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When two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusien May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take The ont by the other. Shakspeark. WELLS AND JLILLY, COURT-STREET. 1827. i 1 1 ' 1 ! 1 1 I J li' . . -^i»«P«WJ»W»i^r'''— Wff-I \A .\ /ll ..^-.yl T i ' l l i li I I1re;id aluiifr ibc shore, was eijually disrejiardL-d. Suddenly a con- fused sound of many voices burst upon his car, and hurried steps, as of persons in jdnrm and agitation, at once aroused him from liis reverie. At the same moment, a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder, and a voice exclaimed, with earnestness, "Are you insensible, Arthur Stanhope, at a mo- ment, when every man's life is in jeopardy .''" "My father!" re^ilicd the young man, " what is the meaning of all this excitement and confusion.^" " Do you not know ?"" demanded the other; " a* strange sail is approaching our peaceful coast; and, see ! they have unfurled the standard of popish France." "It is true, by heaven !" exclaimed young Stan- hope; *' and, look, father, yonder boat is flying be- fore them ; this is no time to gaze idly on ; we must hasten to their rescue." The vessel, which produced po much alarm, was. in fact, a French ship of considerable force, appa- rently well manned, and armed for offensive or de- fensive operations. The national flag streamed gaily on the wind, and, as it anchored just against Castle Island, the roll of the drum, and the shrill notes of the fife, were distinctly heard, and men wrere seen busied on deck, as if preparing for some important action. The little bark, already men- i ' IV wttaMtikauMMiA^ IMVALS 01' AC4U1A. 15 onsriouH ol' (lie nt l)(i8tlo, und a spr'jMti alnii;^ tlic ■liiultUiMly a cou- pon his our, and T\ and atliilation, t}. At the same on his shoulder, tncss, uhopc, at a nio- iopardy ?" p; man, " what is and confusion ?" J the other ; " a ceful coast; and, idard of popish ed young Stan- 3oat is flying be- ze idly on ; we nuch alarm, was. ble force, appa- offensive or de- flag streamed red just against , and the shrill leard, and men paring for some {, already mcn- ^e^ tioncd, was tilled, chiefly, with ft males and child- ren, bound, on an excursion of pleasure, to an isl- and in the bay ; and their terror was extreme, on thus encounteruig an armed vessel of the French, who had, on many occasions, shewn hostdity to the colonists, "^rhe l)<»at instantly tacked, and crowd- ing sail, as much as prudence would {)ermit, steer- ed across the harbor towards (lovernor's Island. But it had evidcinly become on object of interest or curiosity to the Trench ; their attefition seemed wholly engrossed by it, and presently a boat was lowered to the water, and an ofliccr, with several of the (;rew sprang into it, and rowed swiftly from the ship s nido. Tliey itnmediately gave chase to the ph'asure-boat, which was however considerably ahead, and so ably nmnaged, that she kept clear her distance ; and with all the muscular strength, and nautical skill of the enemy, he found 't impos- sible to gain upon her. In the mean tim«!, the alarm had spread, and spectators of every age, and either sex, thronged the shore, to witness this singular pursuit. The civil und military authorities prepared for defence, should it prove necessary ; a battery, which protect- ed the harbor, was hastily manned, and the militia drawn up, in rank and file, with a promptitude, not often displayed by the heroes of a train-band com- pany. For several years, no foreign or internal ene- my had disturbed the public repose, and the for- ijficctioQs on Castle Island gradually fell into de- J':^':'-T''^: liijirn iin.i -■'''^'«ij^>*>yy'n^?^fi^,'^'*i'ip\f^j^ft' ^ 16 niVALS OV ACADIA. cay ; and, from motives of economy, at tliis tinir not a single piece of artillery was mountcil, or a soldier stationed there. The enemy, of course, had nothing to oppose his progress, should he choose to anchor in the inmost waters of the bay. Governor's Island, however, at that niomrnt, be- (•anic the centre of anxiety, and every eye was fix- »}d upon the boat which rapidly neared the shore. Tlie governor, as was often his custom, had on tha! day retired there, with liis family : and, attended only by a few servants, his person was extremely insecure, should the French meditate any sinister design. In this emergency, three shallops were filled wiih armed men, to sail for the protection of the chief magistrate, and ascertain the intentions of the French. Young Stanhope was invested with ihe command of this little force ; and perhaps there was no man in the colony, who would have con- ducted the enterprize with more boldness and ad- dress. He had entered tiie English navy in boy- hood ; and, after many years of faithful service, was rapidly acquiring rank and distinction, when the unhi.ppy dissensions of the limes threw their blighting influence on his prospects, and disappoint- ed his well-founded hopes of still iiigher advance- ment in his profession. His father, an inflexible Puritan, fled to New-England from the persecution of a church which he abhorred, and, with the ma- levolence of narrow-minded bigotry, the heresy of the parent \\as punished, by dismissing the son mfrnfm^ ti ^w m f ^i niVALS OF ACADIA. n y, at this tini<' ! mounted, or u f, of course, had uld he choose to bay. luit niomrnt, be- ery eye was fix- eurcd the shore, [oni, had on tha! ; and, attended I was extremely ate any sinister 3 shallops were he protection of the intentions of IS invested with jd perhaps there ould have con- oldness and ad- h navy in boy- aithful service, stinction, when lies threw their and disappoint- igher advance- , an inflexible he persecution , with the ma- , the heresy of issrng the son t*. iVoin that honorable station, which his valour had Mttnined. Deeply wounded in spirit, Arthur Stan- hope rctuc'd from the service of his country, but he <:arii('d with him, to a distant lai , the aHection and esteeuj of his brother oUicers, — a solace, which misfortune can never wreat from a noble and virtU' uus mind. On the present occasion, Stanhope made his ar- ran«j;('n)ents with coolness and precision, and re- ceived i'roin every one, the most prompt and zeal- ous assistance. The alarm, which the appearance of iho' French at first excited, had gradually sub- sided ; but still there were so many volunteers in the cause, that it was diiricult to prevent the shal- lops from l)ein«» overloaded. Constables with their batons, and soldiers, with fixed bayonets, guarded tile place of (Mubarkation, till, at a given signal, the boats were loosed from their moorings, and glided i^ently over the waves. A loud shout burst from, the spectators, which was succeeded by a stillness so profomid, that, for several moments, the measur- ed dash of the ours was distinctly heard on shore. An equal silence prevailed on board the shallops, which were rowed in exact unison, while tiie men, wiio occupied them, sat erect and motionless as aiJtomntons, their fire-arms glancing in the bright siui-shine, and their eyes occasionally turnin^g with defiance towards the supposed enemy. Arthur Stanhope stood on the stern of the prin- ripnl vessel, ami beside him Mr. Gibbons, a yoang .>ywij^> •«l»« 'mmr 'w mg rinriiwui mtmmm Id BIVALS OF ACADIA. i 11 y man, who watched the progress of the pleasure- boat with eager solicitude, — for it contained his mother and sisters. It had then nearly reached the island ; their pursuers, probably in despair of over- taking them, had relaxed their efforts, i nd rested on their oars, apparently undecided what course to follow. " They are observing us," said Stanhope's com- panion, pointing to the French, " and I doubt they will return to the protection of their ship, and scarce leave us the liberty of disputing the way with them." ^ "They will consult their prudence, in doing so," replied Stanhope, " if their intentions are indeed hostile, as we have supposed." "If!" returned the other, "why else should they give chase to one of our peaceable boatc, in that rude manner ? But, thank heaven !" he added, joy- fully, " it is now safe ; se;. ! my mother has this moment sprung on shore, with her frightened band of damsels and children ! ah ! I think they will not now admire the gallant Frenchmen, as they did last summer, when La Tour's gay lieutenant was here, with his com{>liments and treaties !" ** I begin to think yonder vessel is from the same quarter," said Arthur, thoughtfully ; " Mons. de la Tour, perhaps, wishes to renew his alliance with us, or seeks aid to carry on his quarrel with Mons. d'Aulney, his rival in the government of Acadia." ** God forbid !" said a deep, rough voice, which 'J I RIVALS OF ACADIA. 10 )f the pleasurc- it contained his larly reached the despair of over- Forts, ind rested 1 what course to Stanhope's com- ind I doubt they their ship, and sputing the way ce, in doing so," itions are indeed else should they e boats, in that he added, joy- mother has this frightened band nk they will not , as they did last enant was here. from the same " Mons. de la lliance with us, el with Mons. ent of Acadia.'- ;h voice, which proceeded from the helmsman, " that we should have any fellowship with those priests of the devil, those monks and friars of popish France." .^ •' Spoke like an oracle, my honest fellow !" said I Gibbons, laughing ; " it is a pity that your zeal and discernment should not be rewarded by some office of public trust." " Truly, master Gibbons, we have fallen upon €vil days, and the righteous no longer flourish, like green bay trees, in the high places of our land ; but though cast out of mine honorable office, there arc fnany who can testify to the zeal of my past ser- vices." " I doubt not there are many who have cause to remember it," returned Gibbons, with a smile ; " but fcear a little to the leeward, unless you have a mind to convert yonder papists, by a few rounds of good powder and shot." This short dialogue was broken off, by an unex- pected movement of the French, who, after linger- ing, as in doubt, at some distance from the island, JBuddenly recommenced rowing towards it, and at Ithe same time struck up a lively air on the bugle, ^which floated cheerily over the waves. Soon after, their keel touched the strand, close by the pleasure- )oat, which was safely moored, and deserted by every individual. The principal oflScer then leap- ted on shore, and walked leisurely towards the house bf governor Winthrop. Stanhope aiso landed in a short time, and, with Mr. Gibbons, proceeded di- I ' » ■ " l ll lll ipl I •?»P" 'fstm iU IIIVALS OF ACADIA. ! 'J t I k I' t ^^ \ lectly to t!ie govornor's. The mansion exhibited no appearance of alarm; the windows were thrown open to admit the cooling sea-breeze, children sported around the door, and cheerful voices with- in announced, that the stranger, who had just pre- ceded them, was not an unwelcome guest. He was conversing apart with Mr. Winthrop, when they entered, and they instantly recognized in him, a lieutenant of M. de la Tour, who had, on a for- mer occasion, been sent to negociate a treaty with the magistrates of Boston. He was believed to be a Hugonot, and, on that account, as well as from the personal regard which his conduct and manners inspired, he had been treated with much attention, during the t'me that he remained there. Mons. de Valette, — so he was called, — had been particularly intimate with the family of Major Gibbons, a gen- tleman of consideration in the colony, and he quickly espied his lady in the pleasure-boat, which he discovered in the bay. Gallantly inclined to return her civilities, he endeavoured to overtake her, with the intention of inviting her aboard the ship, quite unconscious that she was flying from him in terror. But the formidable array of armed shallops, with the Qvssemblage of people on shore, at length excited a suspicion of tlie truth, and Ik determined to follow the lady to her retreat, to ex- plain the motives of his conduct. IJis apology was graciously accepted, and the late alarm became a object of general amusement. A. RIVALS OF ACADIA. 21 nansion exhibited lows were thrown •breeze, children erful voices with- who had just pre- 3ome guest. He Winthrop, when 3C0gnized in him. [lo had, on a for- iate a treaty witli as believed to be as well as from duct and manners 1 much attention, there. Mons. dc been particularly r Gibbons, a gen- colony, and he asure-boat, which antly inclined to J red to overtake 2 her aboard the was flying from c array of armed people on shore, lie truth, and he ler retreat, to ex- IJis apology was alarm became h De Valette also improved tiie opportunity, to prc- ipare governor Winthrop for the object of La Tour's [voyage to Boston. M. Razilly, governor-general [of the French province of Acadia, had entrusted [the administration to D'Aulney de Charnisy, and 5t, Etienne, lord of La Tour. The former he ap- pointed lieutenant of the western part of the colo- %iy, the latter of the eastern ; they were separated by the river St. Croix. La Tour al-o held posses- sion in right of a purchase, confirmed by the kin<('s patent ; and, on the death of Razilly, which hap- pened at an early period of the settlement, he claim- ed the supreme command. His pretensions were violently disputed by D'Aulney ; and, from that vtime, each had constantly soupht to dispossess the )bther ; and the most bitter enmity kept them con- tinually at strife. Both had repeatedly endeavour- ed to obtain assistance from the New-England colo- nists ; but, as yet, they had prudently declined to decide in favor of either, lest the other should prove a dangerous, or at least an annoying enemy. La iTour was, or pretended to be, a Hugonot, — which Igave him a preference with the rulers of the Mas- iBachusetts ; they had shewn a friendly disposition itowards him, and permitted any persons, who chose, |to engage in commerce with him. He had just re- Iturned from France, in a ship well laden with sup- Iplies for his fort at St. John's, and a stout crew, Ihvlio were mostly protestants of Rochelle. But he ^onnd the fort besieged, and the mouth of the river m fif^i ! ' * ses! ■mmmm mr 1 } RIVALS OF ACADIA. shut up, by several vessels of D'Aulnej's, vvlios* force it would have been temerity to oppose. >Te sailed directly to Boston, to implore assistance in. removing his enemy ; brinj^ino; with him a commis- sion from the kinsf. which established his authority, as lieutenant-general in Acadia. It was under these circumstances, that the French vessel appeared in the harbor of Boston, the inno- cent cause of 50 much plarni to the inhabitanvs. Governor Wijithrop heard the details and argu- ments of De Valette, with polite attention ; but he declined advancing any opinion, till he had con- sulted with the deputy, and other magistrates. He, however, desired Mr. Stanhope to return with the young officer to liis ship, and request M. de la Tour to become a guest at the house of the chief magis- trate, until his question was decided. •ttm .^^^ f'Aulnej'ii, wliosi' f to oppcse. He lore assistance ip V.\ him a commis- hed his authority, "s. that the French Boston, the inno- o the inhabitants. I details and argu attention ; but he i I, till he had con- magistrates. He, to return with the uest M.de la Tour »f the chief magis- ded. UIAALS OF ACADIA. csiM.v^'S'SL i: Fit me with such weeds As may beseem sonic well-repuled pnge. The tardy summer of the north burst forth in all s splendor on the woods and scattered settlements f Acadia, and even the harassed garrison at St. John's, revived under its inspirilir.g influence. La JTour had been compelled to return to France in flie autumn, for a reinforcement and supplies, leav- ing the fort defended only by a hireling force, l^'hich could scarcely muster fifty men, fit for active fervice. They v.'ere a mixture of Scotch and French, Frotestants and Catholics; their personal and reli- jjious disputes kept them at continual variance ; |nd the death of an experienced officer, who had |bcen left in command, produced a relaxation of Piscipline, which threatened the most serious con- sequences. The protracted absence of La Tour pecame a subject of bitter complaint ; and, as their tores, of every kind, gradually wasted away, they egan to talk loudly of throwing down their arms, nd abandoning their posts. In this posture of af- airs, the courage and firmness of Madame la Tour r - I \ *. f wmm 24 BIVAL8 or ACADIA. I' mm- t / alone restrained them from open mutiny. With an air of authority, which no one presumed to ques- tion, she assumed the supreme command, and es- tablhshed a rigid discipline, which the boldest dared not transgress. She daily witnessed their military exercises, assigned to every man his post of duty, and voluntarily submitted to the many privations which circumstances imposed on those beneath her. M. d'Aulney, in the mean time, kept a vigilant eye on the movements of the garrison. As spring advanced, his light vessels were sent to reconnoitre as near as safety would permit ; and it was evident that he meditated a decisive attack. Mad. la Tour used the utmost caution to prevent a surprise, and deceive the enemy respecting the weakness of their resources. She restricted the usual inter- course between her people, and those without the fort ; and allowed no one to enter unquestioned, except a French priest, who came, at stated times, to dispense ghostly counsel to the Catholics. On one of these occasions, as the holy father issueu from a small building, which served as a chapel for his flock, he encounterer the stiff figure and stern features of a Scotch Presbyterian, .whom the lady of La Tour, a protestant in faith, had received into her family, in the capacity of chap- lain to her household. It was on a Sabbath morn- ing, and both had been engaged in the offices ol religion with their respective congregations. Each ■%%'■ •^msmHm ««««*•-#•■■" [A. mutiny. With an jresumed to ques- ;ommand, and es- i the boldest dared sed their military his post of duty, I many privations n those beneath e, kept a vigilant rison. As spring ent to reconnoitre ind it was evident Eittack. Mad. la )revent a surprise, 5 the weakness of the usual inter- those without the ter unquestioned. 3, at stated tiraes, 3 Catholics. 8 the holy father hich served as a er the stiff figure esby terian, Avhom Bint in faith, had capacity of chap- a Sabbath nfiorn- in the offices ol regations. Eacli niVALS OF ACAUIA. 25 was passing on, in silence, when the Scot suddenly stopped, directly in the other's path, and surveyed him with an expiossion of gloomy distr-rt An I indignant glow flashed across the pale features of [the priest, but instantly faded away, and he stood pn an attitude of profound humility, as if waiting to learn the cause of so rude an interruption. In spite of passion and prejudice, the bigoted sectary ^Jjelt rebuked by the calm dignity of his countenance v%ind manner ; but he had gon. too far to recede, without some explanation, and therefore sternly ^aid, i " Our lady ada»its no stranger within these gates, ind wo be to the wolf who climbs into the fold in ihcep's clothing !" ■t '^ The priest of God," he replied, " is privileged by his holy office to administer reproof and conso- lation, wherever there is an ear to listen, and a heart 4o feel." ; "The priest of Satan," muttered the other, in a low, wrathful tone, "the emissary of that wicked iDnc, wIjo silteth on the seven hills, filled with all abominations." The priest turned from him with a look of min- gled pity and scorn ; but his reverend opponent caught his arm, and again strictly surveying him, exclaimed, " It is not tiiou, whom my lady's easy charity permits to come in hither, and lead poor deluded iwoiils astray, with the false doctrines of thv false O ■.■i,." tijaV. ,,ji>^1'"'i -"-'-rK-if -^anni I / 86 IIITALS OF ACADU. i! iv} religion ! Speak, and explain from whence thou contest, and what are thy designs ?" " Thy wrath is vain and impotent," said the priest, coolly withdrawing from his grasp ;" but tlie pre- cepts of my mastei :i humility, and I disdain not to answer thee, though rudely questioned. Father Ambrose hath been called to a distant pro- vince, and, by his passport I come hither, to feed the flock which he hath left." Stiil dissatisfied, the chaplain was about to pro- secute his interrogatories, but the singular ren- contre had already collected a crowd around them, and the Catholics, with the vivacity of their coun- try, and the zeal of their religion, began loudly to resent the inault offered the holy father. Voices rose high in altercation ; but as the worthy Scot was totally ignorant of their language, he remained, for some moments, at a loss to conjecture the cause of this sudden excitement. But the menacing looks which were directed towards him, accompanied by gestures too plain to be misunderstood, at lengtli convinced him, that he was personally interested, and he commenced a hasty retreat, when his pro- gress was arrested by the iron grasp of a sturdy corporal, from which he found it impossible to free himself. With a countenance, in which rage and entreaty were ludicrously blended, he turned to- wards the priest, whose earnest expostulations were addressed, in vain, to the exasperated assail- ants. The corporal kept his hold tenaciously. ( ' n..llMi»l« ■om whence tliou It," said the priest, jp ;" but the pre- ity, and I disdain idely questioned. 1 to a distant pro- ne hither, to feed was about to pro- the singular rcn- 9wd around them, ity of their coun- , began loudly to y father. Voices the worthy Scot age, he remained, ijecture the cause le menacing looks accompanied by Tstood, at length onally interested, It, wlien his pro- rasp of a sturd} mpossible to free 1 which rage and id, he turned to- t expostulations icasperated assail- lold tenaciously. IIIVAL9 OF ACADIA. w |uestioning him with a volubility known only to frenchmen, and, enraged that he was neither under- stood nor answered, he concluded each sentence rith a shake, whicli jarred every sinew in the stout frame of the Scotchman. It is doubtful to what extremes the affray might have been carried, as the Opposite party began to rally with equal warmth, for the rescue oi ihexr teacher ; but, at that moment, ft quick and repeated note of alarum sounded in tfieir ears, and announced some pressing danger. Thrown into consternation by this unexpected summons, the soldiers fled confusedly, or stood fjiupined, and uncertain what course to pursue. Nor was their confusion diminished, when Madame 111 Tour appeared in the midst of them, and, with a look, which severely reproved their negligeocet exclaimed, " Why stand ye here, my gallant men, clamouring with your idle brawls, when the enemy floats before our very gates ? fly to your posts, or stay and see what a woman's hand can do." The appeal was decisive ; in a moment every ■lan filled his proper station, and throughout the Jbrt, the breathless pause of suspense preceded the Sxpected signal of attack or defence. M. d'Aulney lad entered the river with a strong force, and owing |o the negligence of the sentinels, appeared sud- lenly before the surprised garrison. Emboldened )y meeting no resistance, he drew up his vessels Jlgainstthe fort, and incautiously approached withia I '. 38 BIVALS OV ACADIA. reach of the battery. Perceiving his error too late, he immediately tacked, and gave a signal to bear off, which was promptly obeyed by the lighter vessels. But before his own, which was more unwieldly, could escape, Madame la Tour seized the favourable moment, and, with her own hand, discharged a piece of artillery, which so materially damaged the vessel, that it was found difHcult to remove her from the incessant fire, which was then opened upon her. It was, however, effected ; but, though repulsed at that time, it was not probable that D'Aulney would relii\quish his de- signs ; and, apprehensive that he might attempt a landing below the fort, a double guard was set, and every precaution taken to prevent another surprise. Madame la Tour, till the last moment of danger, was every where conspicuous, dispensing her orders with the cool presence of mind, which would have honored a veteran commander. It was near the close of day, when she retired from the presence of the garrison, to seek repose from her arduous duties. In passing an angle of the fort, she was attracted by the sound of light footsteps ; and, as she paused an instant, a figure bounded from the shadow of the wall, and stood before her, wrapped in a military cloak, which completely enveloped its person. " Who are you V^ demanded Madame de la Tour. ' " I am ashamed to tell you," replied a soft, sweet ■<^.. [A. ; his error too late, | ) a signal to bcar d by the lighter which was more ic la Tour seized th her own hand, hich so materially found difficult to e, which was then owever, effected ; time, it was not reliiiquish his de- B might attempt a le guard was set, ► prevent another moment of danger, pensing her orders which would have It was near the )m the presence of rem her arduous the fort, she was botsteps ; and, as bounded from the fore her, wrapped tely enveloped its adamede la Tour. )lied a soft, sweet niVALS OF ACADU. 29 voice, which the lady instantly recognized; "but if you can forgive me, I will uncover myself, for, [indeed, I am well nigh suffbcated already." " Foolish child ! where have you been, and what 'is the meaning of all this ?" ' " I was coming to seek for you ; bui I lingered here a few moments, for, in truth, I have no fancy \o approach very near those formidable guns, \inless they are more peaceably disposed then they ^ave been to-day, and, now I must see if you Ibr- Igive my cowardice !" f With these woids the cloak was hastily unloosed, Ind the young page of Mad. la Tour sprang tightly from its folds. A tartan kirtle, reaching below the ^nees, with trews of the same material, and a High- i|and bonnet, adorned with a tuft of eagle feathers, gave him the appearance of a Scottish youth ; — but j&ie sparkling black eyes, the clear brunette com- plexion, and the jetty locks which clustered around his brow and neck, proclaimed him the native of a ivarmer and brighter climate. Half laughing, yet flushing with shame, the boy looked with arch limidity in his lady's face, as if deprecating the fexpected reproof; but she smiled affectionately oa |]im, and said, ; " I have nothing to forgive, my child ; God knows ,|his is but a poor place for one so young and deli'- iate as you, and I wonder not, that your cour ge is sometimes tested beyond Its strength. I would 3* i i * ^ * ^ 3a BIVALS OF ACADIA. ^ i\ D not wish you to share the dangers which it is my duty to encounter," " I should fear nothing could I really be of ser- vice to you,'- replied the page, " but, to-day, for instance, I must have been sadly in your way, and I am very sure the first cannon ball would have carried me off the walls." " The enemy would doubtless aim at so import- ant a mark," said the lady, «miling, " but go now, — your valour will never win the spurs of knighthood.'' " I am not ambitious of such an honour," he answered gaily ; " you know I am but a fair-weather sort of page, fit only to hover around my lady's bower, in the season of flowers and sunshine." " Mine is no bower of ease," said Mad. la Tour; " but with all its perils, I am resolved to guard it with my life, and resign it only into the hands of my lord. You have promised to assist me," she added, after a moment's pause, " and I wish you to redeem your word by remaining here till I return. I care not to trust the faith of those idle sol- diers, who, perchance, think they have done enough of duty to-day, and your keener eyes may keep a closer watch on the landing place, and sooner espy the motions of the enemy, who still hold their sta- tion below," " This I can do with pleasure," said the pogc, " and I am as brave as heart can wish, when there is no danger nigh. I love to linger under the open sky in the twilight of these bright days, which are so IIA. RIVALS or ACADIA. 51 ;ers which it la my I really be of ser- , " but, to-day, for r in your way, and ►n ball would have I aim at so import- g, " but go now, — irs of knighthood.'' h an honour," he 1 but a fair-weather around my lady's ind sunshine." iaid Mad. la Tour; jsolved to guard it into the hands of to assist me," she and I wish you to here till I return, of those idle sol- have done enough r eyes may keep a e, and sooner espy Jtill hold their sta- " said the page. I wish, when there er under the open days, which are so cheering after the damp fogs of spring, that I can ? hardly regret the eternal sunshine of my own dear France." " Well, do not forget my commission in your romantic musings," replied Mad. la Tour. The page promised obedience, and, left to him- elf, assumed the post of observation, retreating as Ifar as possible from *he view of the soldiers. The ;|soft and brilliant tints of twilight slowly faded away, land the smooth surface of the river gradually dark- §encd as its waves beat in monotonous cadence ^against the walls of the fort. A slight breeze, at ■intervals, lifted the silken folds of the banner, 'which drooped from the tall flag-staf^', displaying I the escutcheon of La Tour, surmounted by the arms X of France. Far up, the noble stream, on either ^side, was skirted by extensive intervals, covered I with the rich, bright verdure, peculiar to early summer, and occasionally rising into gentle accli- vities, or terminating in impervious forests. Tufts of woodland, and large trees scattered in groups, 4 or standing singly, like the giants of past ages, ^i spreading their broad arms to the winds of heaven, diversified the scene ; while here and there, the smoke curled gracefully from the humble cabin of the planter, and at times, the fisherman's light oar dimpled the clear waves, as he bounded homeward with the fruits of successful toil. A bright moon- v^ light, silvering the calm and beautiful landscape, I rjisplaycd the vessels of D'Aulney, riding at anchor /'\ 04 ,*J "lA •50 RITALS OF ACADIA. / 1 J ■ i li. below the fort, while a thin mist, so common in that climate, began slowly to weave around their hulks, till the tall masts and white top-sails were alone visible,^floating, like a fairy fleet, in the transparent atmosphere. The page had gazed long in silent admiration, when his attention was arrested by the appearance of a human figure, gliding cautiously along beneath the parapet on which he stood. His tall, attenuated form was clothed in the loose, black garments of a monk, and the few hi'rs which the rules of a severe order had left on his UiCovered head, were white as the snows of winter. A cowl partially concealed his features, his waist was girt by a cord of discipline, and, as he moved willi noiseless steps, he seemed counting the beads of a rosary, which he carried in his hand. The page was at first on the point of speaking, believing it to be father Ambrose, the Catholic missionary ; but a second glance convinced him he was mistaken, and with curiosity, mingled with a degree of awe, he leaned forward to observe him more attentively. x\fter proceeding a few paces, he stopped, and threw back his cowl, and as he did so, his eye encountered the page, whom he surveyed strictly for a moment, then turned slowly away, and disap- peared by an aperture through the outer works. The boy looked over the wall, expecting the return of this singular intruder ; nor was he aware how iixedly he remained in that position, till the touch ^n or "» .,_.. :a. RIVALS OV ACADIA. 3S JO common in that round their hulks, »-sails were alone in the transparent sed long in silent is arrested by the gliding cautiously which he stood, •thed in the loose, e few hi "rs which on his Ui'covered winter. A cowl ^lis waist was girt I he moved willi ig the beads of a hand. The page :ing, believing it I missionary ; but le was mistaken, degree of awe, more attentively, le stopped, and did so, his eye surveyed strictly iway, and disap- he outer works, cting the return he aware how >n, till the touch »f a hand, laid lightly on his arm, recalled him to recollection. Turning quickly round, he involun- tarily started back, on perceiving the object of his |curiosity close beside him. His gliding footsteps ind peculiar appearance awakened a transient feel- ing of dread ; but instantly repressing it, he ven- tured to raise his head, and as he did so, the clear jiglit of the moon Tell full on his youthful face, trhe stranger was about to speak, but as the page looked towards him, the words died away on his lips, his cheeks were flushed, and his cold features flowed with sudden and strong excitement. " Holy St. Mary, who are you .'"' he asked, in an "Recent of deep feeling, as he grasped the arm of |lhe trembling youth. « " I am called Hector, the page of Mad. la Tour," \Q answered, in a voice s rce audible from terror, md shrinking from the hand which held him. " May God forgive me !" murmured the monk to himself, as he relaxed his grasp ; while, evidently • by a strong effort, every trace of emotion was Jbanished from his countenance and manner. Hec- ^^^?