A GLORIOUS VICTORY
It was not a wise, even if it were a womanly, step on Madame La Tour's
part to let the Jesuits go, for they, of course, made their way
directly to Charnace, and acquainted him with the true state of affairs
at the fort--La Tour absent in quest of reinforcements, only fifty men
in the garrison, and the supply of powder and shot unduly low.
"Ah, ha!" chuckled Charnace, rubbing his hands. "You bring good news.
My time has come. I would prefer not having to fight with a woman, but
since La Tour has seen fit to desert his post, he must take the
consequences."
Meantime, Madame La Tour, with her faithful supporters, strained every
effort to prepare for the assault that could not be long delayed.
Everything that could be secured in the way of food was packed into her
storehouses; the scanty stock of ammunition was carefully examined and
apportioned, so as to be used to the best advantage, and the little
garrison was divided up into four watches, of which Madame took command
of one, while Raoul, Joe and Jean captained the others, and then, as
Madame said:
"We have done all that we can. We now leave ourselves in the hands of
God."
Many days of suspense followed, and then the report came from a watcher
on the headland, that three large ships were approaching.
Raoul received it first, and hastened to his aunt.
"It is Charnace," she said. "The crisis has come. God grant us
strength and wisdom according; to our need."
Confident of an easy victory, Charnace sailed right up within
cannon-range, and, having anchored, sent one of his captains ashore
under a flag of truce to demand the surrender of the fort, coupling the
demand with the threat that, if not immediately complied with, he would
level the fort to the ground.
Raoul intently watched his aunt's face as she listened to the message.
He devoutly hoped she would not surrender, but he knew better than to
volunteer his opinion.
Madame listened gravely to what the captain had to say, and then, after
a brief pause, replied:
"Be good enough to say to Monsieur Charnace from me that until he has
laid the walls of Fort La Tour level with the ground, it shall not be
surrendered."
"I cannot but admire your courage, Madame, although I beg to doubt the
wisdom of your decision," responded the captain, bowing low, while
Raoul gave a cheer in which the others joined.
The instant the captain returned to the ship the flag of truce was
lowered, and with the crash and roar of the first broadside the battle
began.
Now among Madame La Tour's many accomplishments, was skill in the
firing of big guns. This she had acquired when a mere girl at La
Rochelle, and she had kept her hand and eye in by occasional practice
after coming to Acadia.
It was therefore but natural that she should direct the firing from the
fort, and so, posting herself in one of the bastions, with Raoul as her
_aide-de-camp_ to fly to and fro with orders, she pointed the first
cannon with her own hands.
[Illustration: "SHE POINTED THE FIRST CANNON WITH HER OWN HANDS."]
Charnace's own ship was her target, and the well-aimed shot went
straight to its mark, killing three men upon the crowded deck. A
second shot was equally effective, and then the whole fort broke forth
into flame, the iron missiles hurtling across the eddying waters, and
smashing into the bulwarks of the ships, or carrying away their masts
and rigging.
Right gallantly did Charnace return broadside for broadside, but his
cannon balls had little more effect upon the massive stone walls of
Fort La Tour than they would have had upon the rocky cliffs near by,
and Raoul laughed triumphantly as the round shot rolled harmlessly back
into the moat.
"Charnace can keep that up as long as he likes," he cried. "It won't
do us any harm, and it's wasting his powder."
The boy was in the highest spirits. Not a whit dismayed by the roar of
the cannon or the crashing of the balls against the ramparts, he stood
beside his aunt in the bastion, where she directed the firing as calmly
as though it were only some household task, or sped away to the other
parts of the fort to see how Joe and Jean were getting on and to
encourage them with cheering messages.
The heroic spirit which animated Madame La Tour had communicated itself
to the whole garrison, and there was not a man who did not feel
prepared to fight to the last gasp rather than surrender to the hated
Charnace.
As the cannonading went on, the damage done to the fort was trifling,
while the ships were suffering severely. The number of killed and
wounded grew rapidly, and the vessels themselves were becoming so
riddled with shot as to be in danger of sinking.
At last Charnace's situation became intolerable, and, consumed with
futile rage, he gave the order to retreat.
But this was not so easily carried out. The wind had shifted during
the fight, and now blew strongly from the east, so that the ships could
not get out of range without warping, and while this slow method of
movement was being resorted to, the fort guns continued their
bombardment, inflicting further damage.
At last, with great difficulty, and the loss of many men, the three
vessels were got around Bruyeres Point, and there run aground to
prevent them from sinking.
Raoul, accompanied by Joe, set off from the fort to follow the ships as
soon as they withdrew, and shouted gleefully after them:
"Ho, ho! Monsieur Charnace. Your spies did not do you much good, did
they? Surely you've learned a lesson this time, and will mind your own
business in future."
