The Lady of Fort St. John | Page 4

asked Marie. "The child would die
of exposure here."

The prisoner was taken to the other hearth; and the young officer, as he
closed the door, half smiled to hear his lady murmur over the wretched
little outcast, as she always murmured to ailing creatures,--
"Let mother help you."

I.
AN ACADIAN FORTRESS.
At the mouth of the river St. John an island was lashed with drift, and
tide-terraces alongshore recorded how furiously the sea had driven
upon the land. There had been a two days' storm on the Bay of Fundy,
subsiding to the clearest of cool spring evenings. An amber light lay on
the visible world. The forest on the west was yet too bare of leaf buds
to shut away sunset.
A month later the headlands would be lined distinctly against a blue
and quickening sky by freshened air and light and herbage. Two
centuries and a half later, long streaks of electric light would ripple on
that surface, and great ships stand at ease there, and ferry-boats rush
back and forth. But in this closing dusk it reflected only the gray and
yellow vaporous breath of April, and shaggy edges of a wilderness. The
high shores sank their shadows farther and farther from the water's
edge.
Fort St. John was built upon a gradual ascent of rocks which rose to a
small promontory on the south side of the river. There were four
bastions guarded with cannon, the northeast bastion swelling above its
fellows in a round turret topped with battlements. On this tower the flag
of France hung down its staff against the evening sky, for there was
scarcely any motion of the air. That coast lay silent like a pictured land,
except a hint of falls above in the river. It was ebb tide; the current of
the St. John set out toward the sea instead of rushing back on its own
channel; and rocks swallowed at flood now broke the surface.
A plume of smoke sprang from one bastion, followed by the rolling

thunder of a cannon shot. From a small ship in the bay a gun replied to
this salute. She stood, gradually clear of a headland, her sails hanging
torn and one mast broken, and sentinel and cannoneer in the bastion
saw that she was lowering a boat. They called to people in the fortress,
and all voices caught the news:--
"Madame has come at last!"
Life stirred through the entire inclosure with a jar of closing doors and
running feet.
Though not a large fortification, St. John was well and compactly built
of cemented stone. A row of hewed log-barracks stood against the
southern wall, ample for all the troops La Tour had been able to muster
in prosperous times. There was a stone vault for ammunition. A well, a
mill and great stone oven, and a storehouse for beaver and other skins
were between the barracks and the commandant's tower built massively
into the northeast bastion. This structure gave La Tour the advantage of
a high lookout, though it was much smaller than a castle he had
formerly held at La Hève. The interior accommodated itself to such
compactness, the lower floor having only one entrance, and windows
looking into the area of the fort, while the second floor was lighted
through deep loopholes.
A drum began to beat, a tall fellow gave the word of command, and the
garrison of Fort St. John drew up in line facing the gate. A sentinel
unbarred and set wide both inner and outer leaves, and a cheer burst
through the deep-throated gateway, and was thrown back from the
opposite shore, from forest and river windings. Madame La Tour, with
two women attendants, was seen coming up from the water's edge,
while two men pushed off with the boat.
She waved her hand in reply to the shout.
The tall soldier went down to meet her, and paused, bareheaded, to
make the salutation of a subaltern to his military superior. She
responded with the same grave courtesy. But as he drew nearer she
noticed him whitening through the dusk.

"All has gone well, Klussman, at Fort St. John, since your lord left?"
"Madame," he said with a stammer, "the storm made us anxious about
you."
"Have you seen D'Aulnay?"
"No, madame."
"You look haggard, Klussman."
"If I look haggard, madame, it must come from seeing two women
follow you, when I should see only one."
He threw sharp glances behind her, as he took her hand to lead her up
the steep path. Marie's attendant was carrying the baby, and she lifted it
for him to look at, the hairs on her upper lip moved by a good-natured
smile. Klussman's scowl darkened his mountain-born fairness.
"I would rather, indeed, be bringing more men to