|tor still stood before him, longing, yet afraid to flee, till the other, apparently comprehending his feelings, said, in a slow, solemn voice, " Fear me not, boy, but go, bear this message to the lady of La Tour. Tell her, that her lord hath 1^ already spread his homeward sails, and a few hours, I perhaps, will bear him hither. Tell her, that M, PI ^1 ' 1 <-;^ .-^ 'f 34 B1VAL9 OF ACADIA. d'Aulney will send to parley with her for surrender; but bid her disdain his promises or threats ; bid iier hold out with a brave heart, and the hour of succor will surely arrive." So saying, he turned away ; and Hector hastened to the apartment of his lady. V M m i !./ J TlIE morning j|)ert—tl lather A They he ipg with The jpas Iiis ^ften ca «nd amo tnr:il tha (vents, I 'he mys [ated hi Iccasion ["toning KIVALS or ACADIA. 65 mm for surrender ector hastened CHAPTSZl ZZZ. liernld, save thy labor ;. Come thou no more for ransom, gentle hern hi ; SiiAKsrEAns. The arrival of some fishermen on the following jorning confirmed the intelligence of father Gil- bert — the name by which the priest, who succeeded ither Ambrose, had announced himself at the fort. 'hey had eluded the enemy by night, and reported »at several vessels lay becalmed in the Bay of ^mdy ; and, though they had not been near enough ascertain with certainty, no doubt was entertain- I, that it was the little fleet of M. la Tour, return^ ig with the expected supplies. The holy character and mission of father Gilbert las his passport in every place ; and, as his duty kften called him to remote parts of the settlement, [nd among every description of people, it was na- iiral that he should obtain information of passing •vents, before it reached the ears of the garrison, ""he mysterious manner in which he had communi- iated his intelligence on the preceding evening, Occasioned some surprise ; but Mad. la Tour, in Istcning to the relation of her page, made due t VI mmm'^itmmm < > 36 R1V4LS OF ACADIA. / allowance for the exaggerations of excited fancy; and she was also aware, that the Catholic mission- aries were fond of assuming an ambiguous air, which inspired the lower people with reverence, and doubtless increased their influence over them. Till within a day or two, father Gilbert had never entered the fort ; but he was well known to the poor inhabitants without, by repeated acts of cha- rity and kindness, though he sedulously shunned all social intercourse, and was remarked for the austere discipline, and rigid self-denial to which he subjected himself. The spirits of the garrison revived with the ex- pectatioii of relief, which was no longer considered a matter of uncertainty. In the fulness of these renovated hopes, a boat from M. d'Aulney ap- proached with an officer bearing a flag of truce. He was received with becoming courtesy, and im- mediately shown into the presence of Mad. la Tour, In spite of his ci>ntempt for female authority, and his apatliy to female charms, a feeling of respectful admiration softened the harshness of his features, as the sturdy veteran bent before her, with the almost forgotten gallantry of earlier years. At that period of life, when the graces of youth have just ripened into maturity, the lady of La Tour was as highly distinguished by her personal attrac- tions, as by the strength and energy of her mind, Her majestic figure displayed the utmost liarmon} of proportion, and the expression of her reguhn ^. »I)V -€h lIA. ; of excited fancy ; | I Catholic mission- in ambiguous air, le with reverence,! fluence over them. Gilbert had never well known to the peated acts of cha- sedulously shunned 5 remarked for the -denial to which he evived with the ex- longer considered he fulness of these 1 M. d'Aulney ap- ing a flng of truce, f courtesy, and im- ice of Mad. la Tour, nale authority, and ecling of respectful less of his features, fore her, with the earlier years. At aces of youth have lady of La Tour her personal attrac- nergy of her mind, le utmost harmon} ion of her reguliii mVALS OF ACADIA. 37 nd striking features united, in a high degree, the sweetest sensibilities of woman, with the more bold nd lofty attributes of man. At times, an air of auteur shaded the openness of her brow, but it veil became her present situation, and the singular Icommand she had of late assumed. She received iflie messenger of D'Aulney with politeness, but the Jcold reserve of her countenance and manner, con- vinced him, that his task was difficult, if not hope- less. For an instant, his experienced eye drooped eneath her piercing glance ; and, perceiving her dvantage, she was the first to break the silence. ll "What message from my lord of D'Aulney," she ttsked, " procures me the honor of this interview .'' |>r is it too bold for a woman's ear, that you remain Mhus silent ? I have but brief time to spend in Hi^ords, and would quickly learn what brave service ||e now demands of me ?" % " My lord of D'Aulney," replied the officer, *f bids me tell you, that he wars not with women ; lliat he respects your weakness, and forgives the juries which you have sought to do him." " Forgives !" said the lady, with a contemptuous mile ; " thy lord is gracious and merciful, — aye, erciful to himself, perhaps, and careful for his oor vessels, which but yesterday shivered beneath ur cannon ! Is this all f" " He requires of you," resumed the officer, piqued y her scornful manner, " the restoration of those ^|•ights, which the lord of la Tour hath unjustly 4 Vi ««! d8 RIVALS OF ACADIA. \t} * ^'K i'V Iv usurped ; he requires the submission of this garri- son, and the possession of this fort, and pledges his word, on such conditions, to preserve inviolate tiic life and liberty of every individual." "Thy lord in most just and reasonable in his demands," returned the lady, sarcastically ; " but hath he no threats in reserve, no terrors wherewitli to enforce compliance ?" "He bids me tell you," said the excited messen ger, " that if you reject his offered clemency, you do it at your peril, and the blood of the innocent will be required at your hands. He knows the weakness of your resources, and he will come with power to shake these frail walls to their founda- tions, and make the stoutest heart within them trem- ble with dismay." " And bid him come/' said the lady, every fea- ture glowing with indignant feeling, and high re- solve ; " bid him come, and we will teach him to respect the rights which he has dared to infringe ; to acknowledge the authority which he has presum- ed to insult ; to withdraw the claims, which he has most arrogantly preferred. Tell him, that the lady of La Tour is resolved to sustain the honor of hei absent lord, to defend his just cause to the last ex tremity, and preserve, inviolate, the possession? which his king hath intrusted to his keeping. Go, tell your lord, that, though a woman, my heart h fearless as his own ; say, that I spurn his offered mercy, I defy his threatened vengeance, and t^ f I RIVALS OF ACADIA. 39 ion of this garri- L, and pledges his 3rve inviolate the l1." reasonable in his rcastically; "but terrors wherewith e excited messen- ed clemency, you d of the innocent . He knows tlic he will come witli 3 to their founda- within them trem- ie lady, every fea- ling, and high re- will teach him to dared to infringe ; ich he has presum- lims, which he has him, that the lady 1 the honor of hei luse to the last ex J, the possessions his keeping. Go )man, my heart ^ spurn his offered engcance, and t*^ Ood, the defender of the innocent, I look for suc- cor in the hour of danger and strife." So saying, she turned from him, with a courteous cesture, though her manner convinced him that any farther parley would be useless ; and endeavoring 'to conceal his chagrin by an air of studied civility, the dissatisfied messenger was reconducted to the :boat. I 'the vessels of M. d'Aulney left their anchorage *below the fort, at an early hour in. the morning; #)ut it was reported, that they still lay near the %nouth of the river, probably to intercept the return ^©f La Tour. The day passed away, and he did tlot arrive, nor were any tidings received from him. »^Iad. la Tour's page remarked the unusual dejec- ,^ion of his lady, and, emulous perhaps of her braver ^spirit, resolved, if possible, to obtain some infor- ^ination, which might relieve her anxiety. With this intention he left the fort soon after sunset, at- tended only by a large Newfoundland dog, which |nas his constant companion, whenever he ventured Ibeyond the gates. For some time, he walked slow- >ly along the bank of the river, hoping to meet with fsome fishermen, who usually returned from their ; labors at the close of day, and were most likely to have gathered the tidings which he wished to learn. The gloom of evening, which had deepened around iliim, was gradually dispersed by the light of the rising moon ; and as he stood alone in that solitary place, the recollection of his interview with the ■( ) ■i_ Viiiiii^'?-'''* -* '"^ri ^n^ 40 RIVALS OF ACADIA. ^ k ' ■( strange priest on the preceding evening, recurred to his imagination with a pertinacity, which he vainly endeavored to resist. He looked carefully round, almost expecting to see the tall, ghost-like figure of the holy father again beside him ; but there was no sound abroad, except the sighing of the wind and waves ; and the shadows of the trees lay unbroken on the velvet turf. From this dis- quiet musing, so foreign to his light and careless disposition, the page was at length agreeably rous- ed by the quick dash of oars, and in a moment he perceived a small bark canoe, guided by a single individual, bounding swiftly over the waves. As it approached near the place where he stood. Hector retreated to conceal himself in a tuft of evei-greens. from whence he could, unseen, observe the person who drew near. He had reason to congratulate himself on this precaution, as the boat shortly near- ed the spot which he had just quitted, and in the occup:int he discovered the dark features of a young Indian, who had apparently been engaged in the labor or amusement of fishing. Not caring to disclose himself to tlie savage, the page shrunk behind the trunk of a large pine tree, while the dog crouched quietly at his feet, equally intent on the stranger's motions, — his shaggy ears bent to the ground, and his intelligent eyes turned often in quiringly to his master's face, as if to consult his wishes and inclination. The Indian leaped from his canoe, the instant it 4. B1VAL9 0¥ ACADIA. 41 evening, recuireci lacity, which he looked carefully he tall, ghosi-likc beside him ; but 3pt the sighing of dows of the trees '. From this dis- ight and careless th agreeably rous- d in a moment he uidod by a single the waves. As it \ he stood, Hector uft of evei-greens, (bserve the person 1 to congratulate boat shortly near- quitted, and in the irk Matures of a tly been engaged ling. Not caring I, the page shrunk le tree, while the , equally intent on ; y ears bent to the turned often in 3 if to consult his inoe, the instant it touched the strand, and began hastily to secure it by a rope, which he fastened around the trunk of an uprooted tree. From his appearance, he be- longed to one of those native tribes, who, from constant intercourse and traffic with the French Acadians, had imbibed some of the habits and ideas of civilized life. His dress was, in many Irespects, similar to the European's ; but the embroi- j|dered moccasins, the cloak of deer-skins, and 'p)lume of scarlet feathers, shewed that he had not Ibltogether abandoned the customs and finery of tiis own people. His figure was less tall and ath- letic than the generality of Indian youth, and his Ifincly formed features were animated by an expres- ■jsion of vivacity and careless good-humour, very tliffcrent from the ui^tial gravity of his nation. The i)age looked at him with a degree of curiosity and Interest which he could neither suppress nor define. %Ialf ashamed of his own timidity, he resolved to iddress him, and seek the information he was so iJesirous of obtaining, if, indeed, he had been suffi- biently conversant with the French settlers to com- tiiunicate his ideas in that language. While he 'slill hesitated, the Indian had secured his canoe, and as he stooped to take something from it, lie began to hum in a low voice, and presently, ito the great surprise of Hector, broke into a Jively French air, the words and tune of which wore perfectly familiar to his ear. The dog also soomed to recognize it ; he started on his feet, 4* 42 BITALS OF ACADIA. ' ■< ii U listened attentively, and then, with a joyful bark, sprang towards the Indian, and began to fawn around him and lick his hands, with every demon- stration of sincere pleasure. " By our lady, you are a brave fellow, my faith- ful Hero," said the Indian, in very pure French, as he caressed the animal ; then casting a searching glance around, he continued to address him, '' But how came you here, and alone, to greet your mas- ter on his return ?" The page could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise, as he listened to the well-remembered voice ; but drawing his cloak more closely round him, and confining his dark locks beneath the tartan bonnet, which he pulled over his brow, he advanced nearer, though still unseen, and said in a disguised tone, "Methinks thou art but a sorry actor, to be thrown off thy guard by the barking of a dog ; it I had a tongue so little used to keep its own coun- sel, I would choose a mask which it would not so readily betray." " Thou art right, by all the saints," replied the other ; " and be thou f-iend or foe, I will see to whom I am indebted foT this sage reproof." So saying, he darted towards the place where the page was concealed, and Hector, hiding his face as much as possible, bowed with an air of profound respect before him. BIVAXI OV ACADIA* 48 fellow, my faith- pure French, as Lng a searching Iress him, " But greet your mas- an exclamation irell-remembered ire closely round ks beneath the ver his brow, he en, and said in a ry actor, to be ng of a dog ; it 3p its own coun- it would not so nts," replied the »e, I will see to eproof." he place where ctor, hiding his with an air oi " Ua ! whom have we here ?" he asked, survey- ing the page with extreme curiosity. " The page of my lady De la Tour ;" returned Hector, his laughing eye drooping beneath the inquisitorial gaze. " A pretty popinjay, brought out for my lady's amusement !" said the stranger, smiling ; " you make rare sport with your antic tricks, at the fort yonder, I doubt not, boy." " I am but a poor substitute for my lord's lieu- tenant, whose mirth was as far-famed as his cou- rage ;" returned the page, gravely. " Thou art a saucy knave !" said the other, quick- ly ; but instantly checking himself, he added, '' and ^^}iow fares it with your lady, in the absence of her fiord ?" I " She is well, thank heaven, but" — I " But what ?" interrupted the stranger, eagerly ; '*' is any one — has any misfortune reached her f" " None, which she has not had the courage to resist ; the baffled foe can tell you a tale of con- |stancy and firmness, which the bravest soldier night be proud to emulate." " Bravely spoken, my little page ; and your lady loubtless found an able assistant and counsellor in ou ! ha ! how fared it with you, when the din of attle sounded in your ears f " " Indifferently well," said the -page, with a sup- pressed smile ; " I am but a novice in the art of war. ut have you learned aught that has befallen us ?" 44 BIVALS or ACADIA. ■/ " A rumour only has reached me, but I hope soon to obtain more accurate and satisfactory inform- ation." " You will hardly gain admittance to the fort in that harlequin dress," said Hector; "and I can save you the trouble of attempting it, by answering all the inquiries you may wish to make." " Can you ?" asked the other, with an incredu- lous smile ; " then you are more deeply skilled than I could think, or wish you to be." " It may be so," returned the page, significantly : " but you will soon find that the knowledge which you seek tt gain, is as well known to me, as to any one whom you hope to find there." " You speak enigmas, boy," said the other, sharp- ly ; " tell me quickly to whom, and what you allude V " Go, ask my lady," said the page, with provoking calmness ; " I may not betray the secrets of her household." " You !" said the other, scornfully ; " a prett) stripling, truly, to receive the confidence of your lady." "If not my lady's," replied the page, " perhaps her young companion has less discretion in her choice of confidants." " Ha !" said the stranger, starting, and changing colour, in spite of his tawny disguise ; " what say you of Ac/? speak; and speak truly, for I shall soon know if thou art false, from her own lips." RIVALS OF ACADIA. 45 " Her lips will never contradict my words," re- turned the boy ; " but go, take the pass-word, enter the fort, and see — you will not find her there." " Not find her there ?" he repeated in astonish- ment, and with a bewildered air; then suddenly grasping the page's arm, he said, in no gentle tone, " Now, by my faith, boy, you test my patience beyond endurance ; if I thought you were deceiv- ing me" — He stopped abruptly, and withdrew his hand, as la laugh, which he could no longer repress, burst from the lips of Hector, and at the same instant the [heavy cloak fell from his shoulders to the ground. "What mountebank trick is this?" demanded Ithe stranger, angrily ; but, as his eye glanced over [the figure of the page, his countenance rapidly [changed, and in an altered tore, he exclaimed, " By the holy rood, you are" — " Hush !" interrupted Hector, quickly pressing his finger on the other's lips ; and, with a feeling of instinctive dread, he pointed to father Gilbert, who |vvas approaching, and in a moment stood calmly land silently beside them. As the young man turn- |Cd to scan the person of the priest. Hector hastily gathered his cloak around him, and before they pvere aware of his intention, fled from the spot, and [was fe on secure within the walls of the fort. The Ipretenaed Indian would have pursued, when he jperceived the page's flight, but his steps were ar- rested by the nervous grasp of the priest. i' 46 RITALS or ACADIA. ut \ 1 M'" t n f 3 " Loose your hold, sirrah !" he said, impatiently ; but instantly recollecting himself, ^dded, with a ges- ture of respect, " Pardon me, holy father, my mind was chafed with its own thoughts, or I should not have forgotten the reverence due to your character and office." " Know you that boy ?" asked the priest, in a tremulous voice, and without appearing to notice his apology. " I once knew him well," returned the other, looking at the monk in surprise ; " a few months since, we were companions in the fort of St. John's. But why do you question me thus ?" " Ask me not," returned tlie priest, resuming his habitual calmness; "but, ns well might you pur- sue the wind, as seek to overtake that light-footed page." " You have kept me till it is too late to make the attempt;" murmured the other; and, his thoughts reverting to what had just passed, he continued to himself, " A pretty page, truly ! and who, but a foe). or a mud-cap, like myself, could have looked at those eyes once, and not know them again .^" " You are disturbed, young man," said the priest, regarding him attentively ; " and that disguise, for whatever purpose assumed, seems to sit but ill upon you." " You speak most truly, good father ; but I hope to doff these tawdry garments before morning, it the saints prosper my undertaking." RIVALS OF ACADIA. 47 d, impatiently ; ied, with ages- ather, my mind )r I should not your character the priest, in a aring to notice ned the other, " a few months | irt of St. John's. !St, resuming his might you pur- ;hat light-footed late to make the nd, his thoughts j he continued to! who, but a fool. ] have looked at| m again t" " said the priest, hat disguise, for I o sit but ill upoiij iher ; but I hope jfore morning, it 1 '• Time is waning, my son, and that which you have to do, do quickly ; the dawn of day must not find you lingering here, if your safety and honor are dear to you." " You know me !" said the young man, surprised, " but I am totally unconscious of having ever seen you before." " I am not sought by the young and gay," re- plied the priest, *' but we may meet again ; yonder is your path," pointing towards the fort, " mine leads to retirement and solitude." With these words he turned from him ; and the young man, with hasty steps, pursued his lonely wav to the fort of St. John's. n 48 RIVALS OF ACADIA. GHAFTER ZV. I am sick of these protracted And hesitating councils : Lord Byiiow, The appearance of M. de la Tour at Boston, became a subject cT serious inquiry and discussion to the inhabitants of that place. Time had rather increased than mitigated the religious prejudices, which separated them from the parent country, and the approach of every stranger was viewed with distrust and jealousy. The restless spirit of fana- ticism and faction, curbed within the narrow limits of colonial government, gladly seized on every oc- casion to display its blind and pertinacious zeal. The liberal temper, and impartial administration of governor Winthrop, had been often censured by the more :>fj 1 Puritans, and his open espousal of La Tour's cause, excited much discontent and animo- sity. Though avowedly a Hugonot, there was rea- son to believe La Tour embraced the sentiments of that party from motives of policy, and it was ru- mored that he entertained Romish priests in his fort, and permitted them to celebrate the ritas ol their religion. This was sufficient food for passion RIVALS OF ACADIA. 40 iiiitl prejudice ; and though La Tour, and his prin- cipal officer, De Valetto, were entertained with the utmost hospitality at the house of the chief magis- trate, his cause obtained few advocates, and his person was, in general, regarded with suspicion and dislike. But the actions of Mr. Winthrop were always dictated by principle ; he was, there- fore, firm in his resolves, and the voice of censure or applause had no power to draw him from the path of duty. La Tour had always shown himself friendly to the New-England colonists ; but M. d'Aulney, who was openly a papist, had in several instances inter- cepted their trading vessels, and treated the crews in a most unjustifiable manner. He had also wrest- ed a trading house, at Penobscot, from the New- Plymouth colonists, and established his own fori there, unjustly alleging, that it came within the limits of Acadia. This conduct rendered him ex- tremely obnoxious, particularly to the inhabitants of the Massachusetts ; but his vicinity to them gave him so many opportunities of annoyance, that they dreaded to increase his animosity by appearing to favor a rival. With the most discordant views, and widely differing feelings, the magistrates and depu- ties of Boston convened, at the governor's request, to consult on the propriety of yielding to the wish- es of La Tour. A stormy council at length broke up, with the decision, that they could not, consist- ently with a treaty, which they had lately ratified 5 50 RIVALS OF ACADIA. :« with the neighboring provinces, render him assist- ance in their pubhc capacity ; neither did they feel authorized to prevent any private individuals from enlisting in his service, either on his ofler of reward, or from more disinterested motives. " We owe them thanks, even for this concession," said La Tour to his lieutenant; " and, by my faith, we will return with such a force as shall make the traitor D'Aulney fly before us to the inmost shelter of his strong hold ; — aye, he may thank our clemen- cy if we do not pursue him there, and make the foundations of his fort tremble like the walls of Jericho." " It must be with something more than the blast of a trumpet," returned De Valette ; " if common report speaks truth, h has strongly intrenched him- self in this same fort that he took from the worthy puritans, some few years since. In truth, I think we do them good service by avenging this old griev- ance, which they have so long complained of, and I doubt if we are not indebted in some measure to t^'» same grudge for the benefit of their assist*- ance." " I care not by what motives they are actuated," said La Tour, " as long as my own designs are ac- complished 'j and our chief concern, at present, is to take advantage of this favourable crisis, and, if possible, to get under sail, before the enemy hears Qf our success, and makes his escape." " Y«8," said De Yalette, " and before our friends RIVALS Of ACADIA. 51 have time to change their minds, and withdraw the promised assistance." " Why do you suggest such an idea .'"' asked La Tour, his brow darkening with displeasure ; " by heavens, they dare not provoke me by so gross an act of treachery !" " I do not think they intend it," returned De Va- lette ; " but you know there is a powerful opposi- tion to our interest in this good town, and if any of their worthy teachers should chance to hit upon a text of scripture which they could interpret against us, — farewell to the expected aid ! Nay," he added, laughing, " I believe there are already some, who fancy they see the cloven foot of popery beneath our plain exterior, and, if that should once shew itself, why, they would as soon fight for the devil, to whom they might think us very closely allied."^ " You forget, Eustace," said La Tour, lowering liis voice, and looking cautiously around, " that we stand on open ground, and a bird of the air may carry our secrets to some of these long-eared, cant- ing hypocrites ! but go now, muster your vdlun- teers as soon as possible, and our sails once spread to a fair wind, their scruples will avail them little." The apprehensions of De Valette were not with- out foundation, and his keen observation had de- tected symptoms of retraction in some who were at lirst most forward in their profters of service. The decision of the magistrates ? id been very generally condemned by the graver part of the community ; ,rif 53 KIVALS OF ACADIA. H^. its advocates were principally found among tho young and enterprising, who gladly embraced any opportunity to signalize their courage and activity. With these, Arthur Stanhope was conspicuous for his zeal and perseverance, though he had many dif- ficulties to contend against, arising from the inve- terate prejudices of his father. " It is a cause, m which we have no lot or por- tion," said the elder Stanhope, in reply to his son's nrguments ; " neither is it right that we should draw upon ourselves the vengeance of M. d'Aul- ney, by strengthening the power of a rival, who, perchance, hath no more of justice, or the king's favor, than himself." " The public," said Arthur, *' is not responsible for the act of a few individuals ; and the evil, if any exists, must fall entirely on our own heads." " Tt is an idle distinction, which the injured par- ly will never acknowledge," returned the father ; •' and I much wonder that the governor and magis- trates sutfer themselves to be blinded by such vain pretences." " We shall at least serve a good cause," replied Arthur, " by humbling the arrogant pretensions of a papist, — one who has set up a cross, and openly bowed before it, on the very borders of our terri- tory." " And are you sure that the adventurer, La Tour, is free from the idolatry of that abominable church ?'* asked Mr. Stanhope. niVAI.9 OV ACADIA. 53*. our tern- •' We should, I think, have the charity to believe so, till it is fully and fairly contradicted," said Ar- thur; " we know that the crew of his vessel are mostly protestants from Rochelle, and would they follow the standard of a popish adventurer?" " You are young, Arthur," returned his father, " and know not yet the wiles of the deceiver ; God forgive me, if I am uncharitable, but the testimony of many worthy persons goes to prove, that this, same La Tour hath openly employed a rfionkish- priest, dressed in the habit of a layman, as his agent in important concerns." " These persons may have been mistaken, father y at any rate, if we do sin, it is in ignorance, and wer are certainly not accountable for the errors of others." " So, doubtless, reasoned Jehoshaphat," his fa- ther replied, " when he was tempted, by a lying: spirit, to join with Ahab, an idolater, against Ra- moth-Gilead ; and was he not reproved for helping, the ungodly ?" "The cases appear to me widely different,'*' said Arthur ; ^* and, in the present instance, I think we only obey the dictates of Christian charity,, which enjoins us to assist the stranger in his did-^ tress." " You know my opinion, Arthnr," returned Iii9» father, "and I shall not prohibit you from follow- ing your inclination, bs you are of an age to act and' judge for yourself; but I reqtiire yoa to weigh the 6* 64 BITALS or ACADIA. r.'.M matter maturely, and not yield, without due consi- deration, to the impulse of an adventurous disposi- tion." Arthur Stanhope readily promised to deliberate, and decide with the utmost caution ; and the result of ihis deliberation was, to accept the command of a vessel of respectable force, which La Tour had taken into his service. Three, of smaller size, the whole manned by about eighty volunteers, com- pleted the equipment. Thus successful, M. la Tour sailed from Boston, expressing the utmost respect and gratitude to its citizens, for the friendly aid they had granted to him. The little fleet made a gallant show, spreading its white sails to woo the summer breeze, and bold- ly ploughing the deep waters of the bay. A part- ing salute rolled heavily along the adjacent shores, and was succeeded by the sprightly notes of a French horn, which floated merrily over the waves. The town, and its green environs, shortly receded, the distant hills faded in the horizon, and the eme- rald isles lay, like specks, on the bosom of the ocean. Soon, the blended sky and water were the only objects on which the eye could rest ; and Ar- thur Stanhope felt his spirits rise, as he again launched forth on the changeful element which he had loved from childhood. Nothing occurred to interrupt their passage, till they had advanced far up the Bay of Fundy, when the wind suddenly died away, and left them becalmed, within a few houfs mVALS Of ACADIA. 65 snil of the St. John's. This accident was a season- able warning to D'Aulney, who then lay near the mouth of the river, waiting for La Tour's return ; but, being apprized of his reinforcement, he pru- dently retreated from the unequal conflict. With the caution of experience, he successfully avoided La Tour's track ; and the latter, who felt already sure of his prey, had at last the vexation to disco- ver him, at a safe distance, and when the wind and tide rendered pursuit impossible. A thick fog, which soon began to rise, entirely separated them ; and approaching night rendered it expedient to an- chor, until the return of day. A report of M. d'Aul- ney's menaced attack on the fort had already reach- ed La Tour, though it was too confused to convey much information, or relieve his extreme anxiety. But he endured the suspense far better than his lieutenant, who made no attempt to conceal his vexation at the necessary delay. After pacing the deck for some time in silence, he suddenly ex- claimed to La Tour, " It is tedious beyond measure to lie here, becalm<> ed almost within sight of the fort ! and then so little relianoe can be placed on the flying reports which we have heard ! I wish, as nothing can, at any rate, be done to-night, you would allow me to push off in a boat by myself and reconnoitre with my own eyes." " And leave me to meet the enemy wii bout you i '"^^IV*^^, n 5G mVALS OF ACADIA. 7 j;4 'f f ' i kr strange in the morning ; — is that your intention r" asked Lft Tour, pettishly. " You do not ask that question seriously, I pre- sume f" said De Valette. " Why, not exactly, Eustace," ho answered ; " though I confess I think it rather a request to make just at this time." " Why so ?" asked De Valette ; " I would only borrow a few hours from repose, and my plan may be accomplished with ease; — nor shall you have reason to complain, that I am tardy at the call of duty." " I understand you now, my brave nephew and lieutenant," said La Tour, smiling; "you would play the lover on this moonlight night, and serenade the lady of your heart, to apprise her of your safe return." " There was not quite so much romance in my plot," replied De Valette ; " but if you permit me to execute it, I pledge myself to return before mid- night ; and though you are not a lover, I am sure you are far from being indiiferent to the intelligence whieh I may bring you." " Go, if you will, if you can in safety," said La Tour ; " though, could your impatience brook the delay of a few short hours, it would be well — well for yourself, perhaps ; for if I remember right, you could ill bear a look of coldness, and Lucie is not always lavish of her smiles." » ( k y \ : mi!. It* IIIVALS OF ICADIA. 