELEINE DE VERCHERES]
The brunt of the war was felt in the country above Montreal, which was
easily accessible to the Indians, but it was a time of grave menace also
to all the colonists, and the children of the Seignieur de Vercheres
had been taught from their earliest childhood to handle firearms easily
and skilfully, and had been told so many blood-curdling tales of the
treachery and cruelty of the Iroquois, and of the heroic deeds done by
their countrymen in defending forts and homes, that each young heart
thrilled with the hope that they too might some day perform a deed of
valour. And their chance was nearer than they dreamed on that October
morning when the little settlement lay serene in its quiet security,
giving no heed to invasion or to foe, when everyone in the settlement
was at work in the fields except two soldiers, the two young sons of the
Seignieur, an old man of eighty, and a number of women and children.
The Seignieur was at that time on duty at Quebec, his wife was also away
on a visit to Montreal, and their daughter, Madeleine, a girl of
fourteen, was in command of both fort and home--not very difficult
offices to fill, so thought her parents in leaving, as there had been no
attacks for some time, and we can picture Madeleine, tall and slender,
with a wealth of golden-brown hair falling over her low brow, her eyes
dancing with merriment as she received her list of household duties from
her mother, and her commands concerning the fort from her father, sure
that the hours and days of the golden autumn would bring her no graver
responsibilities than she had carried before.
Her morning duties in the home despatched, she sauntered down to the
river boat-landing, taking with her a hired man named Laviolette. She
was expecting some friends from Montreal and for a long time she stood
on the bank of the sparkling river, shading her eyes from the glare of
the sun, watching eagerly in hopes of seeing the boatload coming. It was
not in sight, and she chatted with Laviolette and watched the movements
of some near-by fishing craft for a moment. Suddenly she turned, stood
still, and held up a silencing finger to the garrulous Laviolette, who
was spinning a sea yarn of his boyhood. She had heard an ominous sound
in the direction of the field where the settlers were at work.
"Run, Laviolette, to the top of the hill and see what it is," she said,
without serious apprehension. The man, quick to do her bidding, ran to a
point of vantage, stood beside her again, and what was it he said?
"Shots! Run, Mademoiselle, _run_!" he cried, "here come the Iroquois!"
The warning was too late. As Madeleine turned she found herself within
gun range of forty or fifty of the dreaded Indians! Like a bit of
thistle-down blown by the wind, she ran toward the fort, her brown hair
flying in the breeze, commending herself as she ran, so she herself
afterwards told, to the Holy Virgin, the Iroquois in hot pursuit, but
not one of them fleet-footed enough to catch the fleeing maiden.
Disconcerted, they stood still, seeing that pursuit was fruitless, and,
standing, fired at her, the bullets whistling about her ears, while her
heart beat so fast with fright that it seemed she could not take another
step. But still she was fleeing, fleeing. She was at the gate at last,
she cried loudly, "To arms! To arms!" praying that someone within would
hear her and come to the rescue, but she prayed in vain. The two
soldiers who were in the fort were so terror stricken that they ran to
the blockhouse and hid, and only one answered Madeleine's call. To add
to her horror, outside the gate were two women huddled, moaning for
their husbands who had just been killed before their eyes. There was no
time for quiet thought, but in Madeleine's veins flowed the blood of
warriors. In a brave voice she called, "Go in, and cease your crying!"
and pushing the women inside the gate, closed it, as she did so, trying
to think how she was to save the other defenceless ones of whom in her
father's absence she was the guardian. With flying feet she inspected
the fort and wall, and to her dismay found that in several places the
defences were so insecure that the enemy could easily push through. The
weak spots must be barricaded at once. With peremptory orders Madeleine
set her few helpers to work, and herself fetched wood for her purpose,
helping place it with her quick strong hands. That done, she went into
the blockhouse where all the ammunition was kept, and there crouching in
a corner she found the two soldiers, one with a lighted match in his
hand.
"What are you going to do with that?" she asked.
Too frightened to lie, he answered, "Light the powder and blow us all
up."
Madeleine flashed a glance of contempt at him. "You are a miserable
coward!" she said. "Go out of this place. _I_ am commander of the fort,"
and there was that in her voice which made the men obey. Then throwing
off her bonnet, putting on a more masculine hat, and taking up a gun, in
the use of which she was unusually skilful, she gave a command to her
two brothers, who were awaiting her orders. "Let us fight to the death,"
she said. "We are fighting for our country and our religion. Remember
our father has taught you that gentlemen are born to shed their blood
for the service of God and the King."
The boys were only ten and twelve years old, but they had received the
same early training as Madeleine, and in their veins too ran the blood
of those who conquer. The stirring words roused their courage, and like
old seasoned warriors they took up arms, and with what ability they
possessed began at once to fire through the loopholes of the blockhouse
on the Iroquois, who, having no idea how many soldiers were inside
defending the garrison, were overcome with fear, and giving up their
attack on the fort, began to chase the people in a neighbouring field,
and killed all whom they could catch. Madeleine was now so thoroughly
filled with the spirit of war that she at once ordered a cannon to be
fired, partly to keep the enemy from a further assault, and also as a
signal to some of the soldiers who were at a distance, hunting. And all
this time within the fort there was the shrill sound of the women and
children wailing and screaming. Madeleine, on guard at a loophole, gave
a stern order, "Be quiet, or your screams will encourage the enemy!"