When he saw the ships run aground, he hurried back to the fort, and
actually had the hardihood to suggest to his aunt that a party, which
he offered to lead, should be sent out at midnight to try and set the
ships on fire ere they were floated again.
But Madame wisely refused to sanction any such rash enterprise.
"Charnace will not trouble us any more for the present," she said.
"Let him alone; as soon as his ships are repaired he will depart."
And so it proved. The holes having been hastily caulked, Charnace,
profoundly chagrined, yet grimly determined to try again, returned to
his stronghold at the Penobscot, and a few days after he disappeared,
Charles La Tour returned from Boston with an abundant supply of
munitions of war, and a strong party of men.
His joy at the successful defence of the fort, and his pride in his
heroic wife, was somewhat clouded by his disappointment at being too
late to complete Charnace's rout by capturing or burning his ships, but
Madame did not hesitate to reprove him for this.
"God has been very good to us all," she said, "and we cannot be
sufficiently grateful. Let us unite in thanking Him for His great
mercy."
And so a thanksgiving service was held in which all joined heartily,
and then followed a feast, the like of which Fort La Tour had never
seen before.
A month later, La Tour, having set everything in order, and put Simon
Imbert in charge in his place, took ship for France, his wife and Raoul
going with him. His purpose was to plead his own cause before the
French king, and to have Charnace enjoined from further hostility. In
this he was not altogether successful, and there were dark days in
store for both him and Constance.
But in these Raoul did not share, because he remained in France, where
a career unexpectedly opened for him. What befell him in the future,
his successes and failures, his joys and sorrows, his trials and his
triumphs, cannot be related here; but this must be told, that through
them he never was false to his Huguenot faith, and that he won for
himself a place of honour in the history of his country.
* * * * *
BEFRIENDED BY BRUIN
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
One of the noble families of Lorraine has a curious crest. It
represents a big black bear in an iron cage, and recalls the legend as
to the founding of the fortunes of the house, which runs somewhat in
this way.
Several centuries ago there lived in the city of Nancy a little
Savoyard named Michel, whose lot was certainly about as hard as a
ten-year-old boy could endure without giving up life altogether. He
was a homeless orphan, dependent entirely upon the alms of the
charitable, for which he begged through the stony streets. A more
pitiable appearance than he presented could scarcely be imagined.
Privation and hunger had blanched his cheeks and shrunken his form.
With his haggard face, half hidden by long disordered locks of a
slightly reddish tinge, his bones showing through the thin ragged
garments from which the sun and rain had taken all colour, he wearily
dragged himself barefoot from door to door, meeting with many a harsh
repulse, and but few kindly responses to his appeals.
His eyes alone showed any sign of spirit. They were of a deep blue
tint, and in spite of his sufferings, held a strange sparkle that
sometimes startled those who caught it.
At night, in company with some other street arabs of his own age, he
found shelter in a wretched cellar kept by a villainous old hag, who
made her lodgers pay nearly all they had, with such difficulty, begged
during the day, for the privilege of sleeping upon mouldy straw
pallets. The miserable place was draughty, damp and pestilential, but
it was the only lodging the poor boys could afford, and offered at
least some protection from the merciless cold of winter.
In that cellar there would only too often be heard through the hours of
darkness heart-breaking sobs that refused to be suppressed, or the
piteous moan, "I am so hungry, oh, I am so hungry!"
And sometimes in the morning, when the old hag would seek to clear her
cellar of its occupants, screaming at them and striking them with her
broom, there would be one who paid no heed to either screams or blows,
but remained motionless on his pallet, for he had passed into the sleep
that knows no waking.
Each day Michel grew paler, thinner, feebler, a cruel cough racking his
slender frame as he shivered in his rags and tatters. Every limb
ached, and sometimes it seemed to him as if he must lie down on the
snow to die.
Late one afternoon, crouched in the corner of the doorway of the Duke's
palace, and waiting for some one to pass by of whom he might beg alms,
he wept bitterly. He was starving and freezing, but nothing came his
way; yet to return to the cellar he did not dare. The old hag had a
flinty heart which nothing save money could soften, and he was without
a sou.
Overcome with despair at his condition, and horror at the thought of
spending the night in the street, he fell on his knees and, lifting his
tear-filled eyes to the darkening sky, put forth this pathetic prayer:
"O God in Heaven, take me to my mother!"
Just then a deep growl came from somewhere behind him and interrupted
his prayer. He sprang up and looked about him.
The street was silent and deserted. The snow fell softly. A grating
near the ground attracted his attention, and without stopping to
consider, he said to himself that possibly if he passed through it he
might find a good place to sleep.
He was exceedingly thin, and the bars of the grating widely placed, so
that he had no difficulty in squeezing through. But imagine his
consternation on finding himself face to face with an enormous black
bear, into whose cage he had thus ventured to intrude.