87 >n f " asked Ln iously, I pre- 10 answered : ler a strange I would only my plan may lall you have at the call of nephew and "you would and serenade ' of your safe nance in my ►u permit me before mid- , I am sure intelligence ty," said La e brook the ! well — well sr right, you ucie is not " I fear it not," said De Valettc ; " she would not ^jreet me coldly after so long an absence ; and though you smile at my folly, I am not ashamed to confess my eagerness to see her." " She already knows her power over you but too well," said La Tour ; " shew her that you are indif- lerent — disdainful, if you like — and trust me, she will learn to prize the love, which she now pretends to slight." " The heart of woman must be wayward indeed," said De Valette, " if such is its nature or artifice ; but my hopes are not so desperate yet, and if my memory serves me truly, T have more smiles than frowns on record." With these words, De Valette threw himself into a small boat, and in a few moments reached the shore. He entered the hut of a half-civilized Indian, and to avoid being recognized by any of D'Aulney's people whom he might chance to en- counter, borrowed his savage attire, and in that disguise proceeded to the fort, near which he met the page of Mad. la Tour, as has been already related. ci V, i> 58 RIVALS OF ACADIA. W CHAPTER V. He that depends I'pon j'our favoins, swims uiili fins of lead, And liews down oiiks with rii&hcs. Flang ye I Trust ye ? With evtry minute you do change a mind. SflAKSPEARE. . I^i De Vale?te was true to his engagement, and before the p;omised hour, returned in safety to his ship. With tile Hrst dawn of day, the vessels were put in readiness to weigh anchor, and sail at a moment's warning. At that crisis, La Tour had the vexation of finding his plans well nigh frustrat- ed by the stubborness of his New-England allies. Alleging that *hfy were restricted by their engage- ment to see La Tour in safety to his fort, a large majority resolutely declined committing any act of aggression, or joining in an attack which might be considered beyoiid the limits of their treaty. Excessively provoked at what he termed their absurd scruples. La Tour sent his lieutenant to request a few of the leading men to meet aboard his vessel, hoping to prevail with them to relinquish their ill-timed doubts. He walked the quarter- deck with impatient steps, while waiting the boat'* BIVALS or ACADIA. 59 return, and even his French complaisance could not disguise the chagrin and anger which he felt. '• I have desired your attendance here, gentle- men," he said in a haughty tone, as they approached iiiin, " to learn how far I may rely on the services which have been so freely proH'ered to me." " As far as our duty to God and our country will permit, sir," replied one, whose seniority entitled him to take a lead in the discourse. " Mr. Leveret hath spoken rightly," said another ; " and I question if it is our duty to draw the sword when we are not expressly called to do so, and especially, as in this instance, when it would seem far better for it to remain in the scabbard." " I am ignorant," said La Tour, contemptuously. " of that duty which would lead a man to play the coward in a moment of difficulty, and tamely turn from an enemy, who has insultingly defied him, when one uflbrt can crush him in his grasp." " We are not actuated by revenge," returned Mr. Leveret ; " neither have we pledged ourselves to support your quarrel with M. d'Aulney ; but touch- ing our agreement to convoy you to your fort of St. John's, we are ready to fulfil it, ev?n at the peril of our lives." "These are nice distinctions," said La Tour, angrilyj; " and had you explained them more fully at the outset, I should have known what dcpend- •*ncc could be placed on your protection." ^ 60 BIVALS Of ACADIA. )] " We abhor deceit," said Mr. Leveret, calmly : " and that which we have promised, we are ready to perform ; but we are not permitted to turn aside from this design, to pursue an enemy who flees before us." " As our conduct in this affair is entirely a mat- ter of conscience and private opinion," said Arthur Stanhope, " I presume every one is at liberty to consult his own wishes, and follow the dictates of his own judgment ; for myself, I have freely offered to assist M. de la Tour to the extent of my abilities, and I wait his commands? in whatever service he may choose to employ me." " I expected this, from the honour of your profes- sion ; and the frankness of your character," said La Tour, with warmth; "and believe me, your laurels will not be tarnished, in the cause you have so generously espoused." " I trust, young man," said Mr. Leveret, " that you are aware of the responsibility you incur, by acting thus openly in opposition to the opinion of so many older and more experienced than yourself." " I have no doubt that many will be ready to censure me," returned Stanhope ; " and some, per- haps, whose judgments I much respect ; but I stand acquitted to my own conscience, and am ready to give an answer for what I do, to any who have a right to question me." " And the crew of your vessel ?" — asked Mr. La- veret. KIVALS OV ACADIA. 61 asked Mr. La- " I shall use no undue influence with any one," interrupted Stanhope ; •* though I think there is scarcely a man in my service, who is not resolved to follow me to the end of this enterprise." " We part, then," said Mr. Leveret ; " and may heaven prosper you in all your lauful undertake ings." " Your emphasis on the word lauful," returned Stanhope, " implies a doubt, which I hope will soon be discarded ; but, in the mean time, let as many as choose return with you, and I doubt not there will be enough left with us to assist M. de la Tour on this occasion." The conference wa? shortly terminated ; and it was amicably settled, that those who hesitated to depart from the strict letter of their agreement, should proceed in three of the English vessels, with M. de la Tour, to fort St. John's. De Valette and Stanhope were left in command of the two largest ships, with discretionary powers to employ them as circumstances might render expedient. The delay which these arrangements necessarily occasioned, was in oroved to the utmost by M. (I'Aulney. Convinced, that he was unable to cope with the superior force, which opposed him, he took advantage of a favorable wind, and, at an early hour, crowded sail for his fort at Penobscot. De Valette and Stanhope pursued, as soon as they were at liberty ; but, though they had occasional iflimpscs of his vessels through the day, they found 6 s^"' C2 mVALS OF ACADIA. Ld[v' , H n it impossible to come up with them. Night at length terminated the fruitless chase ; they were imperfectly acquainted with the coast, and again obliged to anchor, when day-light no longer served to direct their course in the difficult waters they were navigating. Morning shone brightly on the wild shores of the Penobscot, within whos<^ ample basin the vessels of De Valette and Stanhope rode securely at <. ;chor. The waves broke gently around them, and the beautiful islands, which adorn the bay, garlanded with verdure and blossoms, seemed /ejoicing in the brief but brilliant summer, which had opened upon them. Dark forests of evergreens, intermingled with the lighter foliage of the oak, the maple, and other deciduous trees, covered the extensive coast, and fringed the borders of the noble Penobscot, which rolled its silver tide from tiie interior lakes to mingle with the waters of the ocean. The foot- steps of civilized man seemed scarcely to have pressed the soil, which the hardy native had for ages enjoyed as his birthright; and the axe and ploughshare had yet rarely invaded the hunting grounds, where he pursued the wild deer, and rous- ed the wolf from his lair. A few French settlers, who adhered to D'Aulney, had built and planted around the fort, which stood on a point of land, jutting into the broad mouth of the river, and these were the only marks of cultivation which disturbed the vast wilderness that spread around them. \^: BIVALS OF ACADIl. 68 The local advantages of this situation, rendered it a place of consequence, and its possession hp.l already been severely contested. As a military post, on the verge of the En^^'ish colonies, its re- tention was important to the French interest in Acadia; and the extensive commerce it opened with the natives in the interior, through the navi- gable streams, which emptied into the bay, was a source of private emolume«?t, that D'Aulney was anxious to secure. To retain these advantages, he wished to avoid an engagement with La Tour, whose newly acquired strength rendered him, at that time, a formidable opponent. He was, there- fore, anxious to preserve his small naval force from destruction, and, for that purpose, he found it ne- cessary to run his vessels into shallow water, where the enemy's heavier ships could not follow. This plan was accomplished during the night; and when De Valette and Stanhope approached the fort, at an early hour, they were surprised to find that D'Aulney had drawn his men on shore, and thrown up intrenchments to defend the land- ing-place. Though baffled in their first design by this artifice, they were but the more zealous to effect some object which might realize the expec- tations of La Tour. With this intention, they passed up the narrow channel to the north of the peninsula, in boats ; and landing a portion of their men, attacked M. d'Aulney in his intrenchments. The assault was so sudden and determined, that I\ ' ! 04 UtVALS OV A(!AXIIA. cvory obstacle yicMod to its impetuosity, nixi O'Aulney in vftin cmleavoictl to rally liis soldicis. who (\ed in confusion to the shelter of the fort, leoving Hcveral of their number deail ami vvouml- ed in the trenches. Convinced, that it would be vashn^sa to pursue, ns the fort was well nuuined, and eopabic of strong resistonee, the yoimg oHi- ecrs drew ot^" their men in good order, and riHurn- ed to their vessels without the loss of an individual. They remained in the boy of reiu>bscot for several days, when, cotivineed that nothing nuire could be done ot that time, they thought it a RIVALB OT ACADIA. n " It would bo well for thee to hearken to him, boy ; and perchance it might prove a word in sea- son to thy souPm refreshment." *• It has Romctimcs proved a refreshment to my body," said the boy ; " h's exhortations are pj) ravishing, that they are apt to lull one to sound repose." " Thou ort a flippant youth !" said the cho plain, stopping abruptly, and speaking in an accent of displeasure. " But I pity thy delusion," he added, after a brief pause, " and bid thee remember, that if thou hast access to the word, and turnest from it, thou can'st not make the plea of ignorance, in extenuation of thy crime." " It is no fault in me to believe as I have been taught," said the boy, sullenly ; " and it would ill become me, to dispute the doctrines which I have received from those who have a claim on my re- spect and obedience." "They are evil doctrines, child ; perverse heresies to lead men astray, into the darkness of error and idolatry." " I could not have believed it !" answered the other, gravely ; '* I thought I was listening to the truth, from the lips of my lady's chaplain." " And who says, that I do not teach the truth ? I, who have made it my study and delight from my youth upwards ?" " Not I, truly ; but your reverence chides me for believing in error, when my belief is daily confirm- ed by your own instructions and example." ( > i# l! 72 BIVALS OF ACADIA. " Who arc you, that presumes to say so ? and, with these vestments of Satan on your back, to bear witness to your falsehood?" demanded the chaplain. " Now may the saints defend me from your anger ! I did not mean to oftend," said the boy, shrinking from his extended hand, and bending his head, as if to count the beads of a rosary which hung around his neck. " Did / teach you this mummery .?" resumed the irritated Scot ; " did I teach you to put on those robes of the devil, and hold that lighted torch to him, as you have but now done ? " I crave your pardon," returned the boy ; " I thought it was my lady's chaplain, whom I was lighting across the yard, but your reverence knows the truth better than 1 do. As he spoke, he waved the torch on high, and the light fell full upon the excited features of Mr. Broadhead. A laugh from De Valette, who had, unobserved, drawn near enough to overhear them, startled both, and cliccked the angry reply, which was bursting from the chaplain's lips. He surveyed the intruder a moment in stubborn silence, then quietly retreated ; probably aware, from former ex- perience, that the gay young Catholic had not much veneration for his person or character. The boy hastily extinguished his torch, murmuring, in a low voice, — 1) I' .^ ^. BIVAXS OF ACADIA. rs " His reverence may find his way back in the dark, as he best can ; and it will be well if he does not need the light of my torch, before he is safe in his quarters : light the devil, indeed ! he took good care not to think of that, till be had served his own ' purpose with it !" " What are you muttering about, boy ?" asked De Valette. " About my torch, and the devil, and other good Catholics, please your honor," he answered, with a low bow. " Have a care, sirrah !" said De Valette ; " I allow no one, in my presence, to speak disrespectfully of the religijon of my country." " It is a good cloak," returned the boy ; " and I would not abuse a garment, which has just been serviceable to me, however worthless it may be, in reality." " It may have been worn by scoundrels," said Dc Valette ; " but its intrinsic value is not diminished on that account. Would you intimate that you have assumed it to answer some sinister design .^" " And, supposing I have," he asked ; " what, then r " Why, then you are a hypocrite." " It is well for my lord's lieutenant to speak of hypocrisy," said the boy, laughing ; " it is like Satan preaching sanctity ; tell the good puritans of Boston, that the French Hugonot who worshipped 7 * / 0^ im^AsaiL i 74 niVAI^S OIP AOADIl* 4 \ in their conventicle with so much decorum, is a papist, and what, think you, would they say ?" " Who are you, that dares speak to me thus r" asked De Valette, angrily. '"' That is a question, which I do not choose to answer ; I care not to let strangers into my secret counsels." " You are impertinent, boy ;" said De Valette, " yet your bearing shews that you have discernment enough to distinguish between right and wrong, and you must be aware that policy sometimes ren- ders a disguise expedient, and harmless too, if neither honour or principle are compromised." " I like a disguise, occasionally, of all things," said the boy, archly ; " are you qu'ck at detecting one r " Sometimes I am," returned De Valette ; " but — now, by my troth," he exclaimed, starting, and gazing intently on him, *' is it possible, that you have again deceived me .''" " Nothing more likely," answered^ the other, carelessly ; " but, hush ! M. de la Tour, and the stranger with him, are observing us. See ! they come this way : not a word more, if you have an) wish to please me." " Stay but one moment," said De Valette, grasp- ing his arm ; " I must know for what purpose you are thus attired." " Well, release me, and I will tell you the whole truth, though you might suppose it was merely RIVALS Olf ACABIA. 75 Iccorum, is c By say ?" to me thus ?" ^me idle whim. I wished to see Annette mar- ried, and as Mad. de la Tour thought it would be out of character for her page to appear in a Catho- lic assembly, I prevailed on a boy, whom father Gilbert had selected to officiate in the ceremony to transfer his dress and office to me : this is all ; — and now are you satisfied ?" " Better than I expected to be, I assure you ; but, for the love of the saints, be careful, or this whimsical fancy of your's may lead to some unplea- sant consequences." " Never fear ; I enjoy this Proteus sort of life extremely, and you may expect to see me in some new shape, before long." " Your own shape is far better than any you can assume," said De Valette ; " and by these silken locks, which, if I had looked at, I must have known, you cannot impose on me again." "Twice deceived, beware of the third time," said the page, laughing ; and, breaking from De Valette, he was in p moment on the threshold of the door. '' Here is a newly made priest, as I live !" said La Tour, catching the page by his arm, and draw- ing him back a few paces. " But methinks your step is too quick and buoyant, my gentle youth, for your vocation." The page made no reply, but drooping his head, suflered a profusion of dark ringlets to fall over Im face, as if purposely to conceal his features. 76 KirAXS OV ACADIA. H) ?^ "This would be a pretty veil for a girl," said La Tour, parting the hair from his forehead ; " but, by my troth, these curls ar^ out of place, on the head of a grave priest ; the shaved crown would better become a disciple of the austere father Gilbert.— What, mute still, my little anchorite f Speak, if thou hast not a vow of silence on thee !" " And if I have," said the page, pettishly, " I must break it, though it should cost me a week's penance !" " Ha! my lady's soi-disant page !" exclaimed La Tour, struck by the sound of his voice, — which, in the excitement of the moment, he had not attempt- ed to disguise, — and drawing him towards a lamp, he bent his searching eye full upon the boy's face. *' I pray you let me begone, my lady waits for me," said the page, impatiently. " A pretty, antic trick !" continued La Tour, withou; iegarding his entreaty, "and played off, no doubt, for some sage purpose ! Look, Eustac^!" he added, laughing, " but have a care, that you do not become enamoured of the holy order 1" " Look, till you are weary !" said Hector, red- dening with vexation ; and dashing his scarf and rosary to the ground, he hastily unfastened the col- lar of his long, black vest, and throwing it from him, stood before them, dressed as a page, in proud and indignant silence. " Why, you blush like a girl, Hector," spid La Tour, tauntingly ; " though I think, by the flashing KIVALS OF ACADIA. 77 of your eye, it is rather from anger, than shame. Look, Mr. Stanhope, what think you of our «rentle page, and ci-nevdnt priest ?" Mr. Stanhope was regarding him, with an atten- tion, which rendered him heedless of the question ; he met the eye of Hector, and instantly the boy's cheeks were blanched with a deadly paleness, which was rapidly followed by a glow of the deep- est crimson. An exclamation trembled on Stan- hope's lips, but he forcibly repressed it, and his embarrassment wa? unremarked. De Valette had noticed Hector's changing complexion, and, ;jatu- raily attributing it to the confusion occasioned by a stranger's presence, he took las hand with an ex- pression of kindness, though greatly surprised to feci it tremble within his own. " Why," asked De ValeUe, " are you so powerful- ly agitated f " " I am not agitated," said Hector, starting as from a dream ; " I was vexed, — that is all ; but it is over now," and resuming his usual gaiety of manner, he turned to La Tour, and added, " I have played my borrowed part long enough for this evening, and if your own curiosity is satis- fied, and you have amused your friends sufficiently at my expense, I will again crave permission to retire." " Go," said La Tour, — " go and doff your foolish disguises ; it is, indeed, time to end this whimsical farce." 7^ *-t*-^ 78 RITAX.S OF ACADIA. f M "I shall obey you," returned the page; and gladly retreated from his presence o Fort St. John's, on that evening, presented a scene of unusual festivity. La Tour permitted his soldiers to celebrate the marriage of their comrade, and their mirth was tb'o more exuberant, from the privations they had of late endured. Even the joy, which the return of their commander naturally in- spired, had been prudently repressed, while the New-England vessels were unlading their supplies, from respect to the peculiar feelings of the people who had afforded them so much friendly assistance. These vessels had left the fort, on the morning of that day ; and their departure relieved the garrison from a degree of restraint, to which they were wholly unaccustomed. La Tour remained conversing with Arthur Stan- Iiope, where the page, who was soon followed by Oc Valette, had left them, till a message from his lady requested their presence in her apartment. The scene without, was threatening to become one of noisy revel. Many of the soldiers had gathered around a huge bonfire, amusing themselves with a variety of games ; and, at a little distance, a few females, their wives and daughters, were collected on a plat of grass, and dancing with the young men, to the sound of a violin. The shrill fife, the deep-toned drum, and noisy bag-pipe, occasional- ly swellca the concert ; though the monotonous strains of the latter instrument, by which a few RIVALS or ACllDTA. 79 ' sliirJy Scots performed their national dance, were not always in pertect unison with the gay strains of the light-hearted Frenchmen. Here and there, a gloomy Presbyterian, or stern Hugonot, was ob- served, stoalinj; along at a cautious distance from these cheerful groups, on which he cast an eye of aversion and distrust, apparently afraid to venture within the circle of such unlawful pleasures. " Keep a sharp eye on these mad fellows, Ro- nald," said La Tour to the sentinel on duty; "and, if there is any disturbance, let me know it, and, hcshrew me, if they have another holiday to make merry with !'* " Your honor shall be obeyed," said the sentinel, in r. surly tone. " See you to it, then," continued La Tour ; " and 1)0 sure that none of those English pass the gates to-night. And have a care, that you do not ne- i^lect my orders, when your own hour of merriment arrives." " I have no lot nor portion in such things," said Uonald, gruffly ; *' for, as the scripture saith" — ^ " Have done with your texts, Ronald," interrupt- od La Tour ; " you Scots arc forever preaching, when you ought to practice ; your duty is to hear and obey, and I require nothing more of you." liiJo saying, he turned away, leaving the guard to the solitary indulgence of his thoughts, which the amusements of that evening had disturbed, in no ordinary degree. ^■^■4 \i 'ii. i ) 30 EIVALS OV AOIDIA. fo.:" Mad. de la Tour, had condescended to entertain the bride and bridegroom at her own house ; and permitted such of their companions as were in- clined, to join them on the festive occasion. These were sufficient to form a cheerful group ; apart from them, Mad. la Tour was conversing with De Va- lette, and a lovely girl, who seemed an object of peculiar interest to hin , when La Tour entered the room with N Fianliope. " I bring ) a \ ^nd, to whose services we arc much indebtea, * said Li Tour to his lady ; "and 1 must request your assistance, in endeavoring to render this dreary place agreeable to him." " I shall feel inclined to do all in my power, from selfish motives," returned the lady, " inde- pendently of our personal obligations to Mr. Stan- hope ; and, I trust, it is unnecessary to assure him, that we shall be most happy to retain him as our guest, so long as his inchnation will permit him to remain." Stanhope returned a polite answer to these civili- ^ ties ; but his thoughts were abstracted, and his eyes continually turned towards the young lady, whose blushing face was animated by an arch smile of peculiar meaning. La Tour observed the slight confusion of both, but, attributing it to another cause, he said, " Allow me, Mr. Stanhope, to present you to my ftiir ward. Mademoiselle de Courcy, whom, I per- ceive, you have already identified with the priest.. .f BIYAT.S 07 ACADIA. 8^ and page, who acted so conspicuous a part this evening." ' My acquaintance with Mr. Stanhope is of a much longer date," she said, quickly, and rising to otTer him her hand, with an air of frankness, which, however, could not disguise a certain conscious- ness, which sent the tell-tale blood to her cheeks. " It has been far too long," said Stanhope, his countenance glowing with delight, " to suffer me to be deceived by a slight disguise, though nothing could be more unexpected to me, than the happi' ness of meeting with you here." *' My aunt looks very inquisitive," said the young lady, withdrawing her hand ; and, turning to Mad. de la Tour, she continued, •' I have been so fortu- nate as to recognize an ol*-•» RITALS OF ACADIA. 8S I (]cem*d that time, I deemM that pride Had quench^ at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in nil, save hope, the same. Lord Btro.v. " Then you do not think Mademoiselle de Courcy very beautiful?" asked De Valette, detaining Stan- liope a moment after the family had retired. " Not exactly beautiful," replied Stanhope ; •' though she has, — what is in my opinion far more captivating, — grace, spirit, and intelligence, with beauty enough, I allow, to render her — " *' Quite irresistible, you would say !" interrupted De Valette ; " but, in good truth, I care not to hear you finish the sentence, with such a lover-like panc- I" gyric " Your admiration of her is very exclusive," said Stanhope, smiling ; '' but you should not ask an opinion, which you are not willing to hear candid- ly expressed." " I have no fear of the truth," answered De Va- lette ; *' and, after a voluntary absence of two years, on your part, I can scarcely suspect you of feeling a verv tender interest in the ladv." 1 4 i 84 BIT ALB OF ACADIA. " Your inference is not conclusive," returned Stanhope ; " and I should much doubt the truth of that love, or friendship, which could not withstand the trial of even a more prolonged absence." ** I suspect there are few who would bear that test," said De Valette, who evidently wished to pe- netrate the real sentiments of Stanhope; "and one must have perseverance, indeed,^ who can remain constant to Lucie, through all her whims and dis- guises. i( }> Her gaiety springs from a light and innocent heart," replied Stanhope ; " and only renders her more piquant and interesting; — but, speaking ot disguises, -how long, may I ask, has she played the pretty page, and for what purpose was the cha- racter assumed ?" '* It was at the suggestion of Mad. de la Tour, I believe, and Lucie's love of frolic induced her rea- dily to adopt it. You know the fort was seriously threatened before our return ; and Mad. do la Tour, who had few around her in whom she could con- fide, found her little page extremely useful, in exe- cuting divers commissions, which, in her feminine attire, could not have been achieved with equal propriety." " 1 do not think a fondness for disguise is natu- ral to her," said Stanhope ; " though she j-eems to have suppckted her borrowed character with consi- derable address." *' Yes, she completely deceived mc. at first ; and ^ « tLi-mi IIIVILS OF ACADIA. 86 re" returned (I the truth of not withstand * sence." uld bear that wished to po- pe ; " and one \\o can remain krhims and dis- L and innocent ly renders her ,, speaking oi las she played e was the cha- de la Tour, 1 uced her rea- was seriously |ad. dclaTour, he could con- useful, in exe- her feminine id with equal Isguisc is natu- she ir'eems to Lev with consi- N at first ; ainl tiiis evening, I again lost the use of my senses, and mistook her for the sauciest knave of a priest, that ever muttered an ave-marie." " Long as it is, since I have seen her," said Stan- hope, " I think I could have sworn to that face and voice, under any disguise." '' You obtained a full view of her features, at once," said De Valette ; " when I first met her, they were carefully shaded by a tartan bonnet, and she entirely altered the tones of her voice ; and this evening, again, she would scarcely have been recognized in the imperfect light, had she not suf- fered her vexation to betray her. But the night wanes, and it is time for us to separate ; I must go abroad, and see that all things are quiet and in or- der, after this unusual revelling." De Valette then quitted the house, and Stanhope gladly sought the solitude of his own apartment, where he could reflect, at leisure, on the agitating events of the few last hours. He walked to and fro, with rapid steps, till, exhausted by his excite- ment, he threw himself beside an open window, and endeavoured to collect the confused ideas, which crowded on his mind and memory. The noise of mirth and music had long since passed away, and the weary guard, who walked his dull round of duty in solitude and silence, was the only living object which met his eye. No sound was abroad, but the voice of the restless stream, which ;ilittored beneath the rising moon ; — the breath of 8 86 UIVALS OF ACADIA. 1 -1 ^ llfl } midnight fanned him with its refreshing coohiess, and the calm beauty of that lonely hour gradually soothed his restless spirits. He had encountered the object of a fond and cherished attachmert, but under circumstances of perplexity and 4oubt, which marred the pleasure of that unexpected meeting. More than two years had elapsed si^ice he first saw Luci^ de Courcy, then residing ui the north of England, whither she had accompanied a maternal aunt, the widow of an Englishman of rank and fortune. Madame Ross- ville, who was in a declining state of health, had yielded to the importunity of her husband's con- nexions, and left her native land for the summer months, hoping to receive benefit from change of scene and climate. She had no children, and Luci^, whom she adopted in infancy, was dear to her, as a daughter could have been. They resided at a short distance from the elder Mr. Stanhope ; and the strict Hugonot principles of the French invalid interested the rigid puritan, and led to a friendly intimacy between the families. \rthur Stanhope had then just retired from his profession, and the chagrin and disappointment, which at first depressed his spirits, gradually yielded to the chorm whirli led him daily to the Ijousc of Mad. Rossville. Constant intercourse and familiar acquaintance strengthened the influence, whicli Lucia's sweetness and vivacity had created, and he soon ioved her with the fervor and purity of n youn;i * BIVAL8 or kCknik, %t and unsophisticated heart. Yet he loved in silence, — for his future plans were frustrated, his ambitious hopes were blighted ; a writ of banishment and pro- scription hung over his father's house, and what had he to offer to one endowed by nature and for- tune with gifts, which ranked her with the proudest and noblest in the land ! But love needs not the aid of words ; and the sentiments of the heart, beaming in an ingenuous countenance, are more forcible than any language which the lips can utter. Luci^ was too artless to disguise the feelings which «he was, ap yet, scarce conscious of cherishing ; but Arthur read in the smile and blush which ever welcomed his approach, the sigh which seemed to regret his departure, and the eloquent expression of an eye, which varied with every emotion of her soul, a tale of tenderness as ardent and confiding as his own. The future was unheeded in the dream of present enjoyment ; for who, that loves, can doubt of happiness, or bear to look forward to the melancholy train of dark and disappointed hours which time may unfold ! In the midst of these dawning hopes, Arthur Stanhope was called to a distant part of the king- dom on business, which nearly concerned his father's private interest. Luci^ wept at his depart- ure ; and, for the first time, his brow was clouded in her presence, and his heart chilled by the bodings of approaching evil. Several weeks passed away, and he was still detained from home ; to add to his ■•^, -JfmCst^ / 88 KIVALS OV ACADIA. uneasiness, no tidings from thence had reached him, since the early period of his absence. Public rumor, indeed, told him that new persecutions had gone forth against the puritans ; and the inflexible temper of his father, who had long been peculiarly obnoxious to the church party, excited the utmost anxiety, and determined him, at alPevents, to hasten his return. After travelling nearly through the night, Arthur ascended one of the loftiest hills in Northumberland, just as the sun was shedding his earlif^st radiance on a beautiful valley, which lay before him. It was his native valley, and the mansion of his father's looked cheerful amidst the group of vene- rable trees which surrounded it. Time, since he last quitted it, had seared the freshness of their foliage, and the golden tintfi! of autumn had succeed- ed the verdure of summer, A little farther on, the house of Mad. Rossvillc was just discernible ; and Arthur's heart bcunde 90 RIVALS 07 ACADIA. doned th i home of his childhood — the scenes oJ ;.mturei happiness ; and, re-passing the barrier of his native hills, in a few days rejoined his pa.cnts at the sea-port, where they waited his arrival. They had made arrangements to take passage in the first vessel which sailed for Boston, and Arthur did not hesitate a moment to attend them in their arduous undertaking. For a time, indeed, his ac- tive spirit bent beneath the pressure of disappoint- ment, and all places were alike inditferent to him. But the excitement of new scenes and pursuits at length roused his interest, and incited him to men- tal exertion. With the return of spring also, hopes, which he believed forever crushed, began to regain their influence in his mind. He was about to revisit England, on some affairs of consequence ; and he resolved to improve the opportunity to satisfy his anxiety respecting Luci^, and learn, if possible, what he had still left to hope or fear. But an alarming illness, which attacked his molhei ,, and left her long in a dangerous state, obliged him to defer his design ; and another winter passed away, and various circumstances still rendered the voyage impracticable. Time r -^'^fiemii*'^Jt T»?YiJL8 0¥ ACADIA. 