Then with far sighted eyes she saw a canoe gliding up to the
landing-place, the one that she had been looking for in that care-free
hour which now seemed years ago; the canoe in which was her friend who
was trying to reach the fort with his family. Knowing how near the
Indians were, Madeleine was terrified lest the visitors should be killed
before her eyes, and she begged the soldiers to go to their aid, but
they were not brave enough to do it. She must go herself. With a hasty
command to Laviolette to keep watch at the gate while she was gone, she
ran out alone down to the landing-place. She afterwards said, "I thought
that the savages would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the
fort, in order to make a rush upon them. They did suppose so, and thus I
was able to save my friends, the Fontaine family. When they were landed
I made them all march up to the fort before me in full sight of the
enemy. We put so bold a face on that they thought they had more to fear
than we had." Thus the settlers and their plucky young escort gained the
shelter of the fort, and Madeleine, quite encouraged by this addition to
the number of her forces, at once ordered that whenever an Indian came
in sight, he should at once be fired on, which order was faithfully
obeyed, and in watching and firing, the hours of the long day wore away.
After sunset a fierce northeast wind came up, accompanied with a flurry
of snow and hail, and as the little band in the fort heard the howling
of the wind they looked at one another with pale and terrified faces,
fearing that the Iroquois, who were still lurking near, would be able,
under cover of the noise and darkness of the storm, to climb into the
fort, and all would be lost. Whitest of all was Madeleine, the young
commander, but she gathered her troop of six persons around her, and
said stoutly, "God has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies,
but we must take care not to fall into their snares to-night. As for me,
I want you to see that I am not afraid. I will take care of the fort
with an old man of eighty and another who never fired a gun, and you,
Pierre Fontaine, with the two soldiers, will go to the blockhouse with
the women and children because that is the strongest place, and if I am
taken, don't surrender, even if I am cut to pieces and burned before
your eyes. The enemy cannot hurt you in the blockhouse if you make the
least show of fight."
Then placing her two brothers on two of the bastions or look-outs of the
fort, and the old man of eighty on the third, she herself took the
fourth watch, and all through the endless hours of that night while the
wind howled and the storm beat against the wall, the cries of "ALL'S
WELL!" were repeated from the blockhouse to the fort, and from the fort
to the blockhouse. One would have thought the place was filled with
soldiers, and the Indians were completely deceived, as they confessed
afterwards to a Frenchman to whom they then told their plan of capturing
the fort in the night, a plan which had failed because the place had
been so well guarded!--and two young boys, a very old man and a young
girl had accomplished this!
About one o'clock in the morning the soldier who had been put on watch
at the gate called out, "Mademoiselle, I hear something," and hurrying
to him Madeleine, by the aid of the snow light, was able to see a small
number of cattle huddled close to the fort. Telling this to her
companions they instantly cried, "Let them in," but Madeleine shook her
head, answering emphatically, "God forbid! You don't know all the tricks
of the savages. They are no doubt following the cattle, covered with
skins of beasts so as to get into the fort, if we are simple enough to
open the gate for them."
But later, after having taken every precaution for safety, besides
placing the boys ready with their guns cocked in case of surprise,
Madeleine allowed the gate to be opened and the cattle filed in safely
and alone.
At last the weary night of suspense was over, and as daylight dawned,
the situation began to look brighter. Everyone took fresh courage except
Madame Fontaine, who begged her husband to carry her to another and
safer fort. He replied, "I will never abandon this fort while
Mademoiselle Madeleine is here."
At this loyal answer Madeleine gave him a swift glance of appreciation,
and cried, "I will never abandon it. I would _die_ rather than give it
up to the enemy. It is of the greatest importance that they should not
get hold of any French fort, because they would think they could get
others and grow more bold and presumptuous than ever!"
Then with another quick nod of thanks and of understanding off went the
young commander again to her post on the look-out, and then back to the
blockhouse, where she said words of ringing encouragement to the weary
band huddled there together, and it was twenty-four hours later before
she went into her father's house either for refreshment or rest,
although sadly in need of both, but was always on guard to cheer her
discouraged flock.
When forty-eight hours had passed in this way, rest became imperative
even for Madeleine's strong, young frame, and she allowed herself to
doze at a table, folding her arms on it, so that with her gun lying
across her arms and her head on her gun she was ready at a word of alarm
to spring up, weapon in hand, and face the enemy. It was a terrible
situation, that of the little band within the fort, for they knew of no
way to send word to friends of their plight, and if the outer world had
no news of the situation, from whence could help come? This thought was
constantly in the minds of the exhausted band, waiting, watching and
hoping against hope for some one to come to their rescue. Had they but
known that even while they were waiting, some of the farmers who when at
work in the field had escaped the Indians, were now making their way to
Montreal, their anxiety would have been greatly lessened, but they did
not know, and the fort was constantly attacked by the enemy, who when
not besieging it were crouching near, waiting for a chance to make a
successful attack. Very early on the dawn of the seventh day of their
vigil, Madeleine's younger brother, who was on watch on the side of the
fort which faced the river, heard the sound of distant voices and the
splashing of oars in the water.
"Who goes there?" he called out bravely, but with a shivering fear that
it might be additional forces of the enemy. At the sound of his cry
Madeleine, dozing by the table, roused and ran to his side with a
question on her lips which did not need to be framed.
"A voice from the river," he whispered, but as he spoke came the louder
sound of near-by footsteps and voices, and fleet-footed Madeleine ran to
the bastion to see whether it was friend or foe arriving.
"Who are you?" the clear voice of the intrepid young commander rang out,
and instantly came the answer:
"We are Frenchmen. It is La Monnerie, who comes to bring you help, and
with him are forty men."
Relief was at hand! Turning, Madeleine gave a command to a soldier to
stand on guard, then, "Quick, open the gate," she said, and her command
was obeyed. The gate, closely guarded, was opened, and out went
Madeleine to meet those who had come to the rescue.
As Monsieur Monnerie caught sight of the slight girlish figure his eyes
were full of wonder. Then she stood before him, drew herself up to her
full height, and solemnly saluted, saying, "Monsieur, I surrender my
arms to you."