"Oh, oh, what's the meaning of this!" demanded the astonished bruin in
his own language.
He had just disposed of a good supper, and was feeling in particularly
good trim, when poor Michel so unexpectedly tumbled into his presence.
Angered at being disturbed, he made ready to demolish the impertinent
intruder with his mighty paw. The little Savoyard, pale and tearful,
kept perfectly still while he continued his prayer:
"O God in Heaven, take me to my mother, who went to you to beg for
bread for her boy----"
A hot breath played upon his cheek.
"O Lord..." he moaned.
He thought he was as good as dead, and yet it seemed to him that
something licked his face gently.
When, a few moments later, he realized that he was not being
devoured--that he was still unharmed--he opened his eyes wide and they
encountered those of the bear full of kindness and good humour.
This gave him courage. He got up. He patted the black muzzle of the
big creature, which received the caress with a murmur of pleasure.
The stress of the day had so exhausted Michel that the moment his
terror left him, he, with surprising unconcern, threw himself down to
sleep.
The bear, as if flattered by the confidence thus shown in him, regarded
him in a friendly fashion, then lay down beside him, almost completely
enveloping him with his warm fur, and so fell asleep in his turn.
Now this bear was no other than the famous "Mascot," who was maintained
at the palace as a representative of the Canton of Berne, in
recognition of the valuable services rendered by the Swiss to the
people of Lorraine in their struggle with the Duke of Burgogne.
Mascot was an important figure at the Court of Duke Leopold.
Everything possible was done for his comfort. He had his own
attendant, whose sole duty was to care for his person and to minister
to his every want. In his spacious cage he could move about freely and
swing at ease his heavy head.
Every afternoon he was visited by the courtiers, and sometimes even by
the Duke; but he troubled himself very little concerning the one or the
other. Indifferent to everything, even the ducal smile, he gazed
stolidly upon the folk, who did not interest him in the least. His
superb fur was greatly admired, but not his unsociable disposition.
And so he passed the days, promenading up and down his cage, swinging
his head to and fro for hours at a time, eating, drinking, and sleeping
in seemingly perfect content, and regarded with profound respect by his
numerous visitors.
On the morning after Michel made his way into the cage he awoke at
daybreak. Bewildered at his strange situation, yet delighted because
of the comfortable night he had passed snuggled up in the bear's thick
warm fur, he made haste to get out in the same manner that he had
entered, not forgetting, however, to give his kind host a hearty hug
expressive of his gratitude. He had no idea of losing so excellent a
sleeping-place by remaining in it too long and being discovered by the
bear's attendant. That day fortune favoured him in his begging, and he
was able to obtain the food he so sadly needed. As it was still very
cold he impatiently awaited the return of night in order to regain his
snug refuge.
On re-entering the cage the bear gave him a kinder welcome than the
first time, and henceforward the two were great friends. Every morning
the little Savoyard slipped away unseen, and every night returned to
his shaggy benefactor. Thanks to the comfort he then enjoyed, his
appearance began to improve. His shrunken limbs rounded out again and
the colour came back to his cheeks. But this could not go on
indefinitely. One fine day the bear's attendant was filled with
astonishment at finding a small boy sleeping beside Mascot, who was
licking him softly. He thought he must have lost his senses, when he
beheld the little fellow wake up and caress the fierce brute in his
turn without showing the slightest sign of fear.
His outcries attracted the attention of a groom, and he told the
strange news to a footman, who passed it on to the pages, and they
spread it about the palace so thoroughly that presently everybody,
including Duke Leopold himself, was hurrying towards the cage.
There they found poor Michel, weeping piteously and evidently in terror
of being harshly dealt with. Having soothed him with a few kind words,
the Duke ordered him to come out of the cage and explain himself. The
boy promptly obeyed, and, as best he could, told his story.
Touched by the recital of his sufferings, and animated by a worthy
determination not to be outdone in generosity by a bear, the Duke
offered Michel a place in his household.
The little Savoyard did not hesitate to accept, and presently found
himself in what seemed like paradise, after the miseries he had been
enduring.
Clothed in fine raiment and faring sumptuously every day, he soon
developed into a handsome lad. His spirit grew with his body. He took
an ardent interest in the sports and martial exercises of his
companions, and in due time he became the most expert of them all in
the use of bow and sword and lance.
Withal, remaining modest in manner, respectful to his superiors, and
devoted to the Duke, he rapidly rose in the latter's service through
the grades of squire, knight and count, until he came to be the second
person in the realm, and the founder of a family enjoying large
possessions and great influence.
Nor was he ungrateful to the animal which had befriended him in his
extremity. So long as Mascot lived he visited him constantly. Their
friendship never cooled, and when the one-time beggar was entitled to
choose a crest for himself, he gave orders that it should be a big
black bear in an iron cage.
LORIMER AND CHALMERS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.