91 It was, indcedy with emotions tot* powerful for vlisguise, that he found himself li^'-uin, and so unex- pectedly, in the presence of his beloved Lucie. He was ignorant of the name, even, of the relative to whom Mad. Rossville had entrusted her, — he had not the most distant idea, that she was connected with the lady of La Tour ; and, in approaching the fort of St. John's, he little thought, that he was so near the goal of his wishes. But the first joyful sensations were not unmingled with doubt and alarm. lie found her lovely and attractive, as when he had last seen her ; but, since that time, what changes had taken place, and how might her heart have altered ! De Valette, young, handsome, and agreeable, confessed himself her lover ; he was the favorite of her guardians, and what influence had he, or might he not obtain, over her affections ! Such refiections of mingled pain and pleasure occupied the mind of Stanhope, and alternate hopes iind fears beguiled the midnight hour, and banish- ed every idea of repose. |i i ii SIYALa OF ACADIA. OHAVTB& VZU. I pray you have the ditty o'er agnin t Of all the strains that mewing minstrels sing, The Inverts one for me. I could expire To hear a man, with bristles on his chin, Sing soft, with upturn'd ey«"s, and arched browj, Which tnlV. of trickling tears that never fall. Lot's have it o'er again. J. S. Knowl.k». /( The meditations of Stanhope were suddenly in- terrupted by the loud barking of a dog, which lay in his kennel below the window ; and it was pre- sently aRswered by a low, protracted whistle, thai instantly quelled the vigilant animal's irritation. Arthur mcf^hanically raised his iiead, to ascertain who was intruding on the silence of that lonely liour. and saw a ligurc approaching, with quick, light, footsteps, which a glance assured him was M. de Valette He was already near the building, and soon stopped beneath a window in a projecting angle, which he appeared to examine with great attention. Arthur felt a painful suspicion that this casement oelonged to Lucie's apartment, and, as il was neg/ly opposite his own, he drew back, to avoid I IIIVALS OF ACADIA. 93 Knotvlks, bt'iii<5 observed, though he watched, with intense interest, the motions of De Valette. The young Frenchman applied a flute to his lips, and played a (gw notes of a lively air, — then, suddenly break- ing off, he changed the measure into one so soft and plaintive, that the sounds seemed to float, like iurial harjiiony, upon the stillness of the night. He paused, and looked earnestly toward the window : the moon shone brightly against it, but all was quiet within, and around, while he sang, in a clear and manly voice, the following serenade : Awake, my love ! the moon on high Shines in the deep bUie, arched sky, Anil tlirough the chist'ring woodhine peeps. To seek the couch where Lucie sleeps. Awake, my love ! for see, afar, Shincij, solY and bright, the evening star ; But oh ! its brighteat beams must die, Beneath the light of Lucie's eye. Awake, my love ! dost thou not hear The night-bird's enrol, wild and clear 'f But not its sweetest notes detain When Lucie breathes her sweeter strain. Awake, my love ! the fragrant gale Steals odours from yon spicy vale ; But can the richly perfiim'd air With Lucie's balmy breath compare r 04 RITALS OF ACADIA. t ¥. H II Awake, my love ! for all around, With beauty, pleasure, hope, is crovvnM But hope nor pleasure dawn on me, Till Lucio's graceful form I see. Awake, my love ! for in thy bower. Thy lover spends the lonely honr ; — She hears me ! — from the lattice screen Behold my Lucie gently lean ! The window had, indeed, slowly opened, toward> the conclusion of the song, and Arthur observed some one, — Lucie, he doubted not,— standing be- fore it, partially concealed by the folds of a curtain. " Sung like a troubadour !" exclaimed a voice, which he could not mistake ; " but, prithee, my tuneful knight, were those concluding lines extem- pore, or had you really the vanity to anticipate the effect of your musical incantation ?" " And who but yourself, Luci^, would doubt that charms like yours could give inspiration to even the dullest muse ?" " Very fine, truly ; but I will wager my life, Eus- tace that mine are not the only ears, which have been charmed with this melodious ditty,— -that I am not the first damsel who has reigned, the goddess ot an hour, in this same serenade ! Confess the trutii, my good friend, and I will give thee absolution !" " And to whom but you, my sweet Lucie, could I address such language f you, who have so lon^^ "#*^.- BIVALS OF ACADIA. 95 iiM lened, toward> fthur observed -standing be- ds of a curtain, imed a voice, t, prithee, my ig lines extem- ► anticipate the 3uld doubt that iration to even ruigncd sole mistress of every thought and hope of my heart !" " Sole mistress in the wilderness, no doubt !" said the laughing girl ; " where there is no other to be found, except a tawny damsel or two, who would scarcely understand your poetic flights ! but you have just returned from a brighter clime, and the dark-eyed demoiselles of merry France, perchancq, might thank you for such a tribute to their charms !" " And do you think so meanly of me, Lucie,'' asked De Valette, reproachfully, " as to believe me capable of playing the flatterer, wherever I go, and paying court to every pretty face, that claims my admiration?" " Nay, I think so well of you, Eustace ; I have such an exalted opinion of your gallantry, that I cannot believe you would remain three months in the very land of glorious chivalry, and prove dis- loyal to the cause ! Be candid, now, and tell me, if tijis nonpareil morceau has not serve / >> J? f '■^ '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRIET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS 80 (716) 873-4503 m f\ iV :\ \ 4 4 & 08 BIVALS or ACADIA. versed his apartment with perturbed and hasty steps, and it was not till long after De Valctte retired, that he sought the repose of his pillow, and even then, in a state of mind which completely banished slumber from his eyes. When Stanhope looked out, on the following morning, he saw Lucie, alone in a small garden, adjoining the house, busily employed in training some flowers ; and the painful impression of tlic last night was almost forgotten, in the impulse which he felt to join her. He was chagrined to meet De Valette, as he crossed a passage, but re- pressing a repugnance, which he felt might be un- justly excited, he addressed him with his usual cor- diality, and they entered the garden together. Lu- cie's face was turned from them, and she did not seem aware of their approach, till startled by the voice of De Valette. " You do not seem very industriously inclined," he said ; " or are you resting, to indulge the luxury of a morning reverie f" " I was in a most profound reverie," she replied, turning quickly round ; " and you have destroyed as fair a vision, as ever dawned on the waking fancy." " Was your vision of the past or future .'^" asked De Valette. *' Only of the past ; I care not for the future, which is too uncertain to be trusted, and which ^S>WH.^ ' ' BIVALS OE ACADIA. may have nothing but misfortunes in reserve for me." " You are in a pensive mood, just now," said De Valette ; " when I last saw you, I could scarce have believed a cloud would ever cross the sunshine of your face." " Experience might have rendered you more dis- cerning," she answered, with a smile ; " but you, who love variety so well, should not complain of the changes of my mood." " Change, as often as you will," said De Va- lette ; " and, in every variation, you cannot fail to please." " And you," said Lucie, " cannot fail of seeming very foolish, till you leave off this annoying habit of turning every word into a compliment ; — nay, do not look displeased," she added, gaily ; " yoa know that you deserve reproof, occasionally, and there is no one who will administer it to you, but myself." " But what you define a compliment," said Stan- hope, " would probably appear, to any other per- son, the simple language of sincerity." " I cannot contend against two opponents," re- turned Lucie ; "" so I may as well give up my ar- gument, though I still maintain its validity." " We will call it a drawn game, then," said De Valette, laughing ; " so now, Lucie, candidly con- fess that you were disposed to find fault with me, without suflf^^cient cause." 100 RIVALS OF ACADIA. i' " There is certainly no flattery in this," replied Lucie ; " but I will confess nothing, — except that f danced away my spirits last evening, and was most melodiously disturbed afterwards, by some strolling minstrel. Were you not annoyed by un- seasonable music, Mr. Stanhope .^" " I beard music, at a late hour," he replied ; " but it did not disturb me, as I was still awake." As he spoke, he was vexed to feel the color mount to his very temples ; and Lucie, who in- stantly comprehended the cause of his confusion, bent her eyes to the ground, while her cheeks were suffused with blushes. An embarrasing pause en- sued ; and De Valette, displeased at the secret sympathy which their looks betrayed, stooped to pluck a rose, that grew on a small bush beside him. " What have you done, Eustace f" asked Lucie, hastily, and glad to break the awkward silence ; '' you have spoiled my favorite rose-bush, which I would not have given for all the flowers of the gar- den." " It is a poor little thing," said De Valette, turn- ing it carelessly in his hand ; " I could gather you a dozen far more beautiful, and quite as fragrant." " Not one that I value half as much," she an- swered, taking it from him, and breathing on the crushed leaves, to restore their freshness ; " I have reared it with much care, from a stock which 1 brought from Northumberland ; and it has now blossomed for the first time — a memento of many happy days.'' •tS ^*^i|j^ BITALS OV ACADIA. XOI replied ept that and was jy some d by un- id ; " but the color who in- ionfusion, jeks were pause en- ho secret tooped to 3side him. ;ed Lucie, silence ; which I f the gar- ;tte, turn- ather you fragrant." ," she an- ng on the ' I have . which 1 has now of many Her words were addressed to Stanhope, and he was receiving the rose from her hand, when her countenance suddenly changed, and, closing her- eyes, as if to exclude some unwelcome object, she clung to his offered arm for support. He was too much absorbed by her, to seek the cause of her alarm ; but De Valette observed father Gilbert, standing at a little distance, his eyes intently fixed on Lucie, while his features betrayed the conflict of powerful emotions. "Why are you thus agitated, Lucie?" asked De Valette, in surprise; " surely you recognize the priest ; you do not fear him ?" " He makes me fear him, Eustace ; he always looks at me so fixedly, so wildly, that I cannot — dare not meet his gaze." ' . "This is mere fancy, Lucie," he answered, light- ly ; " is it strange that even the holy father should gaze on you with earnestness ?" " It is no time to jest, Eustace," she answered^ with a trembling voice ; " speak to him, — he is coming hither,— I will not stay." While she spoke, the priest drew near her, — paused a moment, — and, murmuring a few words in a low voice, turned again, and, with a thotightflil and abstracted air, walked slowly from them. I>e Valette followed him ; and Luci^, glad to escapCj ;returned, with Stanhope, to the house. 9* \ :^u ^ t02 SIVAU 01 ACADIA. OBAVTER XZ. ■ *( 'I* ) Untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs ef life were poisoned. 'Tis too late I Yet 1 am chaiig'd ; though still enough the same In strength, to bear what time cannot abate, And feed on bitter fruits, without accusing fate. Lord Byrox. Father Gilbert stopped a few paces from the spot which Lucie had just quitted, and, leaning against a tree, appeared so entirely absorbed by his own reflections, that DjeValette for some moments hesitated to address him. The rapid mutations of his countenance still betrayed a powerful mental struggle ; and De Valette felt his curiosity and in- terest strongly awakened, by the sudden and un- controllable excitement of one, whose usually cold and abstracted air, shewed little sympathy with the concerns of humanity. Gradually, however, his features resumed their av'.c^ustomed calmness ; but. on raising his eyes, and meeting the inquiring gaze of De Valette, he drooped his head, as if ashamed to have betrayed emotions, so inconsistent with the vow which professed to raise him above the influ- ence of all worldly passions. "I fear you are ill, father," said De Valette, ap- ISfeww.-.. BIVALS OF ACADIA. 103 pioaching him with kindness ; " can I do any thing to assist or relieve you ?" " I ivas ill, my son," he replied ; *' but it is over now — passed away like a troubled phantasy, vvhicii visits the weary and restless slumberer, and flics at the approach of returning reason." " Your language is figurative," returned De Va- lette, " and implies the sufferance of mental, rather than bodily pain. If such is your unhappy state, J know full well that human skill is unavailing." " What know you of pain ?" asked the priest, with startling energy ; " you, who bask in the sunshine of fortune's smile, — whose days are one ceaseless round of careless gaiety, — whose repose is yet un- broken by the gnawing worm of never-dying repent- ance ! Such, too, I was, in the spring-time of my life ; I drained the cup of pleasure, — but misery and disappointment were in its dregs ; I yielded to the follies and passions of my youthful heart, — and the sting of remorse and ceaseless regret have en- tered my inmost soul !" " Pardon me, father," said De Valette, " if I have unconsciously awakened thoughts which time, per- chance, had well nigh soothed into forgetfulness !" " Awakened thoughts !" the priest repeated, in a melancholy voice ; " they can never, never sleep ! repentance cannot obliterate them^ — years of pe- nance — fastings, and vigils, and wanderings, can- not wear them from my remembrance ! Look at iYic, my son, and may this decaying frame, which \ '\ 104 RIVALS 01* ACADIA. if, i^ •Hi i ! Ii 1 1 1 ii I lime might yet have spared, teach thee tine vanity of human hopes, and lead thee to resist the im- pulses of passion, and to mistrust and regulate, even the virtuous inclinations of thy heart!" " Your words will be long remembered, father !" said Dc Valette, touched by the sorrow of the vene- rable man ; " and may the good saints restore peace and hope to your wounded spirit !" " And may heaven bless you, my son, and pre- serve you from those fatal errors which have wreck- ed my peace, and withered the fairest hopes thai ever blossomed on the tree of earthly happiness ! (io now," he added, in a firmer tone, "forget this interview, if possible, and when we meet again, think not of what you have now heard and witness- ed, but see in me only the humble missionary of the church, who, till this day" — his voice again trembled, " till she crossed my path" — " She .'" interrupted De Valette ; " do you mean Mademoiselle de Courcy ?" " De Courcy !" repeated the priest, grasping the arm of Eustaco, while the paleness of death over- spread iiis features ; " who bears that most unhap- py name ?" '• The niece of Mad. de ia Tour," returned Dc Valette : " and, however unfortunate the name, it Jius, as yet, entailed no evil on it«i present posses- sor. ?> " Was it she, whom I just now saw with you .'"' rosHioii of kindiioHs arid rngret, hIic ftdl, lor a time, that licr hum oI linppinoss was Hliioudcd in perpetual elonds. Ilo- iiinntic as tliis atlaeliinent H(!emed, it Ntood tlie tUHl of time and absence, lingered in the recesses of her iicart through every cimngo of scene, and bright- ened tho darkest shades of doubt, and diHiculty, and disappointment. Hitherto, her firmness ol mind and principle had enabled her to resist tiie wishes of her aunt, and tiie remonstrances of Lu Tour; but their importunity had, of late, increased, and evidently from an apprehension, that the undis- uiuiscd partiality of Stanhope might obtain un influ- (!nce over lier, detrimental to their favorite and long cherished plans. Luci^ sincerely regretted that her choice was so unfortunately opposed to the wishes of her aunt ; and she feored to encoun- ter the anger of La Tour, whose stern and irritable spirit, when once aroused, was uncontrollable as the stormy ocean. But time, she sanguinely be- lieved, would remove every obstacle. Stanhope was soon to leave her, and, in his absence, she might gradually change the sentiments of Mad. la Tour ; and she hoped the pride and generosity of l)c Valette would ^prompt i»im voluntarily to with- 10 "^ no RIVALS OF AOADIA. draw a suit, vvhioli was so unfavourably received. Even if these expectations were disappointed, she would attain her majority in the ensuing spring, when her hand would be at her own disposal and she should no longer hesitate to bestow it, accord ing to the dictates of her heart. Stanhope had offered his assistance to La Tour, in the projected expedition to Penobscot; and, ns the necessary arrangements were nearly completed, a few days only remained for his continuance at St. John's. To all, except Lucie, it wus evident his absence would be unregretted ; for he could not but remark the cold and altered manner ol' Mad. de la Tour, which she vainly endeavored to disguise, by nn air of studied politeness ; nor the reserve and petulance of Do Valctte, which he did not attempt to conceal. La Tour was too politic to display his dislike towards one, whose services were so useful to him ; though his prejudices were, in reality, the most inveterate. Father Gilbert returned to the fort, after an ab- sence of three weeks, ard he brought intelligenjc which deeply concerned La Tour. D'Aulney had entered into a ncgociation with the magistrates of Boston, by which ho sought to engage tliem in his interest, to the exclusion, and evident disadvantage of La Tour. He had sent commissioners, duly au- thorized to conclude a treaty of peace and com- merce with them, and also a letter, signed by thr vico acJaiiral of France, which confirmed his right RIVALS OF ACADIA. til 10 lliu government. To tliis was added a copy, «)r pretended copy, of certain proceedings, whicl' proscribed La Tour as a rebel and a traitor, (lo- veriior Winthrop lia(I, in vain, endeavored to heal llie dilVerences, which subsisted between the French fommandcrs in Acadia; D'Aulney refused to ac- cede to any conciliatory measures. Till then, the Massachusetts colony had favored La Tour, on ac- count of his religious principles ; but the authority of M. d'Aulney now seemed so well established, and his power to injure them was so extensive, that they consented to sign the articles in ({uestion. They, however, entered into no combination against Ija Tour, nor ilebarrcd themselves from their usual friendly intercourse with him. M. do la Tour listened to these details with ex- treme indignation, and felt an increased anxiety to depart without delay. The preparations were, therefore, soon concluded, and they waited only lor a favorable wind, to convey them from the fort of St. Jolurs. 112 KIVALS OT ACADIA. OHAFTER X. My fear hath oatch'd your fondness — « # # * # » Speak, js't so ? Tf it be £0, you have wound a goodly clue ; If it be not, foresweav't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me fni thine avail, To tell me truly. SlIAKSPEARK. Arthur Stanhope's protracted stay at St. John's, occasioned much discontent and repining among the crew of his vessel. Many of them became weary of their inactive hfe, and impatient to be restored to the friends and occupations they had left; while the laxity of the French soldiers, — the open celebration of popish ceremonies,^ — the very appearance of the priest, — excited the indignation of the more rigid and reflecting. The daily ex- hortations of Mad. de la Tour's chaplain were not o long been your friend and confidant ?" " From yon, dear aunt, I would conceal nothing ; you have a right to know every thought and wish of my heart ; but" — " But what f" asked Mad. la Tour, as she hesi- tated ; " answer me one question, Lucie ; has not Mr. Stanhope but just now quitted you .''" " He has," said Lucie, deeply blushing, though her ingenuous countenance told that she was re- lieved from a painful reserve ; " and now all is known to you, — all, — and more, perhaps, than I ought, at present, to have revealed." " More, far more, than you ought ever to have had it in your power to reveal !" said Mad. de la 120 lllVALS OF ACADIA. m if Tour, in an accent of displeasure ; " and it is lor this stranger that you have slighted the wishes of your natural guardians, — that you have roiccted the love of one, in every respect wort . your choice !" " Those wishes were inconsistent with my duty," returned Lucie ; " and that love I could never re- compense ! Dearest aunt," she added, and the tears again filled her eyes, " forgive me in this one in- stance ; it is the only thought of my heart, which has been concealed from you ; and, believe me, this was concealed, only to save yourself and mc from reproaches, which, were I now mistress of my actions, I should not fear to meet." " Rather say, Lucie, it vvas concealed to suit the wishes of your lover ; but is it honorable in him to seek your affections clandestinely ? to bind you by promises, which are unsanctioned by your friends.^" " You are unjust to liim," said Lucie, eagerly ; " you suspect him of a meanness, which he could never practice. I only am to blame for whatever is wrong and secret. He has never wished to dis- guise his attachment, and you were not slow to detect arfd regret it ; he was encouraged by my dear aunt Rossville, but circumstances separated us, and I scarcely dared hope that we should ever meet again" — "But you did meet," interrupted Mad. de la Tour, •* and why all this mystery and reserve .''" "I dreaded my uncle's anger," said Lucie : " and ^.-t. RIVALS OF ACADIA. I2i persuaded Stanhope, against liis inclination, to leave me without any explanation to my guardian, till the time arrives when I shall be at liberty to choose for myself; and till then, 1 have refused to enter into any engagements, — except those which my heart has long since made, and which nothing ever can dissolve." " To me, at least, Lucie, you might have con- fided this ; you would not have found me arbitrary or tyrannical, and methinks, the advice of an expe- rienced friend would not have been amiss on a sub- ject of such importance." "I well know your lenity and affection, dear aunt," returned Luci^ ; " but I was most unwilling to involve you in my difficulties, and expose you to my uncle's displeasure ; in time, all would have been known to you ; I should have taken no im- portant step without your advice ; and why should I perplex you, with what could now be of no avail .?" " I am willing to believe you intended to do right, Lucie, though I am not yet convinced that you have done so ; but we are near the gate, and will dis- miss the subject till another opportunity." Lucie gladly assented, and their walk was pur- sued in silence. U ^_; . 122 RIVALS OF ACADIA. OHAFTSB ZI. a 111 Bedimm'd The noontide sun, callM forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war. Shakspcark. At day-break, the vessels of La Tour and Stan- hope spread their sails to a light wind, which bore them slowly from the harbor of St. John's. The fort long lingered in their view, and the richly wooded shores and fertile fields gradually receded, as the rising sun begL.i to shed its radiance on the luxuriant landscape. But the morning, which had burst forth in brightness, was soon overcast with clouds ; and the light, which had shone so cheer- ingly on hill and valley, like the last gleams of de- parting hope, became shrouded in gloom and dark- ness. Still, however, they kept on their course ; and by degrees the wind grew stronger, and the dead calm of the sea was agitated by its increasing violence. The confines of Acadia, which were then unde- fined, stretched along the borders of the bay, pre- senting a vast and uncultivated tract, varying BIVALS OP ACADIA. 123 through every shade of sterility and verdure ; from the bare and beetling promontory, which defied the encroaching tide, the desert plain, and dark mo- rass, to the impervious forest, the sloping upland, and the green valley, watered by its countless streams. A transient sun-beam, at times, gilded tliis variegated prospect, and again the flitting clouds chequered it with their dark shadows, till the dense vapor, which hung over the water, at length arose, and formed an impenetrable veil, ex- cluding every object from the sight. Night closed in prematurely ; the ships parted company, and, in the increasing darkness, there was llttlp prospect of joining again ; noi* wSb it possible for either to ascertain the situation of its partner. La Tour's vessel had out-sailed the other, through the day ; and he had so often navigated the bay, and rivers of the coast, that every isle and lieadland were perfectly familiar to him. But Stanhope had little practical knowledge of its lo- calities, and, not caring to trust implicitly to his pilot, he proceeded with the utmost caution, sound- ing at convenient distances, lest he should deviate from the usual course, and run aground on rocks, or in shallow water. Though with little chance of success, he caused lights to be hung out, hoping they might attract the attention of La Tour ; but their rays could not penetrate the heavy mist, which concealed even the nearest objects from observa- tion. Signal guns were also fired at intervals, but ■■4^«>* (21 RIVALS Ot ACADIA. their report mingled wiih tlic sullen murmur of tlio wind and wqvcm, and no answering sound was heard or the solitary deep. Apprehensive that they ap- proached too near the land, in the gjonm and un- certainty whicli surrounded them, Stanhope resolv- ed to anchor, and wait for returning thiy. This resolution was generally approved ; for, among the adventurers who aeconipanied him, Stan- hope could number few expert siMunen, and tht; mitural fears of the inexperienced were heightened by superstitious fcelingin, at that time prevalent among all elasstis of people. Many seemed per- suaded that they were ssuHbred to fall into danger, as a judgment for joining with papists, in a t imwr of doubtful ecpiity ; and they expressed a determi- nalion to relincpiish all further eoneern in it, should they he permitted to reach the destined shore in safety. Arguments, at such a ir.oment, were use- h'ss ; and Arthur, perplexed and anxious, yet cau- tious to conceal iiis CHAPTER ZZZ. Mar. Til fight with none hnt thee ; for I do hate thee Wori-e than a promise-breaker. -^?//. We hate alilte ; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy. SlIAKSFEARE. La Tour, in the darkness of the night succeed- ing his depaitiure from St. John's, had found it im- possible to communicate with Stanhope ; and, pru- dently consulting his own safety in view of the ap- proaching storm, he crowded sail, hoping to reacii some haven, before the elements commenced their fearful conflict. In his zeal for personal security, he persuaded himself, that Arthur's nautical skill would extricate him from danger ; but he forgot the peculiar difficulties to which he was exposed by his ignorance of the coast, and also, that he was embarked in a vessel far less prepared than his own, to encounter the heavy gale which seemed mustering from every quarter of the heavens. Per- fectly familiar, himself, with a course which he fre- quently traversed, — in an excellent ship, and as- sisted by experienced seamen, — ^he was enabled to 12 i fl ''- vW njuKi '■ \mm |J|i: . ^H ^H^ ' t i^^H H lil m V HHP Imi ) ^Vs H^i' I ^Hl ni' 134 RIVALS OF ACADIA. ft 1' I! steer, with comparative safety, tlirough the almost tangible darknoss ; and, early on the following morning, he entered the smoother waters of Penob- scot Bay, and anchored securely in one of the nu- merous harbors which it embraces. The day passed away, and brought no tidings from Stanhope ; and De Valette, though their friendship had of late been interrupted by coldness and distrust, had too much generosity to feel insen- sible to his probable danger. But La Tour ex- pressed the utmost confidence that he had found some sheltering port, — as the whole extent of coast abounds with harbors, which may be entered with perfect security, — and the night proving too tem- pestuous to venture abroad for intelligence, De Va- lette was obliged to rest contented with hoping for the best. La Tour wishing to obtain more minute informa- tion respecting the situation of D'Aulney, intended to proceed, first; to Pemai^^uid ; and, should Stan- hope, from u.iy cause, fail of joining him, he might probably receive assistance from the Engli«^'i at that place, who had always been friendly to him, and were particularly interested in suppressing the dreaded power of M. d'Aulney. But, while bu- sied in preparation, on the day succeeding the storm, and repairing the slight damage wiiich his vessel had sustained, the report of some fishermen entirely changed the plan and destiny of the expe- dition. La Tour learned from them, that D'AuI- i A ItlVAlS 0¥ ACADIA. 135 ncy was at that time absent from liis fort, having left it, two or lliroe days before, witli a small party, to go on a hunting excursion up the river Penob- scot. His garrison, they added, had been recently reduced, by fitting out a vessel for France, to re- turn with ammunition, and other supplies, iji which he was extremely deficient. This information determined La Tour to attack the fort without delay. Every thing seemed to fa- vor his wishes, and hold out a prospect of success. Though small in numbers, he placed perfect confi- dence in the courage of his men, most of whom had long adhered to his service, and followed him in the desultory skirmishes in which he frequently engag- ed. Impetuous to a fault, and brove even to rash- nes^j he had, as yet, been gentriUy successful in his undertakings, and, though often unimportant, even to his own interests, they were marked by a reckless contempt of danger, calculated to inspirit and attach the followers of such an adventurer. La Tour, piloted by a fisherman whom he took aboard, landed on a peninsula, since called Baga- duce point, on which the fort was situated. He intended to make nis first attack on a farm-house of D'Aulney's, where he was told some military stores were lodged ; and, from thence, bring up his men in rear of the fort. He sanguinely believed, that in the absence of the commander, it would soon yield to his sudden and impetuous assault ; or, if he had been in any respect deceived, chat it ■^T 136 RIVALS OV ACADIA. would be easy to secure a safe retreat to the boats from whicli he had landed. De Valette, in the mean time, was ordered to divert the attention of the garrison, by sailing before the walls ; and, if necessary, to afford a more efficient succor. In perfect silence, La Tour led on his little band through tangled copse-wood and impervious shades ; and, with measured tread, and thoughts intent upon the coming strife, they crushed, unheeded, the wild flower which spread its simple charms before them, and burst asunder the beautiful gar- lands which summer had woven around their path. The melody of nature was hushed at their approach ; the birds nestled in their leafy coverts ; the timid hare bounded before their steps, and the squirrel looked down in silence from his airy height, as they passed on, and disturbed the solitude of the peace- ful retreat. They at length emerged from the sheltering woods, and entered an extensive plain, which had been cleared and cultivated, and, in the midst of which, stood the farm-house, already mentioned. It was several miles from the fort ; a few men were stationed there, but the place was considered so secure, from its retired situation, that tht^, were generally employed in the labors of agriculture. La Tour's party approached almost within musket shot, before the alarm was given, and the defenders had scarcely time to throw themselves into the house, and barricade the doors and windows. The V, BIVALS OP AOADIA. 137 besiegers commenced a violent onset, and volley succeeded volley, with a rapidity which nothing could withstand. The contest was too unequal to continue long ; La Tour soon entered the house a conqueror, secured all who were in it as prisoners, and took possession of the few munitions which had been stored there. He then ordered the building to be set on fire, and the soldiers, with wanton cruelty, killed all the domestic animals which were grazing around it. Neither party sustained any loss ; two or three only were wounded, and those, with the prisoners, were sent back, under a sufficient guard, to the boats ; the remainder turned from the scene of destruction with utter indifference, and again proceeded towards the fort. The noontide sun was intensely hot, and they halted a few ntoments on the verge of an extensive forest, to rest in its cooling shade, and allay their tliirst from a limpid stream which gurgled from its green recesses. Scarcely had they resumed the line of march, when a confused, sound burst upon their ears ; and instantly, the heavy roll of a drum reverberated through the woods, and a party rushed on them, from its protecting shades, with overpow- ering force. La Tour, with a courage and presence of mind which never deserted him, presented an undaunted front to the foe, and urged his followers by encouragement and commands, to stand firm, and defend themselves to the last extremity. A few only emulated his example; the rest, seized 12* *i 138 B1VAX8 or ACiUIA. U f i with an unaccountable panic, sought refuge in flight, or surrendered passively to the victors. La Tour, in vain, endeavoured to rally them ; surrounded by superior numbers, and their retreat entirely intercepted, submission or destruction seemed inevitable. But his proud spirit could ill brook an alternative which he considered so dis' graceful ; and, left to sustain the conflict alone, he still wielded his sword with a boldness and dexte- rity, that surprised and distanced every opponent. Yet skill and valor united were unavailing against such fearful odds ; and the weapon which he would never have voluntarily relinquished, was at length ^vrested from his grasp. A smile of triumph brightened the gloomy fea- tures of M. d'Aulney, as he met the eye of his proud and defeated enemy ; but La Tour returned it by a glance of haughty defiance, which fully expressed the bitterness of his chafed and unsub- dued feelings. He then turned to his humbled fol- lowers, and surveyed them with a look of angry contempt, beneath which, the boldest shrunk abashed. " Cowards !" he exclaimed, yielding to his indig- nation ; " fear ye to meet my eye ? would that its lightnings could blast ye, perjured and recreant that ye are ! ay, look upon the ground, which should have drank your heart's blood before it witnessed your disgrace ; look not on me. whom youj have BITALS OF ACADIA. 13£) betrayed — look not on the banner of your country, Avliich you have stained by this day's cowardice !" A low murmur rose from the rebuked and sullen soldiers ; and D'Aulney, fearing some disturbance, commanded silence, and ordered his people to prepare for instant march. " For you, St. Etienne, lord of la Tour," he said. " it shall be my care to provide a place of security, till the pleasure of our lawful sovereign is made known concerning you." "To that sovereign I willingly appeal," replied La Tour ; " and, if a shadow of justice lingers uround his throne, the rights which you have presumed to arrogate will be restored to me, and my authority established on a basis, which you will not venture to dispute." " Let the writ of proscription be first revoked," said D'Aulney, with a sneer ; " let the names of rebel, and traitor, be blotted from your escutcheon, before you appeal to that justice, or reclaim an authority which has been long since annulled." " False, and mean-spirited !" exclaimed La Tour, scornfully ; " you stoop to insult a prisoner, who is powerless in your hands, but from whose indignation you would cower, like the guilty thing you arc, had I liberty and ny good sword to revenge your baseness ! Go, use me as you will, use me as you dare^ M. d'Aulney, but remember the day of ven- geance may ere long arrive." " My day of vengeance has arrived," returned D'Aulney, and his eye flashed wit!i rage; "and u Hi) IttVALB OF ACADIA. yon will ruo tlio hour in wliicli you provoked my slumbering wrath." " \ our wrath has nrvrr slumbered," replied Lii Tour, " and my hatred to you- will mingle with the last throb of niy existence. Twke an evil demon, you have followed me through life ; you blighted the hopesof my youth, — the interests and ambition of my manhood have been thwarted by your ma- chinations, and I have now no reason to look for mercy at your hands ; still I defy your malice, and I bid you triumph at your peril." ** We have strong holds in that fort which you have so long wished to possess," said D'Aulncy, with provoking coolness ; " and traitors, who arc lodged there, have little chance of escape." La Tour refrained from replying, even by n glance : the soldiers, at that moment, commenced their march ; and guarded, with ostentatious care, he walked apart from the other prisoners towards the fort. The angry aspect of his countenance yielded to an expression of calm contempt, and through the remainder of the way he preserved an unbroken silence. Tn the mean time, Do Valettc had strictly obeyed the instructions of La Tour. His appearance be- fore the fort evidently excited much sensation there ; and though he kept at a prudent distance, he could observe the garrison in motion, and ascer- tain from their various evolutions, that they were preparing for u vigorous defence. He ordered his vessel to be put in a state for action, and waited ItlVALS OP ACAUIA. 14V okcd my plied La with the I demon, blighted ambition your ma- ) look for rtlicc, and ttly obnyeri8oner.s, taken at the fiirni-house. and a few sol- diers who had escaped by flight from the fate of their companions. Vexed and mortified by a result so unexpected, J)e Vulette hesitated what course to pursue. \ai 'J'our had not thought necessary to provide for such an exigence, as he n .ver admitted tl»e possibility of falling a prisoner into the hands of D' Aulney. His lieutenant, therefore, determined to sail for l*emaquid, to seek assistance, which would enable him, at least, to recover the liberty of La Tour, lie also hoped to gain some inform- ation respecting Stanhope, whose services at that crisis were particularly desirable. M. d'Aulney had returned to his fort uncxpect- tidly on the morning of that day ; and the approach of La Tour was betrayed to hun by a boy, who escaped from the farm-house, at the beginning of the skirmish. Nothing could have gratified his revenge more completely, than to obtain possession of the person of his rival ; and this long desired object was thus easily attained, at a moment when least expected. The prejudices of a superior arc readily embraced by those under his authority ; and, as La Tour approached the fort, every eye glanced t'iumphant- ly on him, and every countenance reflected, in ^omc degree, the vindictive feelings of the com- 142 RIVALS OF ACADIA. HI mandcr. But he endured their gaze with stem indifference, and his step was as firm, and his bear- ing as lofty, as if he entered the gates a conqueror. A small apartment, attached to the habitable build- ings of the fort, which had often served on similar occasions, was prepared^ for a temporary prison, until his final destination was determined. D'Aul- ney, himself, examined this apartment with the utmost caution, lest any aperture should be unno- ticed, through which the prisoner might effect his escape. La Tour, during this resecrch, remained guarded in an adjoining passage, and through the open door, he perceived, with a smile of scorn, what indeed seemed the superfluous care, which was taken to provide for his security. The soldiers waited at a respectful distance, awed by the cou- rage he had displayed, and the anger which still tlashed from his full dark eye. In this interval, La Tour's attention was attracted by the sound of light footsteps advancing along the passage ; and immediately a delicpte female figure passed hastily on towa. • a flight of stairs, not far from the spot where he was standing. Her motion^ were evidently confused and timid, plainly evincing that she had unconsciously entered among the soldiers ; and her features were concealed by a veil, which she drew closely around them. She flitted rapidly by La Tour, but at a little distance paused, in a situation which screened her from every eye but his. Throwing back her veil, she iirftMi Wjirili-liriiiilllliJ iiil''l{''ili1fi , KIVALS or ACADIA. 14^ :h stern lis bear- iqueror. Ic build- 1 similav r prison, D'Aul- with the be unno- jffect his remained rough the of scorn, re, which le soldiers r the cou- yhich still looked earnestly at him ; a deep blusli overspread her face, and pressing her finger on her lips, in token of silence, she swiftly descended the stairs. That momentary glance subdued every stormy passion of his soul ; early scenes of joy and sor- row rushed on his remembrance, and clasping his liands across his brow, he stood, for a time, un- mindful of all around him, absorbed by his excited thoughts. But the voice of D'Aulney again sound- ed in his ears, and renewed the strife of bitter feel- ings, which had been so briefly calmed. His cheek glowed with deeper resentment, and it required a powerful effort of self-command to repress the in- vective that trembled on his lips, but which, he felt, it would be more than useless to indulge. He entered his prison, therefore, in silence ; and, with gloomy immobility, listened to the heavy sound of the bolts, which secured the door, and consigned him to the dreariness of profound solitude. l'f\ "^T'^ '•<--vTW*~iw.**ft«r^'* 144 KIVAIS OF ACADIA. I- f) 'If (I i dZiLFTER ZZZI. That of all things upon the earth, he hated Your porson most : that he would pawn his fortunes To hopeless restitution, so he might Be called your vanquisher. Shakspeark. The first hours of misfortune are generally the most tedious ; and the ni^ht which succeeded the imprisonment of La Tour appeared to him almost endless in duration. A small .id closely grated window sparingly admitted tho light and air of heaven ; and, through its narrow openings, ho watched the last beams of the moon, and saw the stars twinkle more faintly in the advancing light of morning, before he sought that repose, which entire exhaustion rendered indispensable. He was aiouscd at a late hour on the following morning, from feverish slumber, by the opening M' his door; and, starting up, he, with equal surprise and displeasure, recognized M. d'Aulney in the intruder. A glance of angry defiance was the only salutation which he deigned to give ; but it was unnoticed by D'Aulney, who had apparently re- solved to restrain the violence, which thcv had mutually indulged on the preceding day. •tunes K.SPEAUK- 3nerally the cceeded the hiro almost osely grated • and air of penings, he and saw the ncing V\ght pose, which le. he following e openinji^ '^1 ual surprise Iney in the was the only but it was parently rc- ch they had IV. / SITAIS OF A0A9IA. k " I come to offer you freedom, M. de la Tour," he said, after a moment's hesitation, " and on terms which the most prejudiced could not but consider lenient." " Freedom from hfe, then !" La Tour scornfully replied ; " I can expect no other liberty, while it is in your power to hold me in bondage." " Beware how you defy my power !" replied D'Aulney ; " or provoke the wrath which may burst in vengeance on your head. You are my prisoner, De la Tour ; and, as the representative of royalty here, the command of life or death is entrusted to my discretion." "I deny that command," said La Tour, "and bid you exercise it at your peril. Prove to me the authority which constitutes you my judge ; which gives you a right to scrutinize the actions of a com- peer ; to hold in duresse the person of a free and loyal subject of our king ; — prove this, and I may submit to your judgment, I may crave the clemen- cy, which I now despise — nay, which I would not stoop to receive from your hands." " You speak boldly, for a rebel and a traitor 1" said D'Aulney, contemptuously; "for one whose oiRce is annulled, and whose name is branded with infamy !" " Come you hither to insult me, false-hearted vil- lain .'"' exclaimed La Tour, passionately ; " prisoner and defenceless, though I 13 H now am, you may yet I 4 i ^ I I i > 146 RIVALS OF ACADIA. have cause to repent the rashness which brings you to my presence !" " Your threats are idle," returned D'Aulney ; " 1 never feared you, even in your greatest strength ; and think you, that I can now be intimidated by your words ?" " What is the purport of this interview ?" asked La Tour, impatiently ; '* and why am I compelled to endure your presence? speak, and briefly, if you have aught to ask of me ; or go, and leave me to the solitude, which you have so rudely dis- turbed." " I spoke to you of freedom," replied D'Aulney ; " but since you persist in believing my intentions evil, it. would be useless to name the terms on which I offer it." " You can offer no terms," said La Tour, " which comport with the honor of a gentleman and a sol- dier to accept." " Are you ignorant," asked D'Aulney, " that you are proscribed, that an order is issued for your ar- rest, and that a traitor's doom awaits you, in your native land f^ " It is a calumny, vile as your own base heart," exclaimed La Tour ; " and so help tne, heaven, as I shall one day prove its falsehood." " You have been denounced at a more impartial tribunal than mine," said D'Aulney, deliberately unrolling a parchment which he carried, and point- ing to the seal of France ; " these characters," he mVALS QJf AOADIA. i4r added, " are traced by high authority ; and need you any farther proof, that your honors are wrested from you, and your name consigned to infamy ?" " Your malice has invented this," said La Tour, glancing his eye indignantly over the contents of the scroll ; ^'but even this shall not avail you ; and, cunningly as you have woven your treacherous web around me, I shall yet escape the snare, and tri- umph over all your machinations !" " It is vain to boast of deeds, which you may never be at liberty to perform," replied D*Aulriey ; " your escape from this prison is impossible, and, of course, your fate is entirely at my disposal. But, grossly as you have, injured me, I am willing to re- concile past differences ; not from any hope of personal advantage, but to preserve the peace of the colony, and sustain the honor of the govern- ?j ment. " That mask of disinterestedness and patriotism," said La Tour, scornfully, " is well assumed ; but, beshrew me ! if it does not hide some dark and selfish purpose. Reconcile !" he added, in a tone of bitterness ; " that word can never pass current with us ; my hatred to you is so strong, so deeply- rooted, that nothing could ever compel me to serve you, even if, by so doing, I might advance my own fortunes to the height of princely grandeur." " Your choice is too limited to admit of dainty scruples," said D'Aulney, tauntingly; "but, you may be induced to grant from necessity, what you m !.•«• ^2i. I*- jfe„ ^/' 148 BITALS OX- ACADIA. >1 would refuse as a favor. You must be convinced, that your title and authority in Acadia are now abolished, and you have every reason to apprehend the severity of the law, if you are returned a pri- soner to France. I offer you immediate liberty, with sufficient privileges to render you indepen- dent, on condition that you will make a legal trans- fer of your late government to me, and thus ami- cably reunite the colony, which was so unhappily divided on the death of Razilly. Put your signa- ture to this paper, and you are that moment free." " Now, by the holy rood !" said La Tour, burst- ing into a laugh of scorn ; " but that I think you are jesting with me, I would trample you beneath my feet, as I do this;" and snatching the oifered paper from his hand, he tore it in pieces, and stamped violently on the scattered fragments. " You reject my proposals, then f" asked D'Aul- ney, pale with angry emotions. " Dare you ask me, again, to accept them ?" re- turned La Tour , " think you, I would sanction the slanders you have fabricated, by such a surren- der of my rights ? that I would thus bring re- proach upon my name, and bequeath poverty and disgrace to my children ?" " It is well," replied D'Aulney ; " and the conse- quences of your folly must fall on your own head j but, when too late, you may repent the perverse- ness which is driving you to destruction." RIVALS 07 ACADIA. 149 " Were the worst fate which your malevolence could devise, at this moment before me," said La Tour, " my resolution would remain unalterable. I am not so poor in spirit, as to shrink before the blast of adversity ; nor am I yet destitute of fol- lowers, who will fight for my rescue, or bravely avenge my fall." " We shall soon find other employment for them," D'Aulney coolly replied ; " this fortunate expedi- tion of yours has scattered your vaunted force, and left your fort exposed to assaults, which it is too de- fenceless to repel." " Make the experiment," said La Tour, proudly ; •'and again you may return, vanquished by a wo- man's prowess. Try the valor of men, who burn to redress their master's wrongs; and, if you dare, once more encounter the dauntless courage of a wife, anxious for her husband's safety, and tena- cious of her husband's honor." " You are fortunate," said D'Aulney, sarcastical- ly, " to possess so brave a representative ; I trust, it has long since reconciled you to the chance, which prevented your alliance with one less valiant, — one, too gentle to share the fortunes of such a bold adventurer." " Touch not upon that theme," said La Tour, starting with almost frenzied violence ; " time nay wear away every other remembrance, but the treach- ery of a friend must remain indelible and unfor- given." •' III inM 'p M m ; If ' 13' Af- Iv* ^ -♦.•S**'-^^'''' 150 BITALS OT ACADIA. "Solitude, perchance, may calm your moody feelings, and I will leave you to its soothing influ- ence ;" said D'Aulney, in a tone of assumed indif- ference, which was contradicted by the angry flash that darted from his eye. He laid his hand on the door, while he spoke ; La Tour returned no an- swer, and the next moment he was left to his own reflections ; and, bitter as they were, he felt that to be again alone, was a state of comparative hap- piness. But, whatever he endured, not a shadow of fear or apprehension obtruded on his mind. The shame of defeat, perhaps, most deeply goaded him ; and his interview with D'Aulney had awak- ened every dark and stormy passion in his breast. Confinement was, indeed, irksome to his active spi- rit; but he would not admit the possibility of its long continuance; and he had no doubt, that the exertions of De Valette would soon restore him to freedom. He rightly believed, that both the pride and affection of his nephew would stimulate him to attempt it, and he hoped his efforts would be aid- ed by Stanhope, if he had been so fortunate as to escape the storm. Stanhope, however, was, as yet, ignorant of these events ; and the morning light, which stole so hea- vily through the grated window of La Tour's pii- gon-room, shone brightly on the waters of the Bay. where his vessel had anchored through the night. He was in motion at an early hour, anxious to ob- tain information of La Tour, though totally at a loss in what direction to seek for him. In the -4W. .*s#^ _^*,^6i.-,X ^»^'v BIVAX.S OF ACADIA. 155 "True repentance may obliterate every sin," said Stanhope ; " and why should you despair of mercy, or even of earthly happiness ?" " Happiness !" repeated the priest ; " name it not to one whose headstrong passions blasted every cherished joy, and threw their withering influence on all who loved and trusted in him ; mock me not with that delusive hope, which only lives in the imagination of youth and inexperience. Again I bid you leave me ; this day is consecrated to active duty, and I would fortify my mind to meet its diffi- «ulties." " Pardon me, that I trouble you with one inqui- ry," said Stanhope ; " have you heard aught of De la Tour r " He is a prisoner," returned the priest ; " and if you would learn more concerning him, repair, with- out delay, to Pemaquid, where his lieutenant waits your arrival." Father Gilbert turned away, as he finished speak- ing ; and Stanhope retraced his steps to the boat, musing with deep interest on the intelligence he had received. He rowed rapidly back to his ves- sel ; and, weighing anchor, ailed for the bay of Pemaquid, impatiei ♦. to rejoin D.e Valette, and learn the particulars of La Tour's capture. J' . i i, '^im ^li^ 'J JIHK t'l 1 l^^H 1. 1 \m W •! «( 156 RIVALS OF ACADIA. OKAVTHm ZZV« f I I * %■) The midnight pass'd — and to the massy door, A lif^lit step came — it paused — it inoved once more ; Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key. Lord Byroit. La Tour endured the first days of confinemenC with more patience than could have been expected from his irascible disposition ; his mind was conti- nually excited by hopes of speedy release, and plans of future vengeance. D'Aulney's visit to him was not repeated, and his solitude remained un- broken, except by the person who brought him food, and who generally performed his office in perfect silence. But the third day passed more heavily away ; he listened to every sound from without his prison, and as none reached him, which announced approaching succor, he could not re- press an audible expi jssion of anger and disappoint- ment, at his nephew's tardiness. A thousand plans of escape were formed, and instantly rejected, as ■visionary and impracticable. He too well knew the severe and cautious temper of D'Aulney, to suppose he would leave any avenue unguarded : 1 ') , RIVALS OF ACADIA. 157 und, of course, an attempt of the kind could only end in defeat, and perhaps a restriction of the few privileges he then enjoyed. A sentinel watched continually at the outside of his door ; others were stationed near enough to lend assistance on a word of alarm ; and his window, even if the bars could be forced, was rendered secure by the vigilance of a soldier placed beneath to protect it. His own strength and address were tiierefore unavailing ; the conviction vexed and mortified hiiii, and he paced his apartment with rapid steps, till his ha- rassed feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch f irritability. Daylight disappeared, and the evening advanced ill gloom and darkness ; not a star shone in the lieavens, and the moon vainly struggled with the clouds which overshadowed her. A hollow blast, at intervals, swept across the grated window, then murmured into total silence ; the waves rolled sullenly below, and occasionally the measured (lash of oars from some passing boat was mingled with their melancholy cadence. La Tour's medi- tations were broken by the sentinel entering with a light ; and as he placed it on a wooden stand, he lingered a moment, and regarded the prisoner with peculiar attention. He, however, took no notice of it, except to avert his face more entirely from, what he considered, a gaze of impertinent curiosity. The soldier, as he rc-opened the door, again turned, incl socmed on the point of speaking ; but La Tom fj : n/ 158 BITALS OF ACADIA. \\ i'i could endure no intrusion, and a glance of angry reproof from his eye, induced a precipitate retreat. He almost instantly repented this vehemence ; for that parting look was familiar to him, and possibly he might have received some desirable information. But it was too late to recall what he had done ; and La Tour again sunk into a train of reflections, though of a more tranquil nature than those which before agitated him. Recent occurrences had re- vived the recollections of earlier years ; and he looked back, with softened feelings, on those peace- ful scenes, which he had left in youth to buflet with the storms of life, and the still fiercer storms of passion. His thoughts were, at length, exclusively occupied with the appearance of the female whom he so unexpectedly encountered on the first even- ing of his imprisonment, and whose features he had instantly identified with an image once most dear to him ; but which had, long since, been absorbed in the pursuits of interest, and the struggles of ambition. The time had indeed gone by, when associations, blended v'th that image, could deeply agitate him ; and, connected as th^... m,. — — ...-?•••.-««.••»■ -/■' RIVALS OF ACADIA. 1G5 countered a priest, of very peculiar appearance, whose person was entirely unknown to me ; he was going to the sick man's apartment, and, I have since learned, supplied the place of one who usu- ally attended, but had unexpectedly been called away. There was something in his lall figure, and the expression of his pale and melancholy features, which arrested my attention ; I closely remarked liim, and perceived that he looked round inquisi- tively, though he wore an air of calm abstraction, which would scarcely have been suspected by an indifferent observer." " It must have been father Gilbert," said La Tour; "and, if he is concerned, I would place the utmost confidence in his prudence and fidelity." " That is his name," said Mad. d'Aulney, " as I was afterwards told by Antoine, the ^uard, who now waits at the door"— " Antoine ! he cannot be trusted," interrupted La Tour ; " he has once deserted my cause, and joined tiie standard of an enemy, and I cannot again rely on his integrity." " He was seduced from his duty," returned Mad. d'Aulney ; " but, I believe, has sincerely repented of his error, and is now anxious to atone for it. You shall judge for yourself. A few weeks since, he was so dangerously ill, that very faint hopes were entertained of his recovery ; and, hearing that he was a stranger, and in many respects destitute, it i 1 \ • \ %. 160 KIVALS OF ACADIA. ( i T !> I was induced to visit him, and administer suclr comforts as his state required. What he termed my kindness, excited his warmest gratitude, and he unburthened his conscience to me, of the crime which seemed to lie heavily on it. He considered his disorder a visitation of Providence, inflicted as a punishment for his desertion ; and he wished most earnestly to return to your service. I was pleased with the good feelings he displayed, but advised him to rest contented for the present, pro- .riising to aid his wishes if any opportunity oflered ; and, from that time I have seen* little of him, till since your arrival." " And you have now engaged his assistance ?" asked La Tour ; " well, be it so ; once more in the open air, I fear not even treachery ; and, furnished with a trusty weapon, I bid defiance to every ob- stacle that can oppose my freedom." "Caution you will find more useful than strength," said Mad. d'Aulney ; " and by its aid we have thus far succeeded, even beyond my expectations. This afternoon, I observed father Gilbert in conversation with Antoine ; and, trusting to the sincerity of the latter, I soon after found a preUxt for speaking with him, and cautiously introduced the subject ol' your escape. He was readv, at every risk, to as- sist in any meiasures which could be adopted ; and informed me that it had already been discussed be- tween himself and the priest, and that he was, this vm 3' itV t^ BIVALS OF ACADIA. 167 night, to stand sentinel at your door. Nothing could be more propitious to our views ; and, in the course of the day, we have found means to arrange every thing, I hope, with perfect safety." "This is indeed a kindness, a condescending in- terest, of which I am wholly unworthy," said La Tour, with energy ; " how, Adele, can I ever show you the gratitude, the" — " Speak not of that. La Tour," she hastily inter- rupted ; " think now of nothing but your safety ; trust implicitly to the guidance of Antoine; and, I trust, it will soon be insured." " And you," said La Tour, " who have generous- ly hazarded so much to aid me — how can I be sa- tisfied that you will escape unharmed f how can I leave you, in uncertainty and peril ?" " Believe me," said Mad. d'Aulney, " I am per- fectly secure ; Antoine will desert his post to go with you, and suspicion must rest entirely on him, and father Gilbert. The priest waits for you with- out tlie fort; and, once with him, pursuit will be unavailing, even if your flight is soon discovered ; delay no longer, the morning watch approaches, and you must be far from hence, before another ;[;uard appears to relieve Antoine. These garments will sufficiently disguise you," she added, divesting herself of a loose robe and monkish cloak, which covered her own dress; "the soldier on duty will take you for a priest returning from the confessor's 168 RIVALS OF ACADIA. i \ ! room, and you will probably pass unquestioned, a{< the priests, of late, have free access here at all hours." " And whither do you go, and how elude obser- vation ?" asked La Tour. " I have only to cross the passage, and descend a narrow staircase," she replied ; " both of which were left to the vigilance of Antoine ; and I shall reach my own apartment, without encountering any 5> I- ) * one. A low rap was at that moment heard without th» door ; Mad. d'Aulney, at the sound, turned quick- ly to La Tour, and offering him her hand, with a melancholy smile, she said, " It is time for us to part ; and may the blessed saints be with you, St. Etienne, and guide you from hence in safety ; wc may never meet again, but my prayers will always intercede for your hap- piness and prosperity." " God bless you, Adele," said La Tour, in a sub- dued voice, taking her hand respectfully, " for this night's kindness ; for all that you have ever shewn me, words are too feeble to express my gratitude ; may heaven watch over you, and make you as hap- py as you deserve to be : farewell !" Mad. d'Aulney turned from him in silence ; and Antoine instantly opening the door, in obedience to a signal from her, she addressed a parting word of good will to him, and hastily descended the stairs. La Tour stood with his eves ii\cd on Jier rf tirins \\L F*^ BITALS 07 ACADIA. 169 figure, till Antoine ventured to urge his departure, by reminding him, that every moment's delay in- creased the danger of discovery. He started at the suggestion ; and, wrapping the cloak around him, nMd drawing the cowl closely over his face, they proceeded in perfect silence, leaving the door se- cured, as before, by bolts and bars, in* the hope that it4night lull suspicion for a short time, or, at least, retard the moment of certain discovery. They passed out into the open air, through a door which Antoine had the means of opening, and thus avoid- ed the sentinels who guarded the usual passage. The continued darkness favored La Tour's dis- guise ; they safely reached the gate, ' and Antoine informed the guard that he was ordered to conduct the holy father out, and that he had, himself, a commission from his lord, which would detain him several hours. They were immediately permitted to pass. Every obstacle was then surmounted, and, with feelings of exultation. La Tour again stood upon the ocean's verge, and listened to the rushing of the wind and waves, beneath the free and ample canopy of heaven. He looked back to- wards the fort, visible by a few glimmering lights, and the gratitude and tenderness which had so re- cently subdued his stern and haughty spirit, were strangely blended with revenge and hatred against the man, from whose power he was then escaping. Antoine uttered a shrill whistle, which was an- 15 ¥ i 1 ml 1 1 M\ lid iri 170 RIVALS OV ACADIA. It sv^ered by the dash of oars ; and a skiff presently shot from a little bay, and drew near the spot where they waited. Father Gilbert was in it ; La Tour grasped his hand, in silence ; and Antoine, taking the oars, applied all his strength and dexterity, to bear them swiftly over the dark and troubled waters. - 1' i •V I f UIVALfi OF ACADIA. 171 Who is't can read ? woman ? Shakspearc. Arthur Stanhope found M. de Valette at Pe- maquid, according to the information of father Gil- bert ; for the priest had, in fact, left him there on the preceding evening, and it was from him that he learned the tidings of I-a Tour's imprisonment. Soon after his interview with Stanhope, at Mount Desert, father Gilbert obtained permission to visit the confessor at Penobscot, during the absence of a priest who usually att< nded him ; nor did this vo- luntary act of charity excite any suspicion against one who had gained so high a reputation for zeal and sanctity. Anto-iie saw, -md instantly recogni- zed him ; and, suspecting that his visit to the fort was prompted by a vish to learn the situation of La Tour, he, under the seal of confession, imparted his yet immature plan of escape, and, almost be- yond his hopes, iound in him a very able assistant and adviser. Father Gilbert was aware that La Tour favored the Hugonot cause j but he, with reason, doubted ■^.••^■isfi*.'!,- 172 BITALS OF ACADIA. 'i; > the sincerity of his motives ; for he encouraged the Catholic religion throughout his settlement, and supported the authority of the priesis. He knew that Mad. de la Tour was warmly attached to the protestant cause, and that her influence was extensive ; the establishment of the true-faith, there- fore, seemed to depend on La Tour's support and assistance ; and if some measures were not soon adopted to procure his freedom, D'Aulney would probably detain him long in confinement, or per- haps send him to France, to await the slow process of a trial. If any feelings of personal regard towards La Tour influenced the priest, they were unacknowledged even to his own heart ; for he carefully excluded every earthly object from his affections, and seemed to endure life, only in the hope that a severe and constant discharge of his sacred duties would, at length, insure him a happy release from its painful bondage. Towards the close of the day preceding La Tour's escape, De Valette received a message from father Gilbert, requiring him to return, without delay, to the neighbourhood of fort Penobscot. Though he assigned no reason for his request, nor gave any intimation of his plans, the young French- man reposed implicit confidence in his discretion ; and, moreover, as a good Catholic, he was so habit- uated to the control of a spiritual guide, that he did not hesita^^ a moment to comply with this desire. Stanhope was rather surprised at this ready su was, by ter; but at Pema his nocti The V ing was object ir extreme. it was afl appointei they shoi they anc Mount I breaking De Valeti It was o labored a with fold( « That hither .?" the ship's sprang u which he joyful re< cither ves enthusias which po related th carefully A mTAXS OF ACADU. 17S ll 11 raged ementy 3. He tached ce was , there- >rt and >t soon would or per- process regard jy were for he rem his ' in the I of his I happy ing La ge from without obscot. 3st, nor ''rench- retion ; habit- ;hat he th this at this ready submission on the part of De Valette, which was, by no means, a prominent trait in his charac- ter ; but, as nothing could be gained by remaining at Pemaquid, he consented to accompany him, on his nocturnal voyage. The wind favored their passage, but the even- ing was dark and gloomy ; and, with no certain object in view, their progress was tedious in the extreme. The vessels kepi close in company, but it was after midnight whtn they reached the place appointed by father Gilbert ; and, presuming that thej should hear nothing from him ull morning, they anchored near each other, oft" the shore of Mount Desert. The morning twilight was just breaking on the distant hills, when the watch from De Vale'-ie's vessel descried an approaching boat. It was occupied by three persons, two of them labored at the oars, and the third sat in the midst, with folded arms, in a state of perfect immobility. "That is father Gilbert, but who brings him hither f" exclaimed De Valette, as they drew up to the ship's side, and pulled in their oars. La Tour sprang upon the deck, flinging aside the disguise which he had till then retained ; and a shout of joyful recognition was echoed by every voice in cither vessel. Antoine was received on board with enthusiasm ; and, in answer to the eager inquiries which poured from every lip, La Tour briefly related the circumstances of hie escape, though 1m carefully suppressed any allusion to the assistanc( ft 15 fi* J ■-*ri*' 174 BITALS OT ACADIA. r'i 4' of Mad. d'Aulney. It was long before the tumult of gratulation subsided ; but father Gilbert, who alone remained cold and unconcerned, retired from it as soon as possible, and resumed the guidance of his little bark, which had safely borne him on many a solitary voyage. The chant of his matin hymn rose, at intervals, on the fitful breeze ; and Stanhope watched him till he disappeared behind the point of land re nd *vii«ch he had followed him on the preceding d ' La Tour, convince that all the force which he could at present command w :. j insufficient to con- tend with D'Aulney, whose strength had been greatly, though perhaps without design, misrepre- sented to him, ordered the sails to be set for a homeward voyage ; and, before sunrise, the shores of Penobscot were left far behind them. The remainder of the night, which succeeded La Tour's release, was passed by Madame d'Aulney, in a state of morbid excitement. She watched alone by the side of her sleeping infant, and even maternal solicitude was, for a time, suspended by the intense interest, which her own perilous adven- ture, and the safety of La Tour awakened. She felt that she had done a deed, for which, if by any chance discovered, she could never hope to obtain forgiveness from her incensed husband. Still, her conscience acquitted her of any motive criminal in its nature, or traitorous to his real interest ; and the reflection that it had been in her power to con- KIITALS or ACADIA. 175 for an essential benefit on the man whom she had once deeply, though most unintentionally, injured, was inexpressibly soothing to her feelings. She counted the moments, which seemed to linger in their flight, and started at the slightest sound, till sufficient time had elapsed to convince her that he must have proceeded far on his way, towards a place of safety. The dreaded discovery was indeed deferred beyond her utmost expectations. The guard, who was to relieve Antoine, repaired to his post at the appointed time; and, though surprised to find it vacated, yet as the door was perfectly secure, he contented himself with uttering an oath at his com- rade's negligence, and in a few moments it was almost forgotten. An hour or more passed away, and no motion was heard within ; morning advanced —he thought it strange that his prisoner should enjoy such sound repose, and a suspicion of the truth began to dawn upon his mind. He unbarred the door, and his suspicions were, of course, in- stantly realized. Repenting the easy faith which had suffered him to delay an examination, he hastened to impart the intelligence, which soon sprf.ad dis- may and confusion throughout the garrison. Madame d'Aulney heard the loud voices, and hurried steps of the soldiers without, and the quick note of alarum, whose fearful summons could not be mistaken. These sounds, though long expected, struck heavily on her heart ; and she uttered a M 1 i) I i 1 I 176 BITALS OF ACADIA. ! J U' V tA fervent petition to the Virgin, to speed the wan- derer on his doubtful way. She heard various reports of what had taken place, from her atten- dants ; but she prudently waited for the storm of passion to subside, before she ventured into the presence of M. d' Aulney, conscious that the utmost effort of self-command would be necessary to meet his eye with her usual composure. " Methinks you are tardy this morning, madame !" lie said, stopping in his hurried vtralk, and looking fixedly jn her countenance, as she at length entered the room where he was alone. **■ Our sick child must plead my excuse," she re- plied ; " he still requires a watchful care, and I am unwilling to consign him to any one less interested than myself" *' You are a fond mother," said D'Aulney, re- suming his walk ; " but, there are few husbands who choose to be neglected for a puling infant." " The duties of a wife and mother are closely blended," she returned; "and I trust I have not been deficient in the performance of either." " You well know," he said, peevishly, " that I have no fancy for the nursery, with its appendages of children and nurses ; and yet, for three days, you have scarcely condescended to quit it for an instant. Yes, for three days," be repeated, again stopping and looking earnestly at her, " you have secluded yourself from me, and your cheek has If »' ": f'i .^\ niYAXS OV ACABIA. 177 grown pale, as if some cherished care, or deep anx- iety, had preyed upon your thoughts !" "And what anxiety can exceed a mother's?" she asked, the tears springing to her eyes ; " wh it care so ceaseless and unwearied, as her's, who v/atches over the helpless being to whom she has given ex-* istence ; whose sufferings no other eye can com- prehend J whose infant wants demand the constant soothings of her enduring tenderness, and exhaust- less love ! And has this excited your displeasure ?'' *' My own ailairs have chafed me, Adele," he said, more gently ; " a favorite project has miscarried, and the vengeance I have so long desired is foiled, in the very moment when I believed success un- doubted ; all this, too, through my own easy cre« dulity, and a lenity, which its object ill deserved from me !" " You have erred on the safer side," said Ma- dame d'Aulney, timidly; "and your own heart, I doubt noi, will acknowledge, in some cooler mo- ment, that it is far better to forego the momentary pleasure of revenge, than to commit one deed which could stain your name with the guilt of tyranny and oppression." " You know little of the wrongs," he answered, sternly, " which for years have goaded me ; and which, if unrevenged, would brand me with worse than a coward's infamy. The artifice, which has so often baffled my plans ; the arrogance, which \ X / 178 B1TA19 OF A0ADI4. IN i) has usurped my claims ; even you, jj^entle as you are, would scorn me, if I could forgive them !" " Mutual injuries require mutual forgiveness," she replied ; '' and, in the strife of angry passions, it is not easy to discriminate the criminal from the accuser. But," she added, seeing his brow darken, " you have led me into a subject which can only betray my ignorance ; you well know that I am wholly incompetent to judge of your public affairs; and I have never ventured to obtrude upon your private views, or personal feelings." " You have too much of a woman's heart, Ade- le," he said, " to become the sharer of important councils ; a freak of fancy, or a kindly feeling, might betray or destroy the wisest plan that could be formed." " Nay," she answered, smiling, " I have no wish to play the counsellor ; and it is well, if my husband can be satisfied with the humble duties which it is my sole ambition to fulfil." " And there are enough of these within the limits of our own household," D'Aulney replied ; " though you are but too ready to extend your benevolent exertions beyond ; you were, for instance, most zealous, the saints only know why, to save the life of that scoundrel soldier of La Tour's, when he lay sick here ; — I would that he had died ! — and, trusting to your commendations, and his apparent honesty, I raised him to my favor, and gave him a post, which he has but now most basely betrayed. ,' r A RIVALS OV ACADIA. 179 Fool, that I was, to think he could have served with such a master, and not bring with him the taint of treachery !" " Poor Antoine !" said Madame d'Aulney, equi- vocally; "he made fair professions, and the most suspicious could not have doubted his sincerity. You did not then object to my rendering him those slight services, which, you thought, might attach him more strongly to your cause ; and I could not think he would repay me with ingratitude. But I marvel that you, who are so habitually wary and discerning, should have been deceived by his pre- tensions ; the friend, or servant, who has once proved perfidious, is unworthy «finy future confi- dence." D*Aulney started, as if stung by the last re- mark, and lookmg keenly on her, replied, " He is not the only traitor whom I have fostered and protected ; some other hand has been busy in this work, and, though it were the dearest that I have on earth, my wrath should not abate one tittle of its justice." " It was, indeed, a bold adventure !" said Mad. d'Aulney, with admirable composure ; " but if, as I am told, a priest gained access to the prisoner through Antoine's intervention, they would scarcely deem it necessary to run the hazard of employing any other agency ; and let us not be guilty of in- justice, by indulging suspicions of the innocent," I I I 't=-.^6a 180 BIVALS OF ACADIA. iV ^ 1* -u ' (in " I have closely questioned the father confessor on this subject," he replied, thoughtfully ; " and I learn that a stranger, one of his own crafty order, yesterday visited him ; and that soon after leaving hi" apartment, he was observed in close conference with the wretch Antoine ; but the guard denies ad- mitting any one through the gate at a later hour ; though a priesi, or, as is now supposed, the prison- er in his garb, p:*issed out after midnight, with the deserter, who gave some plausible excuse for de- parting at that unseasonable hour." "The men are terrified by your anger," said Mad. d'Aulney, and probably contradict each oth- er in their natural^eagerness to justify themselves ; you permitted the priests to enter freely, and no one can be blamed for obeying your commands, which did not prohibit a stranger under the sacred habit." "The confessor's illness," resumed D'Aulney, with bitterness, '^ has gathered all the priests in the 1p id around him ; and this goat, who entered with the herd, is doubtless a creature of La Tour's ; but, heshrew me, were the holy father in the last extremity, I would noi admit another, without a scrutiny which no artifice could escape." " You have many prisoners left," said Madame d'Aulney, carelessly ; '< and this one, though the chief, was he so very important as to justify all this severity ^" \ .„< BIVALS OF ACADIA. ISl " It matters not, madame," lie answered, stern- ly ; " but I care not to have my wishes thwarted by cunning ; my plans defeated by fraud and artifice. Vet your curiosity shall be gratified," he added; " or, tell me, do you not already know who has so narrowly escaped the punishment his crimes have well deserved ?" " You told me," she replied, " that it was a lieu- tenant of M. de la Tour's, and I have, of course, sought no further information." " It is well that you did not ;" he said, hastily ; " but suppose I should now tell you that it was the miscreant. La Tour himself, would that palliate the severity of which you are so ready to accuse me r '* It would not extenuate the subterfuge which tit first concea.Ied the truth from me," she answered, with an indignant blush, '' nor atone for a want ot confidence, which 1 had not deserved from you." " And of what importance was this mighty secret to you 9" he asked, sarcastically ; " mcthinks you should rather thank me for the kindness whicit saved you" — " It was well," she interrupted, in an accent of decision, '* and now let it pass forever. Your kind precaution, fortunately > has prevented some suspi- «;ions, which, 1 perceive, you were but loo ready to indulge." " I yet trust he has not quite escaped ;" resumed ITAulncy, after a moment's pause ; *' I have sent 16 ( i 182 AIVALS 0¥ ACADIA. 1 ii out parties in every direction through the neigh- bouring country, and swift boats across the bay ; and he must be gifted with ahnost supernatural powers, to elude pursuit. His return shall be loudly celebrated," he added, with a gloomy smile ; " and you shall not complain, Adele, that we do not call you in to the rejoicings !" "T think he will avoid giving that triumph," she replied ; *^ for he doubtless anticipated your pursuit, and was prepared to elude it *, some of his own peo le were, most probably, in concert with the priest, to secure him a safe retreat." " I doubt not that you wish it," said D'Aulney, angrily ; " that you rejoice in his success, though it abolish my fairest schemes, and prolong a conflict which has already proved pernicious to my fortune and interests." " I can wish for no event," she answered, mildly, ** which would retard your honorable designs, and defeat any rational prospect of happiness or advan- tage ; neither can I adopt prejudices which I do not comprehend, or wish evil to one who has never injured me." *' It is well, madame," he replied ; *' and your benevolence, perchance, will be rewarded. But, though he now escape, believe me, the hour ol vengeance will one day arrive ; I will follow hiia till he surrenders the possessions so unlawfully retained, and ceases to assume a power which has no longer an existence, but in name." ♦ * RIVAI.S OF ACADIi. 183 " And is it for a name only, that you contend ?" asked Mad. d^Aulney ; " must our domestic peace and safety remain in jeopardy, and the din of strife forever ring around us, because a powerless enemy refuses to yield imaginary rights ?" " You are wilfully ignorant on this subject," he replied ; " and shew little of that submission, which a dutiful wife shopld feel for her husband's judg- ment ; but it is enough that I know ihe justice of my own cause, and that I bear a sword, which has ever been faithful to its trust. Go you," he added, tauntingly, " and count your rosary, and mutter to the saints a prayer with every bead ; it maybe they will protect the traitor, whom your good wishes have already followed." So saying, he abruptly left the room ; and Mad- ame d'Aulney, with teariul eyes, and an oppressed heart, hastened to the retirement of her own apart- ment. A/ rm 184 RIVALS OF ACADIA. OHiLFTSR ZVT. I cannot love him ; Vet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. * • * * * but yet I cannot love him, He might have took his answer long ago. Shakspeare. rli Rumors of M. de la Tour's defeat and capture, attended with the usua' exaggerations, were not slow in reaching fort St. John's ; and they could not fail of producing a strong excitement in the garri- son, and of rendering those more closely conn'jcted with him, deeply anxious respecting the result. Madame de la Tour had been attacked by a severe illness, from which she was slowly recovering; and Lucie dreaded to impart to her the tiding?, which from her own feelings, she was assured, would excite the most painful solicit?"le. But her aunt's penetrating eye soon deteci • t no conceal- ment, and she could no longer withliold a minute detail of the reports which had reached her ears. They were, however, received by Mad. la Toui with unexpected firmness. She could not, indeed, suppress her uneasiness, but she felt that exertion :!L?rvAT.S OF ACADIA- J8& KSPISARE. «vas n :ccssaky, and, from that moment, the languor of'Jifjc ase yielded to the energy of her mental cau- Madame de la Tour had experienced many vicis- situdes, and, as the wife of a soldier of fortune, she had learned to bear success with moderation, and to meet reverses with fortitude. She loved her husb tnd, and with a spirit as high and undaunted ns his own, and a mind far more noble and generous, she cherished his honor, as the only treasure which violence or injustice could never wrest from him. Affection is always credulous, and fortunately for her happiness she gavenobclief to the high charges which were publicly alleged against him ; but plac** cd the most undoubting trust in his assurance, that they were the baseless calumnies of an enemy. Even the many dark shades in his character, which could not escape her discernment, she was ever ready to palliate; and her bland influence often restrained the violence of his stern and vindictive temper. La Tour, with all his faults, was never unjust to nor merits ; and, thougli he had married her with- out aftection, her execiplary conduct gradually removed his indiflerence, and gained an ascendan* v.y over him, which his pride would uev-^r have brooked from a less superior mind. The raisfor- Umc vvliicii had now befallen him, Mad. de la Tvi*h regard to him, or La Tour. Lu- cih endeavov red to support the irksome suspense. ^^th sosn<^U iiJCf OS tnat equanimity which hpr nnni 1IIVAL8 OV ACADIA. 187 invariably exhibited. But she was less practised in this species of self-control ; and the silence, which Madame de la Tour preserved respecting Stanhope, increased her uneasiness and depression. She had never alluded to him, except in some casual re- mark, since the evening of his departure ; and Lu- cie had no reason to believe iier sentiments respect- ing his attachment w£re at all changed. Pride and delicacy restrained her from entering on a theme, which was so pointedly shunned ; but she tblt wounded by a reserve that she had never before oxperienccd ; and the silence imposed on her, only gave more activity to her thoughts, which were perpetually engrossed by a subject, so closely con- nected with her happiness. Mad. de la Tour's con- duct towards her was in every other respect un- changed ; her affection and confidence undiminish- ed; and Lucie fancied she could discern, in this, the indiience of her guardian's prejudices, or, per- haps, a [irohibition which her aunt would not ven- ture to disregard. Two or three days of gloomy weather had con- lined Madame de la Tour almost entirely to her own apartment ; tidings long expected were still delay- ed ; and, in spite of every effort, tiie disappoint- ment and anxiety evidently depressed her spirits. On tlio first return of sunshine, she proposed a waJk with TAicie, to the cottage of Jacques and Annette, vvliich stood at a little distance without the fort, ind hafl hoeu presented to them, on their marriage^, ^ ,^:-^-iim^. 188 RFVAIS OP ACADIA. by La Tour, as a reward of their fidelity, [t was at the close of a balmy day, in the early part of au- tumn ; and, for a time, they walked on in silence, each one engrossed by her own reflections. Ma- dame dc la Tour at length abruptly said, " This soft and fragrant air brings healing on its wings ! my strength and spirits are already renova- ted by its soothing influence, and even inanimate nature seems rejoicing in this brilliant sunshine, so doubly welcome, after the damp and heavy fogs, which have so long hung round us !" " It is almost like the mild, transparent evenings of our own bright clime," said Lucie; ^^ hut then we can enjoy, without the fear of perpetual change, while in this land of vapors, the sun which sets with most resplendency often rises shrouded in clouds." " It is this contrast, which gives a piquancy to all our pleasures," said Mad. de la Tour ; " no sky is so serene, as that which succeeds a tempest ; and a slight alloy of sorrow or disappointment gives a zest to subsequent enjoyment." " No one can love variety better than I," said Lucie, SKi'fling; "provided its shades are all re- flected from glowing colors ; but I would prefer a calm and settled enjoyment, however monotonous it may seem, to those sudden bursts which borrow half their brightness from the contrasted gloom ol a reverse (( I" You will iind nothing permanent in this change ful world, Lucie ; and, from your exuberant gaietv. mVAlS or ACADIA. 189 wisely reserve a portion of cheerfulness, at least, to support you, in the darker moments of misfortune, which the most favored cannot always escape. I Iiave had my share of them ; and it is not a trifling evil, that my husband is now a prisoner, in tlic hands of his most deadly enemy ; but it is weakness to indulge in useless regrets and apprehensions, and I have only to perform my duty faithfully, and cherish the hope, that his own courage, or the as- sistance of his friends, will soon effect his rescue." " We have but too much reason to believe, thai they are all sharers of his captivity," returned Lu- cie ; " had De Valette, or any of them escaped, they would surely have returned hither, before this time." " They would scarcely be welcome here," said Mad. dc la Tour, " if they returned, before they had done all that brave men could do, to recover the liberty of him, whom they have pledged themselves to serve !" " Their own feelings, I doubt not," replied Lu- cie, " would prompt them to use every exertion to effect that object, and Eustace's courage, we know, is unquestioned. We have heard, too," she added, with slight hesitation, " that Mr. Stanhope procur- ed another vessel, after his disaster, to go on and assist my uncle ; and if, as is possible, he and Dc Valette are still at liberty, it would be strange in- CS 0/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 192 RIVALS OF ACADIA. h pect of temporal advantage for you, I am sure, would induce me to urge a step which could ex- pose yon to such trials, or jeopardize those princi- ples, which you well know I have always inculcat- ed, and most highly prized. But De Valette is no bigot, and I am persuaded he would never coun- teract your inclinations, or restrain you from wor- shipping according to the dictates of your con- science. Both your parents, as you already know, Lucie, were Catholics ; many of your father's con- nexions are now high in favor with the ruling par- ty, and your marriage with a Catholic would doubt- less be agreeable to them ; and, while it established your own fortune, might give you an opportunity to serve the cause of our persecuted sect." " I feel under no obligations to my father's rela- tions," replied Lucie ; ' they have never shewn any interest in me ; even my existence has seemed a matter of indifference to them, and there is scarce- ly one to whom I have been personally known." " There were some peculiar circumstances con- nected with your father's history," said Mad. de la Tour, " which, for a long time, involved his nearest friends in deep affliction. He did not long survive your mother, and his family would gladly have re- ceived you into their protection, had not your aunt Rossville claimed you as her sister'" last bequest. She soon after became a protestant, and persisted in educating you in that faith, which naturally gave offence to your paternal relatives ; and to that cause n TIIVAX.9 OF ACADIA. 195 alone I attribute the decline of their interest. But, if you return to France, and as the wife of De Va- Ictte,"— " That I can never do !" interrupted Lucie ; — '' dearest aunt," she added, " I would sacrifice much to gratify your wishes ; but the happiness of my whole life, — surely you would not exact that from me I" " I exact nothing from you, Lucie," she replied ; " but I would have you consider well, before you finally reject the tried aflfection of De Valette, and with it affluence and an honorable station in your native land, merely from the impulse of a girlish fan- cy, which would rashly lead you from friends and country, to share the doubtful fortunes of a puri- tan ; to adopt the habits of strangers, and endure the privations of a youthful colony !" " I have reflected on all these things," said Lu- cie ; "and I am persuaded that wealth and distinc- tion are, at best, but empty substitutes for happi- ness ; and that the humblest lot is rich in true en- joyment, when shared with one whose love is the fountain of our hopes, whose smile can brighten the darkest hour, and scatter roses over the thorni- est path of life. I had rather," she added, with a glowing cheek, " far rather trust my little bark to the guidance of aflfection, upon the placid stream of domestic joy, than to launch it on the troubled waters of ambition, with pleasure at the helm, and ^H VI • 194 IfllVALS OF ACADIA. freighted with hopes and desires, which can bring back no returns but those of disappointment and vexation." " This is a dream of idle romance, which can never bear the test of reahty," said Mad. de la Tour ; " and I hope you will detect its fallacy be- fore you are taught it by the bitter lessons of ex- perience." " Our opinions on this subject," said Lucie, " I fear must remain entirely at variance; but, as I have yet many months left for reflection, let us at present suspend the discussion. Here is Annette's cottage ; and, if you please, I will extend my walk a little, and return when I think you are sufficiently rested from your fatigue." Madame de la Tour readily assented to her pro- posal ; and Lucie, guided by that delightful associ- ation of thought and feeling, which leads us to re- trace, with so much pleasure, the scenes where we have lingered with those we love, directed her steps to a wooded bank, which overhung the water, where she had last parted from Arthur Stanhope. The sun was setting with unwonted splendor, and the bright reflection of his golden beams tinged the cloudless sky with a thousand rich and varied hues, from the deep purple which blended with his crim- son rays, to the pale amber, and cerulean tint, that melted into almost fleecy whiteness. The cart! glowed beneath its splendid canopy, c"d the trorp. RITAIS OF ACADIA. 196 which skirted the border of the bay, threw their lengthened shadows upon the quiet waves, which lay unruffled and bathed in the glory of the gor- geous heavens. Lucie stood on the very spot where she had re- ceived the last adieu of Stanhope, and the same objects which now met her eyes, were the mute witnesses of that parting scene. Every leaf that trembled around her revived some cherished re- membrance ; and the breeze, which sighed through the foliage, was soft as the voice of whispered love. But painful conjectures respecting his present situ- ation, at length engrossed every thought ; and the re- collections of happiness, and dreams of hope, were alike absorbed in the suspense and anxiety which, for many days, had gathered gloomily around her. ^he involuntarily glanced across the bay, as if ex- pecting that some messenger would approach with tidings ; and she started with joyful surprise, on observing a vessel just below, and, at that moment, on the point of anchoring. She gazed earnestly for a short time, and her heart throbbed audibly as she saw a small boat leave its side and steer direct- ly towards the fort ; two persons were in it, and the dark flowing garments of father Gilbert could not be mistaken. Love, it is said, though notoriously blind in the main, is quick-sighted on such occasions ; and another glance assured Lucie, that the companion -r-*nr- 1% BIYALS OF ACADIA. of the holy father, who plied the oars with so much diligence, was no other than Arthur Stanhope. The little boat glided swiftly on its course ; it soon neared the shore, and Lucie screened herself behind a clump of trees, when she found it verging to a cove, hard by, which formed a sheltered harbour for such light vessels. 1^ '■%^-v. BIVALS OF ACADIA. 197 CHAPTER ZVn. I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if [ be not thine ; to this I am most constant, 'I'hough destiny say, no. ShAKSP£AR£ AuTiiLR Stanhope soon guided his boat into the cove, and leaped on shore, followed more leisurely by father Gilbert, who proceeded alone to the fort Stanhope lingered behind, apparently enjoying a profound reverie, while, step by step, he approached the grove where Lucie was stili concealed. Her liabitual dread of father Gilbert induced her to remain silent, till he was out of sight ; when she bounded lightly from her covert, and stood before her lover. An exclamation of delighted surprise bur-t from his lips, as he sprang eagerly towards her; and it was several moments before the joyful excitation of mutual and happy emotions admitted of calm inquiry and explanation. " You must now tell me, Arthur,'* Luci^ at length said, " what miracle lias brought you here ; how you huve escaped from sorms, and shipwreck, and captivity, and all the evils which we heard, I feai too truly, had befallen you !" I jj>^ ■-"■?*, 198 RIVALS OF ACADIA. S I " Report, I perceive, has at least multiplied my misfortunes," he answered, smiling ; " I have been in no danger from the sword or prison, and, though the tempest treated my poor vessel roughly, thanks to its mercy ! we all escaped with life, and, there- fore, have no reason to complain." " That dreadful night and day !" said Lucie, with ir shudder ; " did I not tell you. Stanhope, that a storm was gathering .'* and when we stood together on this very spot, and I pointed to the heavy clouds, and sullen waves, you only smiled at my fears, and paid no heed to my predictions !" " I knew not, then, that you were so skilled in reading the mystery of the clouds," he answered : " and if I had, dear Lucie, I fear that knowledge vtrould have availed me little ; my honor was pledged in the undertaking, and I could not delay it, even to gratify the wishes, which you urged with so sweet a grace, and an interest so flattering." " Well, let it pass," she replied ; '* you are safe again, and we need not the tempest's aid to enhance the sunshine of this moment. And now tell me, where you have left my uncle, and De Valette, and all who went out with you, in such a gallant s'.iow r and why you have returned alone, or only with that dreaded priest, who seems to traverse earth and sea, like a spirit, gifted with ubiquity .'"' " But this dreaded priest, Lucie, whom you re- gard with so much fear, appears inclined to use iis mysterious influence for benevolent purposes : BIVAL8 or ACADIA. 199 ; purposes : and Mons. de la Tour is certainly much indebted to his exertions for being so scon freed from imprison- ment." " My uncle is free and safe, then f" asked Lucie, •' though, indeed, your looks before assured me ol it ; and I ought not to have delayed so long im- parting the intelligence to my aunt. Suffer me to go, Stanhope ; you know not her anxiety !" " You will not leave me so soon, my dearest girl ?" he asked, again drawing her arm through his ; " indeed, it is useless ; father Gilbert has by tiiis time reached the fort, and imparted all that you could, and much more, with which you are yet unacquainted." " But my aunt is not there, Stanhope ; I left her at Annette's cottage ; and. J doubt not, she already thinks it strange that I have not returned : if she knew that I was loitering here with you" — " She would not think it very strange," inter- rupted Stanhope, smiling, and still detaining her ; " and, in the happy tidings of her husband's safety, even you, Lucie, may be for a time forgotten. If the priest is mortal, as I must believe he is, though you seem to doubt it, he will probably feel some pleasure in communicating good news, and I owe him this slight satisfaction, for the favor he conferred in bringing me hither." " I do not yet understand," said Lucie, " why you are here alone, or where you have left th? com- panions of your luckless expedition ? I hope yoa > ti ■}& a 5 200 RIVALS OF ACAUIA. K have not entered into a league with tlic priest, or ucquirctl any of liis supernatural powers ?" " No, Lucie," lie replied ; " 1 shall long remain contented with the humbler attributes of mortality, rather than acquire any powers which can make you flee from me. The mystery is very easily solved, as I doubt not, all which pertains to the hoi) father might be. Released from all our difficulties. I left I'enobscot Bay, in com-pany with La Tour • we were vexed with head winds, tor a day or two, against wiiich my vessel, being small, was enabled to make greater progress, and leaving him behind, J just now anchored yonder, waiting for the tide to proceed up to the fort. But I was too impatient to see you, to remain at that short distance another moment ; and as father Gilbert chanced to make lua appearance just then, I availed myself of his boat to convey me here ; for he chose to land at i\m place instead of going on to the fort. I could not j)ass this spot without pausing an instant, to recall the moment when I last saw you. I knew this was your favorite hour for walking ; and, smile if you will, something whispered me, that I might agaiu meet you here." " My solitary rambles are not always directed to this spot," she answered, with a conscious blush ; ♦' and it was mere chance that brought me here this evening. But, perhaps," she archly added, " ab- sence has seemed so brief to you, that you expected io find mc lingering where you left me J" M'i^s^ ■.^JiJftf^ ||l , -, . i^r^^^^S^sf--^'' RIVALS OF ACADIA. 201 *• Absence from you seem hnef!" he said; "I would that you could read my heart, Lucie ; you would there find how dark is every hope, how cheerless every scene, how lengthened every mo- ment, which is not shared with you ! Deem me not presumptuous," he added, " when \ ask, why we should part again ? why delay the fulfilment of those hopes, which you have permitted me to che- rish, and doom me to the misery of another sepa- ration !" '" Do not urge me on this subject, Arthur," she replied ; " the reasons which I once gave you, still exist • nor can any argiiments diminish their force, nor any motives induce me to reject their influence. Nay, your brow is clouded now," she added, smil- ing ; " as if you thought ca|)rice or coldness moved me to refuse your wishes ; and yet your heart must tell you, I am right, and that it is not kind in you to seek to draw me from my duty." " Convince me, first, that it is your duty, Lucie, and I will not urge you more ; I will then yield, cheerfully, if I can, to those scruples which, I con- fess, now appear to me fastidious." " You are wilfully perverse, Arthur, but it will require more time than I can at present command, to convert you to my opinion ; you see, even this bright twilight is fading from us, and my aunt will be uneasy at my long absence ; indeed you must jiot detain me another moment." I i^'fT" ■ ■ V- ' '■^.■ 202 XIVALS OF ACADIA. : J "You will at least suil'er mo to go uitli you. Lucie," — *' T cannot," she interrupted; "Annette's cot- tage is near, and I fear nothing ; besides, here if. my shaggy page," she said, pointing to the large dog which followed her ; " and he is as trusty in his office, as any that ever attended the steps of a rov- ing damsel." " And he enjoy?; the privilege of shewing hi< attachment," said Stanhope, coloring ; " while I am restrained, even from those slight attentions which common civility demand ! T am weary of this- secrecy, Lucie, and nothing' but your urgent wisii could have compelled me to endure it so long!" " My prohibition is now withdrawn," she replied; " not because you have borne it with so much patience, but because my aunt detected the secret, and drew from me a confession, which, in truth, 1 should have made voluntarily, had I not feared it might involve her in my guardian's displeasure." " And that smile, dear Lucie, assures me, that the avowal was not ill-received." " My smile is deceptive then," she answered : " no, Arthur, unjust as it may appear to you, as it most certainly does to me, my aunt is vexed and disappointed at what she chooses to consider my perverse inclinations ; and though I am persuaded she would never interpose her authority to prevent my wishes, her consent to them will not be very readily obtained. You were, but just now, the ■ *\*-*<"(iir » » ''^ .a!0^\W^- ..mq;. ....^^,-^^jP«SR^^ RIVALS OF ACADIA. 20J Hibjcct orour conversation, and T left licr displeased with the opinions I had ventured to express ; I fear your unexpected appearance with me so imme- diately after, might not he well received, and this is my sole objection to your returning with me." " I have certainly no wish to obtrude myself in any place," said Stanhope ; " and particularly where my presence could excite displeasure against you : and, though I feel convinced that the sentiments imbibed against me are most unjust, yet if your favor, your affection may 1 add, dear Lucie, sur- vive their influence, I will not repine at that injus- tice which gives an added proof to its strength and constancy." " I thought it was already proved beyond a doubt !" she answered ; " surely that regard which time, and almost hopeless absence, could only ren- der more devoted and enduring cannot be endan- gered by the assaults of idle prejudice. or the lures of mercenary ambition ! My heart is more credulous in its faith than your's, Arthur ; and no jealous fear could ever lead me to distrust the truth and fervor of that love which you have pledged to me !" " And, think you, dearest girl, that I repose less confidence in you ? that 1 can doubt the heart in which is treasured every hope and fond affection of my soul ? From you, pure and disinterested as you are, I have nought to fear ; but I cannot look upon the dreary blank of absence, and not feel all 1 11 fl k 204 RIVALS OF ACADIl. '^1% the misery, the thousand nameless ills, which tlia» one word comprises !" " Speak not of it, Arthur ; it is not wise to fancy evils which may never have existence, or which, if they are in store for us, Providence has wisely hidden from our view. You see that T am strong in courage, and too chary of my present happiness, to sutler one gloomy cloud to shade its fleeting brightness I" " Fleeting, indeed !" he answered, " another day. or two, at most, and if you still decree it, we part for many long and tedious month;; I" " So soon !'' said Lucie, her cheek changing with emotion ; " so very soon, Arthur .'' why this unexpected haste, tliis quick departure .'"' " You cannot ask me to remain here, Lucie, when to all but you, my presence is a burthen ; when every other eye meets me with a coldness and dis- trust, which, even for your sake, I cannot longer endure ! La Tour but ill concealed his feelings while ho thought my services might be useful to him ; but now, I can no longer aid his cause, and I will not tax him even for the poor civility he has so grudgingly be -towed !" " You are right," said Lucie ; " and under such circumstances I cannot even wish you to prolong your stay ; but when we next meet, Arthur" — "When we next meet, Lucie.'* would that we were not to part ! that I could now prevail on yoii eA- I -'^l^^^^'^'^- BIVAXS OV ACADIA. 205 to unite your fate with mine, and shun the contin- gencies of another dreaded separation !" " It is in vain to ask it, Arthur," she repHed ', '' it would only hasten the opposition and strife of angry fecHngs, which I would not provok till I feel at liberty to obey the dictates of my own will. My guardian has now a right to prevent my choice, and I have no doubt he would exercise it to the utmost; but when I am freed by law from his authority, he will cease to importune me on a sub- ject so entirely unavailing. My promise also is pledged to my aunt, that I will not even enter into an engagement without her sanction, before that period." " And what is her object in requiring this pro- mise .?" asked Stanhope ; " is it not in the hope that she shall prevail with you, in my absence, to become the wife of De Valette .?" " Perhaps it is," said Lucie ; " but do not suffer this idea/to give you one moment's uneasiness ;—i no, Arthur, believe me, neither threats nor entrea- ties can change the purpose of my mind, or diminish that affection, which will ever remain as fervent and unchanged, as if the most sacred promise was given to pledge my fidelity, or the most holy vows already united our destinies." At that i^oment they reached a green pathway, leading to Annette's cottage ; and Lucie again re- minding Stanhope that he must leave her, he felt 18 266 BITALS OV AOADIA. compelled, reluctantly, to turn into another direc- tion, and pursue his lonely way to the fort. Madame de la Tour, in the mean time, had scarcely heeded Lucia's protracted absence, as she sat at the cottage door, enjoying the fragrance and beauty of the evening, which her late confineme! t rendered peculiarly gratefu' ' he last glow ot twilight faded slowly away, and the falling Uews began to remind her, that she had already lingered beyond the bounds of prudence. She was surpris- ed that Lucie stayed so inconsideratel , and at length bocame seriously uneasy at her delay. But Ik r enxiety was for a time diverted, by the appcar- ar.ce of Jacques, who came in haste from the fort, with the intelligence which father Gilbert had just communicated, that La Tour was at liberty, and then on his homeward voyage. Mad. de la Tour immediately left the cottage, persuaded that Lucie must have returned without her. She had not proceeded far, when she encoun- tered father Gilbert, walking with his usual slow and measured steps, and a countenance perfectly abstracted from every surrounding object. She had never spoken with the priest, for her peculiar tenets led her to regard his order with aversion ; nor had she before particularly noticed him. Sho jiow saw in him only the messenger of her hus- band's freedom ; and, eager to make more particu- lii inquiries, she hastily approached him, though with a degree of reverence which it was impossible ?3tei*t»(.. ■ pim^e^'- RIVALS OF ACADIA. 207 tor any one to avoid feeling in his presence. The priest stopped, on finding his progress thus imped- ed, and looked coldly on her ; but gradually his ex- pression changed, the blood rushed to his face, and a sudden brightness flashed from his piercing eyes. The lady, engrossed by her own feelings, did not observe the change, but, in a tone of anxious in- quiry, said, " Holy father, you are a messenger of good tid- ings, and I would crave the favor of hearing them confirmed, from your own lips !" With startling energy, the priest seized her hands, and fixing his eyes wildly on her, exclaimed, " Lady, who are you ? speak, I conjure you, while I have reason left to comprehend !" " I am the wife of Mons. de la Tour," she an- swered, terrified by his strange conduct, and vain- ly striving to free herself from his grasp. " The wife of Mons. de la Tour !" he repeated ; •' no, no, you are not ; — you would deceive me," he added, vehemently ; " but you cannot ; those fea- tures ever, ever haunt me !" " For whom do you mistake me ?" asked Madame de la Tour, with recovered self-possession, but still deadly pale. " Mistake you !" he answered, with a shudder ; " no, I know you well — I thought you would return to me ! you are" — he lowered his voice, almost to a whisper, and spoke with calm emphasis, " you arc Lucih Vdliers !'' H B 208 BITALS 07 AOADfl. " My God !" exclaimed Mad. de la Tour, " who are you ? No," she quickly added, '* I am not Lucie Villicrs, but I am the sister of that most injured and unhappy lady." " Her sister !" said the priest, striking his hand upon his forehead, with a perplexed air ; " I thought it was she herself ;— yet, no, that could not be. Her sister !" he repented, wildly ; " and do you not know me ^ not know the wretched, miserable Do Courcy f** A piercing cry from Madame de la Tour follow- ed these words, and attracted the attention of Jac- ques, who was standing before his cottage door. He Hew to assist his lady, but, before he reached Iter, she had sunk, senseless, on the ground, and father Gilbert was stant ng over her, with clasped bunds, and a countenance fixed and vacant, as if deserted by reason. Jacques scarcely heeded him, in his concern for Mad. de la Tour ; he raised her gently in his arms, and hastened back to the cot- tage, to place her under the care of Annette ; when bv2 returned, soon after, to look for the priest, he had disappeared, and no traces of him were found in the fort or neighborhood, \ ^»: SIVAXg OF ACADIA. 309 CMAFTBB ZVZU. •* How hast thou charm'il '' The wildnctis of tlio waves and rocks to this ? " That tliiis relenting they have giv'n thee back '* To earth, to light and life." LuciK, immediately after parting with Stonliope, ciianccd to meet fatiier Gilbert, as he was hurrying from the spot where he had just held his singular interview with Madame dc la Tour. She avoided him, with that instinctive dread of which she could never divest herself on seeing him ; and he passed on, without appearing to notice her, but with a ra- pidity too unusual to escape her observation. She found Annette's quiet cottage in the utmost confu- sion, occasioned by the sudden illness of Madame dc la Tour, who had then scarcely recovered from her alarming insensibility. Lucie hung over her with the most anxious tenderness, and her heart bitterly accused her of selfishness, or, at best, of inconsidcration, in having been induced to prolong her absence. But hei aunt did not allude to it, even after her consciousness was entirely restored ; she spoke lightly of her indisposition, attributing it entirely to fatigue, though her sad and abstracted 18* aio RITAX.S OV AOADtA. countenance showed tlmt her mind was cngrossod by some painful subject. She made no mention ol" father Gilbert; and Lnci^, of course, did not feci at liberty to alhido to him, though Annette had told her of their conference, and her curiosity and inter- est were naturally excited to learn the particulars. It co»ild not but surprise her, that Mad. de la Tour should have been in earnest conversation with the priest ; lor she had always shunned him, and ever treated liUcie's fears as some strange deception ol the imagination. M. dc la Tour returned late in the evening ol' that day ; but the shock uhieh his lady had receiv- ed, whether mental or physical, again confined her several days to her apartment. Lucie was convinc- ed that this renewed indisposition was, in some manner, connected witii the appearance of father Gilbert. Siic, at length, ventured to speak of him to her aunt ; but the subject evidently Distressed her, though she confessed his peculiar manners had at first alarmed her ; adding, with an attempt at gai- ety, that he was probably scandalized at being so abruptly addressed by a female and a heretic. With apparent indificrencc, she also asked several questions of Lucie, respecting her accidental in- terviews with the priest; thus betraying a new and uncommon interest, which strengthened the suspi- cions of her niece. These suspicions were soon »fter confirmed, by casually learning that La Tour 'had himself made strict inquiries concerning father « I VIVAZ.8 OF ACATIIA. 211 .d from his wintry hive, and sipped from every honied cup, to fill the treasures of his v xen cell j and a thousand birds of passage folded their downy pmions, and delayed their distant flight, till bleaker skies should chill their h7elody, and warn them to depart. Lucie threw herself on a gras iy knoll, beneath a group of trees, completely sheltered by the broad leaves of a native grape-vine which climbed the tallest trunk, and leaping from tree to tree, hung its beautiful garlands so thick around them, as to form a natural p.rbor, almost impervious to the brightest sun-beam. The opposite shore of the ri- ver was thickly wooded, chiefly with those gigantic pines for which that province is still famed ; but in- terspersed with other trees, whose less enduring fo- liage was marked by the approach of early frosts, v/hich had already seared their verdure, and left those rich and varied tints thai charm the eye in an autumnal landscape, while yet too brilliant to seem the presage of decay. The river flowed on m 214 BIVAL8 OS ACAOIA. its still smooth course, receiving on its waves thu reflection of natuie, in her quiet but ever glorious array, and mingling its faint murmurs with the busy sounds which breathed from those countless living things, that sported their bri* i, ^ence on its banks. Not far above the spot where Lucie reclined in the luxury of dreaming indolence, the river was contracted by a ledge of rocks, through which the stream had worn a rough and narrow channel. The full waters of the noble river, arrested by this confined and shallow passage, rushed violently over the steep and craggy rocks, and pouring their chaf- ed and foaming current into the calm stream, which again expanded to its usual width, produced a fall of singular and romantic beauty. Every rising tide forced back the waters from their natural course, precipitating them into the stream above with equal rapidity, though from a less appalling height. Twice, in each tide, also, the sea was on a level with the river, which then flowed smoothly over the rocks, and at those times only, the dangerous ob- struction was removed, and the navigation unim- peded. Lucie had remarked the waters as unusually placid, on first approaching the bank, and she did not advert to this perpetual change, till their loud and increasing murmurs had long fallen unheeded on her ears. Tier attention was at length aroused ; and though $he had often witnessed it before, she ce on Us BIVALS OF ACADIA. 215 gazed long, with unwearied pleasure, upon the trou- bled stream, as it bounded from rock to rock, dash- ing with impetuous fury, and tossing high in air its flakes of snowy foam. The report of a fowling piece, at no great distance, at length startled her ; and a well-known whistle, which instantly succeed- ed, assured her that the sportsman was De Valette. She had wandered from the shade of the grape vine to obtain a more distinct view of the falls ; but not caring to be seen by him, she hastily plunged among a thicket of trees, which grew close to the water's edge. The place was low and damp ; and in looking round for a better situation, her eye fell on a bark canoe, which was drawn in among some reeds ; and, without hesitation, she sprang into it, and quietly seated herself. It was probably left there by some Indian, who had gone into the woods to hunt, or gather roots ; a neat blanket lay in it, such as the French often bartered for the rich furs of the country, and several strings of a bright scarlet berry, with which the squaws were fond of decorating their persons. Lucie, in the idleness of the moment, threw the blanket around her, and twined some of the ber- ries amongst her own jet black hair. She had scarcely finished this employment, when she heard quick approaching footsteps, and, glancing round, saw De Valette pushing heedlessly through brier and bush, and Hero trotting gravely at his side. A loud bark from the dog next foreboded a disca- 'I is? ' II "f"!' ^ 216 B1VALS OF ACADIA. {) lit. u H . ( very ; but both he and hit; master had halted on the summit of the bank, apparently to survey the occupant of the boat. Lucia's curiosity was aroused to know if he would pass on without recognizing' her; and busying herself in plaiting some reed?, which she plucked from beside her, she broke into a low chant, successfully disguising her voice, and cautious that no words should be distmguished, except one or two of the Indian dialect, which she had learned from an old squaw who frequented the fort. " How now, my little squaw," said De Valette, advancing a few steps ; " have you got cast away among the reeds ?" " I am waiting for the tide, to take me down to the fort," she answered, in such unintelligible French, that he could scarcely comprehend her. " And what are you so busy about :" he enquired, approaching nv^-'r, to satisfy his curiosity. " Making a basket; and I will give it to you for some beads, when it is done !" said Lucie, in the same imperfect jargon, stooping her head low, and concealing her hands lest their delicacy should betray her. But Hero, who had listened, and observed with his usual acuteness, interrupted the farce at that moment by springing to the boat, and placing his fore paws in it, he gently seized the jlanket in his mouth, and pulled it from her unresisting shoulders. A bark of pleasure succeeded^ this exploit, as he laid his cxpectci " Nov V^alette, indeed, art of di " Inde said, smi that you do you deceived "I wc you were of bitter willingly to detect "It w which hi are but i for our o "And rejoined your sex troth, the different "I be with arc could tn jiink of ^ex, who :i RIVALS OF ACADIA. 217 laid his shaggy head in her lap, to receive the expected caress. " Now, by my faith, mademoiselle," said De V^alette, coloring with mingled feelings, " 1 can indeed, no longer discredit your pretensions to the art of disguise." *' Indeed, you have no reason to do so,'' she said, smiling ; " though I scarcely thought, Eustace, that you had less penetration than your dog ! But do you remember what I once told you; — twice deceived, beware of the third time !" "I would not have believed then, Lucie, that you were so skilled in deceit !" he said, in a tone of bitterness ; but quickly added, carelessly, " I willingly confess that I have not penetration enough to detect the disguises of a woman's heart !" " It would certainly be difficult to detect that which has no existence," said Lucie, gaily ; " we are but too guileless, too single-hearted, in truth, for our own happiness." " And for the happiness of others, you may add," rejoined De Valette ; " the boasted simplicity of your sex is so closely allied to art, that, by my troth, the most practised could scarce detect the difference !" '* I begin to have faith in miracles," said Lucie, with arch gravity ; " surely nothing less than one could transform the gallant De Valette, the very pink of chivalrous courtesy, into a reviler of that •^cx, who" — 10 41 r ■ 218 RIVALS OF AOADIA. " Who are not quite so faultless as my crcrduiit} once led me to believe them," interrupted De Valettc. " Nay, if you have lost your faith in our infalli- bility," she answered, " your case is hopeless, and I would counsel you to put on the cowl, at once, and hie away to some dull monastery, where you can rail, at leisure, against woman and her decep- tive attributes. It might form a new and fitting exercise for the holy brotherhood, and, methinks, would sound less harshly from their lips, than from those of a young and generous cavalier." " I am not yet so weary of the world as to avail myself of your advice," he replied ; " however grateful I may feel for the kindness which prompts you to give it." " I hope you do feel more gratitude than your looks express," said Lucie ; " for, though I have labored most abundantly to please you, I cannot obtain one smile for my reward." " You have never found it difficult to give me pleasure, Lucie," returned De Valette ; " though unhappily I have been less fortunate in regard to you." " You are petulant to-day, Eustace," she said ; " or you would not accuse me so wrongfully ; nay, you have been very, I mast say it, very disagreeable of late, and followed your own selfish amusements, leaving me to wander about alone like a forsaken a KIVAXS OF ACADIA. 219 wood-nymph. Indeed, it is neither kind nor gal- lant in you." " And can you think T have consulted my own inclinations, in doing so .'"' he asked, with vivacity. '' Believe me, Lucie, my heart is ever with^^you, and when I have been absent or neglectful, it was only from the fear of obtruding those attentions, which I thought were no loLTer prized by you." " You have done me great injustice, by admitting such a thought, Eustace," she replied ; " and 1 appeal to your own conscience, if any caprice or coldness on my part, has given you reason to ima- gine that my fcClings toward you have changed." De Valette colored highly, and paused a moment, before he replied ; " I have no inclination to complain, Lucie, but you have long known my sentiments too well to suppose I could view with inditlbrence your ac- knowledged preference for another, and it was natural to believe that preference would diminish the interest which I once had the presumption to hope you entertained for me." " No circumstances can ever diminish that inte- rest. Eustace," she replied ; "our long tried friend- ship, I trust, cannot be lightly severed, nor the pleasant intercourse which has enlivened the soli- tude of this wilderness be soon etVaced from our remembrance : believe me," she added, with emo- tion, " whatever fate awaits my future life., my •220 llIVAIiS OF ACADIA. \} Jicart will always turn to you, with the giatolul affection of a siRter." " A sister !" l)e VtUotte repeated, witli a sigh ; and the transient flusli faded from his cheek, winle he stooped to caress the dog, which lay sleeping at his feet. A moment of embarrassing silonc(> ensued, whicii Lucie broke, by asking De Vnlette if he was return- ing to the fort, and prof»osing to accompany him. *' If the owner of this canoe was here to row us,'* she continued, " I should like extremely to return in it, Ihe water looks so cool and inviting, and lam already weary." •' It would be madness to venture ngainst the tide, in that frail vessel," replied De Valctte ; ♦' and, indeed, Lucie, I think your present situation is not perfectly safe." The tide was, in fact, rising with that rnpidityso peculiar to the Bay of Fundy, and which, of course, extends, in some degree, to the rivers that empt} into it ; and while Lucie occupied the canoe, it had, unnoticed by her, been nearly freed from the reeds, which, a short time before, had so effectually secured it. She observed that a wider space of water separated her from the land ; nnd, striking one end of a paddle upon the sandy bottom, to support her as she rose in the rocking bark, she reached the other hnnd to De Valelte, who stood ready to assist her in springing to the shore. A RIVALS OF ACADIA. 321 slight dizziness came over her, caused by tlie con- stant but scarce perceptible motion of the canoe, and ahinned on i'eehng it dip to the water's edge as hIic was on the point oF leaping, she pressed for- cibly against the oar, while the corresponding mo- tion ol' her Ibet nnpeiled the boat from the shore, with a velocity which instantly precipitated her in- to the waves. Tiiis scene passed with such rapidity, that Dc V'alette fancied her hand already within his grasp, when the giddy whirl and heavy plunge struck upon his senses, and tho Hutter of her garments caught his eye, as the waves parted and closed over her. Eustace was an indiiferent swimmer ; but, in the agony of his terror, every thing was forgotten but Lucie's danger; without hesitation he threw him- self into the stream, and cxe 2d all his skill to reach her, when she soon again appeared, floating on with a swiftness which seemed every instant to increase the distance between them. He heard the din of waters rushing over the rocks, and knew that he was hastening towards the fearful gulf, from the loud and still increasing noise which they sent forth, as they dashed across the narrow channel. The thought that Lucie's fate was inevitable, and most appalling, if he could not save her before she- reached that fatal spot, redoubled his exertions, which, however, every effort only rendered more faint and ineffectual. , 19* 'K ii2 RIVALS or ACADIA. Happily for Lucie, extreme terror had deprived lier of consciousness, und she uus borne unresist- ingly on the rapid waves, ignorant of the peril which surrounded her. She already seemed within the vortex of the cataract ; and its confused and deafening clamor for an instant recalled her sens- es, and thrilled coldly through her heart. But she was sudd-^nly drawn back by a powerful grasp, and* when she again opened her eyes, she was lying on a grassy bank ; the melody of the woods chimed sweetly around her, and the distant tumult of the waves fell, softened to gentle murmurs, on her ear. A confused recollection of danger and escape cross- ed her mind ; but the feelings it excited were too overwhelming, in her exhausted state, and she again sunk into complete insensibility. Lucie owed her recovered life lo the generous exertions of an Indian, who, returning to his canoe, the unlucky cause of her misfortune, was attracted by her perilous situation. He swam to her rescue with a dexterity acquired by long and constant practice, and reaching her at a moment when death seemed inevitable, succeeded in bearing her safely to the shore. With scarcely a moment's respite. he returned to the assistance of De Valette, who was completely subdued by his cftbrts, and must have sunk, but for the aid of his faithful dog. The animal, with equal courage and attachment, perse- vered in holding him securely, and was, in fact. dragging him t( came to his resc safety. His fin Lucie; and his hanced by th(5 preserver of he lions of the pon lodged, and hb( and Lucie. When Lucio ly, she found he one, who seemc most solicitude face ; but, a^ lu she started and features of fath countenance wi eyes were cvid however, release fully restored, i remained stand vain attempted cd to look on again approach in a voice of t emotion. Luci in the powerful and appearance manded an exf RIVALS OF ACADIA. 223 dragging him towards tlic shore, when the Indian came to his rescue, and conveyed him to a place of safety. His first anxious incjuiries were respecting Lucie; and his gratitude to liis dehvcrer was en hancei4 RlVAtiS OV Al!AUlA. speak, wlipu the loud bnrU of Horn >vns linnnl. nnti lie l^ouncknl (owtiids l»er, lollowrd by Do \ alclio ;uul the Indinn. 1'athor (lilbrvl lianlily retired, and vns snon hid ill ibe (lier|> sluwlow 5 of the r<.»rest. niVAr.s OF WAutk. '19.:^ OMAFTim XIX. •' Oh .Tenloiisy ! tlimi Imiu' nf plposiiie riiptidsliip, '• TliDii woiBt invodfir of ournHiultM' bosoms j '" How liorp lliy iHiirov poif^mi nil our softii»>ss, •• Ami tmn mil (uriUIc iiMtinoi into liillcriiess.'" A FKW hours of ifpoRo ro.«i1orcd liUcie's cxliausted strength ; thongli tho np|)alling (luiigor from whicli she hnd boon so providontially rosouotl, loft a far more enduring iinprcBsion on hor nund. Tlio even- ing of that (hiy was soronn and cloudless, and tho hroezo which lloatod from the river had nothitjg of t thought marked her counteiuuice, though tho mental sulfering she had so recently endured might still be traced in her pale che(;k, which was half shaded by tlic ringlcjts of jetty hair, that fell pro- lusely around it. Her forehead was reclined on one hand, th(» other rested on the head of Hero, who sat erect beside her, as if conscious that his I ,) 220 ntvAiJB or At \iiiA. Into iny thoughts whu'h 'Aw cared not to eomnnnnealr to the other. The sileneo was at length al»rii|»ih broken, by an exehnnation IVoni Lneid, of" I'^athn tiilberl!'" uttered in an accent so ipiick and start- ling, that Mad. de la 'Poiir spran;i involuntarily from her musing posture, and even the dog leaped on his feet, and looked inipiirinsily in her face. ti Poor Hero ! I did not mean to (listurb yi m. said Tiueii"^, patting her dumb favorite, and rather embarrassed, that she had unwarily produced so nmch cxeit(Mnent. " Father (iilbert !" repeated T\tad. and stdl kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as if wishing to ask some question, which she yet (eared nnght not be well recciveil. " What wovdd you say, l.ucicr" asked Mad. de hi Tour, with a faint smile ; " I perceive there i« something on your mind, which vou would fain un- eic, she r will be dec of this day mVALH OF ACAllt\. 337 Uurlhoii ; uikI wliy sliould you lioHituto to apeak it lo inr f" •' I'eiliaps it is nii ih 234 BIVALS OP ACADIA. U to some other protection, or, when induced to en- ter scenes which had become irksome to him, he watched, with jealousy, even the most trifling at- tentions that were offered her. He, who possessed such a heart, should never have doubted its truth, or wounded her affection by distrusting its fervor and sincerity. He had led her into the fatal vor- tex, and one word from him could have dissolved the spell ; the slightest expression of his wishes, would, at any moment, have drawn her from plea- sures of which she already wearied ; and, amid the sweet tranquillity of nature, they might have regain- ed that happiness, which had withered in the un- genial atmosphere of artificial life. But he was too proud to acknowledge the weakness he indulged ; and when she besought him, even with tears, to ex- plain the cause of his altered conduct, he answered her evasively, or repulsed her with a coldness, which she felt more keenly than the bitterest re- proaches. Confidence, the strongest link of affec- tion, was broken, and the golden chain trembled with the shock. "Nothing is more galling to an ingenuous mind, than a consciousness, that the actions and feeling;; are misconstrued by those to whom the heart has been opened with that perfect trust and unreserve, which ought to place them beyond the shadow of suspicion. Your mother deeply felt the injustice of those doubts ; and perhaps, a little natural re- sentment mingled with and augmented the pain. mVALS or ACADIA. 235 wliicli rankled in her inmost soul. But, satisfied of her innate rectitude, and of that true and constant love, which even unkindness could not weaken, she left her innocence to vindicate itself, and made no farther attempt to penetrate the reserve which her husband had assumed, and which opposed a fatal barrier to returning harmony. Experience in the world, or a thorough knowledge of your father's pe- culiar disposition, might have suggested a different, and, perhaps, a moi'e successful course. But she judged and acted from the impulse of a sensitive and ardent mind, which had freely bestowed the whole treasure of its warm and generous affections, and could ill brook a return of such unmerited coldness and distrust. Her conduct towards him was marked by the most unvarying sweetness, and a studious deference to his wishes ; they, however, seldom met, but in a crowd ; for she sought socie- ty with an eagerness, which seemed the result of choice, while it was, in reality, a vain attempt to relieve the restlessneb> and melancholy that op- pressed her. In public, her spirits were supported ]>y an artificial excitement, and her gaiety seemed unimpaired ; but, when alone with me, the con- sttint companion of her solitary hours, and the sole confidant of her thoughts, she yielded to the most alarming depression. Her health evidently suffer- ed from this disordered state of mind ; but she ut- tered no complaint, and from her husband, particu- larly, concealed every symptom of illness, and ap- 230 mVAtS OP ACADIA. ^ pcarcd with her accustomed cheerfuhiess. Strange as it may seem, lier gaiety chagrined him ; he fan- cied her trifling with, or indift'erent to, his huppi- ncss, and satisfied with the pleasures which court- ed lier, without a wish for his participation. He little knew, — for his better feelings were warped by Ji morbid imagination, — how gladly she would have exchanged every other blessing for one assurance of returning confidenco and affection. " Your mother's spirits faintly revived, on tlie approach of spring. She was weary of dissipation : the glittering bubble, which at first charmed her eye, had burst, and betrayed its emptiness. She liad a mind which panted for the noblest attain- ments, a heart formed for the enjoyment of every pure and rational pursuit. Her thoughts continu- ally reverted to ihe first happy months of her union with De Courcy ; and she impatiently anticipated the moment, wlicn they should return to those qui- et scenes ; fondly believing that she might there recover her husband's love, and that a new anil most endearing . j would bind him more strongl} to her. These soothing hopes beguiled many an heavy hour - and, but for one fatal error, one dead- ly passion, iiiey might have been fully realized!" Madame de la Tour abruptly stopped, overcomi by the painful recollections which crowded on her mind ; Lucie looked at her with tearful eyes, but offered no remark ; and both remained silent foi itevw/al minutes. IlIVALS OF ACADIA. 237 OHAPTEA XZ. What deep wouiuls over closed without a scar :' The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 'Pliit whicli disfi'uresit ; and thpy who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquiihM, bear Silence, but not subinission. Lord Btron. Madami: dc la Tour at length proceeded: — "I have already told you, Lucie, that De Courcy view- ed, with uneasiness, the homage which was paid your mother, though it did not exceed the usual devotion which Parisian gallantry is wont to offer at the shrine of female loveliness. Ho must have expected \t ; for no one could have been more conscious of her beauty, or mure proud of possess- ing it. But he persuaded himself, that this adula- tion was too grateful to her; his affection was. self- ish and engrossing, and he wished her to receive pleasure- from no praises or attentions but his own. She was, perhaps, as free from vanity as any wo- man could be, young, beautiful, and admired as herself; and if not indifferent to the admiration which her charms excited, it was but the natural and transient delight of a gay and innocent mind ; her heart was ever loyal to her husband, and his A ;f^ 4m 238 RIVAIS OF ACADIA. society, his fond and approving smile, were far more prized by her, than the idle homage of a world. " The young Count de was an object of particular dislike and unceasing suspicion to De Courcy. They were distantly related ; but some slight disagreement, which had taken place at an earlier period, created a coolness between them, which was never overcome. Your mother was aware of this, and, had she more closely consulted her prudence, would, probably, have avoided the attentions of one so obnoxious to her husband's prejudices. But the Count was gay and agreeable, the versatility of his talents amused her, and he seemed to possess many .niable and brilliant qua- lities. His manners were courteous ; his attentions never presuming ; and there was a frankness in his address, which formed an agreeable contrast to the studied flattery of others ground her. Yet even the most distant civilities excited your father's dis- trust ; the Count became, every day, en object of mo'io '^ecided and marked aversion., and your mo- ther could not but feel herself tacitly imp' cated in his displeasure. Grieved that he could doubt hei affection, or the rectitude of her heart, and relying confidently on the purity of both, she resolved not to wound the Count's feelings, by yielding to an un- generous prejudice, and her conduct and manners therefore continued unchanged. " As spring advanced, your mother withdrew, al- most enti Hi ' ^ K f - niVALS OF ACADIA. 239 most entirely, from society ; but the Count de— — •, among a few others, was a privileged and frequent visitor at her house. One morning, De Courcy, contrary to his usual custom, had urged her to ac- company liim on some short excursion ; and, equal- ly surprised and gratified by the unexpected re- quest, it was with extreme reluctance that she felt compelled, from indisposition, to decline it. Soon after his departure, however, I persuaded her to leave her apartment, for a few moments, to look at some choice exotics, which had just been brought to the house. She was still lingering to admire them, when the Count de was announced, through the negligence of a servant, who had been ordered not to admit any visitors. It was too late to retire, unobserved ; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcely exchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room. He started, on seeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea of illness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admit his supposed ri- val to an interview. Tale with emotion, he stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot ; his eye, which flashed with scorn and anger, fixed alternately on each ; then deliberately turned, and left the house. The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression of calm contempt j your mother, terrifi- ed by the storm of passion which his countenance betrayed, fled precipitately to h jT own apartment, ni as she was, however, and trembling with appre- > I 240 HIVALS OF ACADIA. I i >t- Iiension, she exerted herself to appear at dinner. hoping that the true explanation would appease her husband's irritation. Rut he met her with a gloomy reserve, which destroyed all hope of con- fidence ; he did not allude to what had passed ; every trace of passion was gone, and she felt re-as- sured by a deceitful calm, that only concealed the inward struggle. " De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning ; no one knew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartment through the night, and were confident he had taken no repose. A few hours of anxious suspense passed away, and your mother had just risen from her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room. I was alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression his appearance made on me. His dress was disordered, his countenance pale and haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish. Your mother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon her seat. He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation. " Lucie," he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eye on her face ; " I come to bid you a long, — long farewell !" " What mean you, de Courcy ?" she asked, with extreme alarm ; " speak, I conjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense !" •«A BIVAL3 or ACADIA. 241 " My honor has been avenged !" he replied, with a hoarse and rapid utterance ; " and from this moment we part — forever !" " Part ! de Courcy, my husband !" she exclaim- ed, in a voice of agony ; " tell me, what" — " The concluding words died on her quivering lips ; the sudden conflict of strong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on my bosom. Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwilling to sununon any wit- nesses, attempted to recall her senses, by adminis- tering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach. De Courcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered ; then fiercely exclaimed, " She loves himj^! see you not how she loves Iiim ?" " Wretched man !" I said, indignantly, " you have murdered her ; go, and leave us to our misery.*' ^' My words seemed to penetrate his heart ; his features relaxed, and, before I was aware of his design, he took your mother from me, and laid her gently on a couch. The tide of tenderness had rushed back upon his soul, and every soil and gene- rous feeling transiently revived. He stood over her inanimate form, gazing on her with melancholy fondness, till the tears gushed freely from his eyes, and fell on her pallid features. At that moment, as if revived by his solicitude, she half unclosed hei oyelids, and a faint glow gave signs of returning 21 J • *■ i ■ 1i -M-^' 2A2 BIVAXS OF ACADIA. M life. De Courcy kissed her cold lips, and, murmur- ing a few words, which did not reach my ear, he gave one last and lingering look, and turned preci- pitately to leave the room. " I had retreated from the couch, inexpressibly affected by a scene, which I fondly hoped was the dawn of returning happiness. He stopped, as he was passing me, and, wringing my hand with emo- tion, pointed to your mother, and, in a voice scarce- ly audible, said, " You love her, Justine ; comfort her, — cherish her, as I would have done, — God knows how fer- vently, — had she permitted me. Farewell, my sis- ter, forever." Madame de la Tour was too much agitated to proceed, and even Lucie willingly suspended the painful interest to indulge the natural emotions which her parents' history excited. After a brief interval, Madame de la Tour thus continued : " You must suffer me to pass rapidly over the remainder of this sad tale, my dear Lucie. It was long before your mother revived to perfect con- sciousness ; and the shock which she had received was only a prelude to still deeper misery. The conduct of de Courcy was too soon explained. Yielding to the fatal error, that she had given her affections to the Count de , in the excitement of his passion, he sent a challenge, which was in- stantly accepted. They met ; and the Count was •di. ^' RIVALS OV AG AD 11. 24J carried, as his attendants supposed, mortally wound- ed, from the field of contest. De Courcy, however, was spared the commission of that crime ; for, though the Count's life was long despaired of, a good constitution prevailed, and he at length reco- vered. '' De Courcy had made all his arrangements on the preceding night ; and, immediately after his interview with your mother, he quitted Paris for- ever. A letter was left, addressed to her, which strikingly portrayed the disordered state of his mind, and feelingly delineated the strength of his affection, and the bitterness of his disappointment. Robbed, as he believed, of her love, the world had no longer any thing to attach him ; and he resolved to bury himself in some retirement, which the vain passions of life could never penetrate. " I will pass over the agonizing scenes, the months of wretchedness which succeeded this sepa- ration, this sudden dissolution of the most sacred and endearing ties. All attempts to discover De Courcy's retreat were unavailing, though it was long before your mother could relinquish the delu- sive hope, that he would be again restored to her. We returned to my father's house ; but there every thing reminded her of happier days, and served to increase her melancholy. Your birth was the only event which reconciled her to life ; but her healtli was then so precarious, we dared not flattv)r our- 1 . 244 RIVALS OF ACADIA. selves, that she would be long continued to you. Her physicians recommended change of air, and 1 accompanied her to a convent on the borders ot the Pyrenees, where she had passed a few years in early childhood ; and she earnestly desired to spend her remaining days within its peaceful walls. *' The good nuns welcomed her to their humble retreat, in the midst of a wild and romantic soli- tude ; and, with unwearied kindness sought to alle- viate the sufferings of disease. For three months, I watched unceasingly beside her ; a heavenly resignation smoothed the bed of sickness, and her wearied spirit was gently loosed from earth, and prepared for its upward flight. You were the last cord that bound her to a world which she had found so bankrupt in its promises, and this was too strong to be severed, but by the iron grasp of deatli. As the moment of her departure approached, she expressed a wish to receive the last offices of religion ; and a messenger was sent to a neighbour- ing monastery of Jesuits to request the attendance of a priest. One of the brotherhood soon after entered the little cell, and the nuns, who were chanting around her bed, retired at his approach. " I retreated unobserved, to a corner of the room, fearing she would not live through the last confes- sion of her blameless life. A dim lamp, from which she was carefully screened, shed a sickly gleam around the apartment ; and, even in the deep silence tJ: SITALS OV ACADIA. 245 i of that awful hour, the low and labored whispers of her voice scarcely reached my ear. Suddenly I was startled by a suppressed, but fervent excla- mation from the monk, instantly followed by a faint cry from your mother's lips. I flew to the bed ; she had raised herself from the pillow, her arms were extended, as in the act of supplication, and a celestial glow irradiated her dying features. The priest stood in an attitude of eager attention : his cowl was removed ; and, judge of my sensations, when I recognized the countenance of De Courcy !" " My father !" exclaimed Lucie ; " that priest"— " Wait, and you shall know all ;" interrupted Madame de la Tour. " That priest was indeed your father ; he had taken the vows of a rigid or^^ der, and Providence guided him to the death-bed of your mother. I pass over the scene which fol- lowed ; it is too hallowed for description. Suffice it to say, the solemn confession of that dreadfut moment convinced him of her innocence, and her last sufferings were soothed by mutual reconcilia- tion and forgiveness. Your father closed her eyes in their last sleep, and pressing you for an instant to his heart, rushed almost frantic from the con- vent. " On the following day, my father sought De Courcy at the monastery, hoping to draw him back to the world by the touching claims of parental love. But he had already left it, never to return ; and the superior had sworn to conceal his new 21* .'i 246 RIVALS OF AOADIA. abode from every human being. Before leaving the convent, on the night of your mother's death, ho confirmed her bequest, which had already given you to my eldest sister, then a rigid Catholic. But my fattier soon after became a convert to the opi* nions of the Hi jonots, to which wo also inclined : and my sister's marriage with M. Rosavillo con- iirmed her in those sentiments. She thought pro- per to educate you in a faith which she had adopt- ed from deliberate conviction ; and, as your father had renounced his claims, she of course felt re- sponsible onl; to her own conscience. Every ef- fort to find 'tim, indeed, continued unavailing ; years passed away, and by all who had known him he was numbered as with the dead. " But your father still lived, Lucid, and the re- collection of his injured wife forever haunted him ; her misery, her untimely death, all weighed heavily on his coni^cicno, and he sought to expiate his crime by a ii^c rtf at^sterity, and the most constant and painful acts of E>olf-denial and devotion. Yet the severest pemkace which he inflicted on himself was to renounce his child, to burst the tics of natu- ral affection, that no earthly claims might interfere with those holy duties to which ho had consecrated his future life." *' Just heavens !'* said Lucid, with emotion ; «< could such a sacrifice be exacted ? dearest aunt, tell mc if he yet lives, if I am right" — 1I1VAL8 07 ACADIA. 247 •' He docs live," interrupted Madame do la Tour ; " he received permission to quit his monastery only to fulfil a more rigid vow, which bound him to n life of unremitting hardship; and, after a severe illness, that for several weeks deprived him of rea- son, he at length reached this new world, where for nearly twenty years" — " Father Gilbert !" exclaimed Luci^, storting from her seat in powerful agitation. " Yes,*' said a deep, solemn voice ; and the darl< form of the priest, who had entered unnoticed, stood beside her ; ** my child, behold your father !" " My father !" repeated Lucid, as she rushed in- to his extended arms, and sunl< weeping upon his bosom. 248 BIVALS OF AGADIA. Come, bright Improvement ! on tlie car of Time. And rule the spacious world from clime to clime : Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Truce every wave, and culture every shore. Campbem,. The tempered beams of a September sun glanc- ed mildly on the quiet shores of the Massachusetts, and tinged with mellowed hues the richness of its autumnal scenery. It was on that holy day, which our puritan ancestors were wont to regard empha- tically as a " day of rest ;" and nature seemed hush- ed to a repose as deep and expressive as on that first earthly sabbath when God finished his creative work, and " saw that it was very good." The pub- lic worship of the morning was ended ; and the citizens of Boston were dispersing through the dif- ferent streets and avenues of the town, to their va- rious places of abode. The mass which issued from the portal of the sanctuary with grave and orderly demeanor, appeared to melt away as one by one, or in household groups, they turned aside to their respective dwellings, till all gradually disap- RITALS OF ACADIA. 249 peared, and the streets were again left silent and deserted. 9- Arthur Stanhope had withdrawn from the crowd, and stood alone on the margin of the bay, which curved its broad basin around the peninsula of Bos- ton. He had received no tidings from St. John's, since the day he quitted it ; and, with extreme im- patience, he awaited the return of a small trading vessel, which was hourly expected from thence. But his eyes vainly traversed the wide expanse of water ; all around it blended with the bright blue sky, and no approaching bark darkened its unruf- fled surface. Silence reigned over the scene as un- disturbed as when the adventurous pilgrims first leaped upon the inhospitable shore. But it was the silence of that hallowed rest which man offered in homage to his creator, not that primeval calm which then brooded over the savage wilderness. Time, since the day on which they took possession, had caused the waste places to " rejoice, and the desert to blossom as a rose." The land to which they fled from the storms of persecution had be- come a pleasant abc 1e ; and their interests and af- fections were detached from the parent country, and flxed on ihe home of their adoption. The tide of emigration ceased with the triumph of the puritan cause in England ; but the early co- lonists had already laid deep the broad foundations on which the fabric of civil and religious liberty was reared. Prudence and persevering zeal had (t/ ,/ 250 AIYALS OV ACADIA. conquered the first and most arduous labors of the settlement ; and they looked forward with piou6 confidence to its future prosperity, firmly persuaded that God had reserved it for the resting place of his chosen people. The rugged soil yielded to the hand of industry, and brought forth its treasures. The shores of the bay no longer presented a scene of wild and solitary ma,^nificence. Forests which had defied the blasts of ages, were swept uway ; and, in their stead, fields of waving grain hung their golden ears in the ripening sun, read / for the coming harvest. Flocks and herds grazed in the green pas- tures which slopfsd to the water's edge, or collected in meditative groups b^iieath the scattered trees that spread their ample branches to shelter them. The noble range of hills which rose beyond ni beautiful inequalities, girdling the indented coast, presented a rich and variegated prospect. Broad patches of cultivation appeared in every sheltered nook, and tracts of smooth mown grass relieved the eye from the midst of sterile wilds. Luxuriant corn-fields fringed the borders of hanging v;ood- lands, which ciothed the steep acclivities ; and on the boldest £ immits wide regions were laid bare, where the adventurous axe had broken the dark line of frowning forests, and prepared the way for future culture. Here and there a thriving village burst upon the view, its clustering houses inter- spersed with gardens and orchards of young fruit trees. i RIVALS OV ACADIA. 261 The infant capital, from its central and com- manding situation, rose pre-eminent above the sif- ter settlements. It had prospered beyond the iiopes of tlie most sanguine, and *vas already a mart for the superfluous products of the colony. That regard to order and decorum, displayed by the ma- gistrates in their earliest regulations, and a uni- formity in the distribution of land for streets and dwelling lots, had prevented much confusion, as the population increased. Its limits were then comparatively narrow ; man had not yet encroach- ed on the dominions of the sea to extend the boun- daries of the peninsula. Where the first wharves were erected, broad and busy streets now traverse almost the centre of the city ; and fuel was gather- ed, and wild animals hunted, from the woods that grew in abjndance on the neck, which is now a protracted and populous avenue to the adjoining country. Extensive marshes skirted the borders of the river Charles, and the three hills which formed its prominent natural features were steep and rug- ged cliffs. One, indeed, was surmounted by a wind-mill, which for many years labored unceas- ingly lor the public good, and ably supplied a de- ficiency of water-mills ; and another, which over- looked the harbor, was defended by a few pieces of artillery ; thus curly betraying that jealous vigilance which has ever distinguished the people of New- Cngland. The last, and most lefty, was still a barren waste, descending into the humid fens which iX ) •' I ' i52 BIVALS OF AOAIIIA. are now converted into a beautiful conimou, the only ornamental promenade which our metropolis can boast. Improvement was for a time necessarily gradual. Religion, the only motive which could have induc- ed such sacrifices as were made in its cause, was first established ; and civil order, and the means ot education, were deemed next important by the wise and- virtuous founders of our republic. The neces- saries and comforts of life were secured before they had leisure to think of its embellishments. Neces- sity produced a frugal and industrious spirit, and the wealthiest encouraged by their example the economy and self-denial of the lower orders. Ar- tisans and mechanics soon found ample employ- ment, and various manufac tures were ingeniously contrived to supply the ordinary wants of the colo- ny. The natural products of the soil gradually yielded a superfluity, which was exported to the West Indian and other islands ; — the commence- ment of that extensive traffic, which has since rais- ed Boston to a high rank among the commercial cities of the world. It was also sent in exchange for the commodities of the mother country, who, indulgent to her children while too feeble to dis- pute her authority, then generously remitted those duties which afterwards proved a " root of bitter- ness" between them. The fisheries, also, were even then an object of consideration ; and many found employment in that craft, which has now become •^t^ BirALS OT ACADIA. 250 ^a source of national wealth. Vessels of considera- ble burthen were launched from the shores of the wilderness, and their light keels already parted the waters of distant seas. Nations which then viewed our hardy navigators with contempt, have since seen their white sails flutter in the winds of every climate, and their adventurous ships braving the dangersof every rugged shore. The proudest have acknowledged their rights in each commercial port, and the bravest have struck unwillingly to their victorious flag. The aJvancement which the colony had made within fourteen years from its settlement, was in- deed surprising. The germ of future prosperity seemed bursting from its integuments. The prin- ciples of a free government were established ; the seed which was " sown in tears," though it appear- ed " the least of all seeds,"^ was preparing to shoot forth and spread its branches into a mighty tree. As yet, however, the future was " hid under a cloud;" and what had already been done, could only be justly appreciated by those who acted and suffered from the commencement. But the fruits of their labor were evident, even to the most indif- ferent obsi^ RIVALS OF ACADIA. 2G1 against a rude fence which enclosed the garden plat, his eye rested on a slender mound of earth, covered with fresh sods, and surrounded by sap- lings of willow, newly planted. It was evidently a grave ; and, with a chilled heart, and excited feelings, he leaped the slight enclosure, fearing, he knew not, dared not ask himself, what unknown evil. At that moment, he heard light approaching foot- steps ; he turned and saw a female advancing slowly, and too much engrossed by her own thoughts to have yet observed him. He could not be de- ceived ; he sprang to meet her, repeating the name of " Luci^ ;" and an eager exclamation of " Stan- hope, is it possible !" expressed her joyful recog- liiliuii. " Why are you so pale and pensive, dear Lucie," askod Stanhope, regarding her with solicitude, when the first rapturous emotions had subsided ; " and what brings you to this melancholy spot at such a lonely hour ?" "Oh, Arthur," she replied, "you know not half the changes which have taken place since you were here, or you wou'd not ask why I am pale and pen- sive ! this is the grave of my kindest relative ; till you came, I almost thought of my last friend !" " Good heavens ! of your aunt, Lucie ; of Mad- ame de la Tour ?" A burst of tears, which she could no longer restrain, was Lucie's answer j her feelings had, of i ..j^j*". --•*,- JG2 BIVALS OF ACADIA. *1 late, been severely tried, and it was many moments before her own exertions, or the soothings of affec- tion succeeded in calming her emotions. A long conversation ensued ; each had much to say, and Lucie, in particular, many events to communicate. But as the narrative was often interrupted by ques- tion and remark, and delayed by the expression of those hopes and sentiments which lovers are wont to intersperse in their discourse, we shall omit such superfluities, and sum up, as briefly as possible, all that is necessary to elucidate our story. Madame de la Tour's constitution was too deli- cate to bear the rigor of a northern climate, and from her first arrival in Acadia, her health began almost imperceptibly to decline. She never en- IJrely recovered from the severe indisposition which attacked her in the autumn, though the vigor and cheerfulness of her mind long resisted the depress- ing influence of disease. But she was perfectly aware of her danger even before the bloom faded from her cheek sufficiently to excite the alarm of those around her. It was a malady which had proved fatal to many of her family ; and she h".l too often witnessed its insidious approaches in others, to be deceived when she was herself the victim. Towards the close of winter, she was con- fined entirely to her apartn-ient, and Lucie, and the faithful Annette, were her kind and unwearied attendants. Her decline ivas from that time rapid, but it was endured with a fortitude which had ■ » .*•*»-' * IIIVAI.8 07 ACADIA. 263 distinguished her in every situation of life. Still young, and with much to render existence pleasant and desirable, she met its close with cheerful resig- nation, surrounded by the weeping objects of her love. On Lucie's affectionate heart her untimely death left a deep and lasting impression. She felt desolate indeed, thus deprived of the only relative, with whom she could claim connexion und sym- pathy. The parental tie so lately discovered, and which had opened to Lucie a new spring of tenderness, became a source of painful anxiety. Father Gil- bert, — so we shall still call him, — had yielded for a brief season to the indulgence of those natural feelings, which were awakened by the recognition of h:s daughter. But his ascetic habits, and the blind bigotry of his creed, soon regained their influence over his mind, and led him to distrust the most virtuous emotions of his heart. The self- inflicted penance, which estranged him from her, in infancy, he deemed still binding ; and the vow which he had taken to lead a life of devotion, he thought no circumstances could annul. As the priest of God, he must conquer every earthly pas- sion ; the work to which he was dedicated yet remained unaccomplished, and the sins of his early life were still unatoned. Thus he reasoned, blinded by the false dogmas of a superstitious creed ; and the arguments of Madame do la Tour, the tears and entreaties of y 264 BIVALS OF ACADIA. Lucie, had been alike disregarded. The return ol' the priest, who usually officiated at the fort, was the signal for him to depart on a tour of severe duty to the most distant settlements of Acadia. Nothing could change his determination ; he parted from Lucie with much emotion, solemnly conjuring her to renounce her spiritual errors, and embrace the faith of the only true church. As his child, he assured her, he should pray for her happiness, as a heretic, for her conversion ; but he relinquished the authority of a father, which his profession for- bade him to exercise, and left her to the guidance of her own conscience. From that time, Lucie had neither seen nor heard from him ; but solici- tude for his fate pressed heavily on her heart, and she shed many secret and bitter tears for her unfor- tunate parent. Soon after the death of Madame de la Tour, Lucie removed her residence to the cottage of Annette. The fort was no longer a suitable or pleasant abode for her. Mons. de la Tour disre- garded the wishes which his lady had expressed in her last illness, — that Lucie might be allowed to fol- low her own inclinations, — and renewed his endea- vours to force her into a marriage with De Valettc. But his threats and persuasions were both firmly resisted, and proved equally ineffectual to accom- plish his purpose. De Valctte, indeed, had too much pride and generosity to urge his suit after a decided rejection ; and he was vexed by his uncle's # BIVAI.8 BF AGADIA. 265 selfish pertinacity. lo the early period of his attachment to Lucie, he accidentally discovered that most of her fortune had become involved^ in the private speculations of her guardian, and was probably lost to her. But he often declared, that he asked no dowry with such a bride, and. if he could obtain her hp.iid, he should never seek redress for the patrimony she had lost. La Tour, conscious that he had wronged her, and fearing that no other suitor would prove equally disinterested, was on that account anxious to promote a union, which would so easily free him from the penalty f his oftence. Early in the spring, La Toi:r left St. John's for Newfoundland, hoping to obtain such assistance from Sir David Kirk, who was then commanding there, as would enable him to retain possession of his fort. He was accompanied by De Valette, who intended to sail fiom thence for his native country. It was not till after their departure, that Luci^< learned the rpJuced ?tate of her finances from Jacques, the husband of Annette, who had long enjoyed the confidence of his lord, and been con- versant with his pecuniary affairs. She was natu- rally vexed and indignant at the heartless and unprincipled conduct of her guardian ; though there was a romantic pleasure in the idea, that it would only test, more fully, the strength and constancy of Stanhopes attachment. Woman is seldom selfish or ambitious in her affection ; Lucie loved, and she 23 41 I ' ^(i 266 RIVALS OV ACADIA. [■' I felt still rich in the possession of a true and vir- tuous heart. The absence of La Tour was eagerly embraced by D'Aulney, as a favorable opportunity to accom- plish his meditated designs. Scarcely had tiie former doubled Cape Sable, when his enemy sailed up the bay with a powerful force, and anchore