St. Nicholas/Volume 40/Number 9/Brave Little Maid
The historical facts for this story are to be found in Parkman‘s “Frontenac and New France.”
“IN truth, my Madeleine, it is a temptation, and yet I fear to leave thee and thy brothers, mignonne.”
Mother and daughter sat in the low-ceiled, heavy-beamed room of the Manor of Verehères in the year 1692. The hand of Madame de Verchères rested lightly on the dark curls of her fourteen-year-old daughter, seated on a low stool beside her: but her eyes gazed wistfully out of the window where the waters of the St. Lawrence could be seen flowing swiftly by, the clear blue of the Canadian sky above, the glory of late October painting the trees of the forest.
The seigniory of Verchères was between Quebec and Montreal, though nearer the latter place, whither, on the morrow, a boat was to go to bring back supplies against the long, cold winter. The temptation now offered to Madame de Verchères was to go in the boat for a few days’ visit with her sister.
“Fear not for us, dear little Maman. Are we not well and strong, and am I not old enough to care for my two brothers?”
“‘T is not that I doubt the discretion of thy great age, Madeleine,” said her mother, with a low laugh; “but with thy father away on his military service at Quebec, it seems not right for me, too, to leave thee, and go in the other direction.”
“‘T will do thee good, dear little Mother, and soon both thou and Father will return, and we will settle down for our long, cold winter. O-o-h! how the thought of it makes me shiver! I can hear the branches in the forest snapping with the cold, louder than the guns of the Iroquois! Would it not be fine, dear Mother, if, instead of Father’s coming home when his military duty is over, the governor should appoint him to be one of the gentlemen of his household, and we should all go to Quebee for the winter? Oh, how thou would’st shine at the balls and routs, my heautiful Mother; and how gaily would I dance with the other maidens at the governor’s court, and see almost the glories of the king at Versaille.”
“Foolish child, thy wild dreams run away with thee. Now listen, Madeleine. If I go and any illness comes or aught goes amiss, wilt thou send for our neighbor, Madame Fontaine?”
“Oh, Mother dear! I had rather trust to the simples of the old squaw, Oneonta. Truly, Madame Fontaine is so timid, as are all women just come over from Paris, and old Oneonta is far wiser than she. Thou may’st safely trust us to her, and thou wilt go, wilt thou not?”
“As I said at the first, ’t is a temptation to make the journey ere the winter shuts us in. And perchance I can persuade thy Tante Madeleine to return with me for the winter. This is the twentieth of October. Yes, will go, and stay but for the days of All Saints and All Souls. Yet tell me, Madeleine,” Madame said, the mother’s anxiety again gaining control, “tell me, if the Iroquois should come, what could’st thou do?”
“Why, truly, none knowest better than thou, brave little Mother, that the best way to meet them is with boldness. So, if an Iroquois should come,” cried the girl, gaily springing up and seizing a light cane standing in the corner, “I would point my gun at him—so!—and then—bang!—I would say, ‘Avaunt, Monsieur Iroquois?’ and off he would go.”
Preparations for a journey in those days were simple, and the next morning Madame de Verchères waved a farewell from the boat, as it slipped away against the current, to her children, who had come down to the landing to see her off. Madeleine stood between her two little brothers, her arms thrown across their shoulders, and close behind them stood an ald serving-man, Laviolette, his white hair blowing in the fresh morning breeze.
When the boat had passed from sight, they turned from the landing, and made their way back to where the fort stood, encircled by a high stockade, although a leaning post here and there showed that it was not of recent building. Within the stockade stood a block-house, strongly fortified with bastions at each corner, as there were also at the corners of the fort. The place showed that it had been planned by a military man; its general air of defense showed that it was built with the thought of an ever possible enemy; yet a certain air of relaxed vigilance showed that, at present at least, the possible enemy was not considered a probable one.
Madeleine played merry games of soldiers with the boys, drilling them thoroughly, and planning delightful ambuscades in the odd nooks of the fort and the covered way which connected it with the block-house, until the short autumn day came to an end. Soon after sunset, the gate was closed and barred, and before long, all were asleep: while the pines of the forest whispered their lullaby, the waters of the St, Lawrence plashed and murmured throughout the night, and the hoot of the owls sounded, now on this side, now on that, of the lonely seigniory of Verchères.
When morning dawn it was another clear October day, The habitants were early at work in the fields. Some of the soldiers (there were but a handful at the fort) went into the woods, hunting. Two of their number, La Bonté and Gachet, were left behind, sorely against their will; but the Seignior de Verchères was strict in his military discipline, and even in his absence the soldiers dared not leave the fort wholly unguarded, in spite of the apparent peace, So as the lot fell upon these two men, they stayed, though with an ill grace, Madeleine, leaving her two brothers at play within the fort, went again to the river-landing, attended by Laviolette, hoping that some passing canoe might bring some message from her father in Quebec, or of her mother’s safe arrival in Montreal. Laviolette, having provided himself with a pole and line, stood placidly fishing, while Madeleine, seated on the edge of the little wharf, idly watched him. On the side of the river on which they were, the land was cleared for quite a distance in both directions, In the fertile meadows on the river’s bank, the settlers could be scen at work, while nearer the fort stretched in a line the cottages of the habitants. On the other side, the forest rose in its primeval beauty, the dark pines mingling with the brilliant red and yellow foliage of the deciduous trees.
Suddenly, from the borders of the fields where the men were working, came the sudden sharp crack of guns; a habitant fell, then another. The quiet air was rent with the shriek of the piercing war-whoop, and from the woods which bordered the clearing burst a troop of Indians, hideous in their war-paint.
“Quick, Mademoiselle,—the Iroquois! they are upon us!” cried Laviolette, and seizing her arm, they fled together for the fort, fortunately for them a straight path, and not a long one. The light feet of the young girl and the long strides of the old man, who had been a famous runner in his youth, covered the ground so rapidly that the Indians soon saw that they could not capture the fugitives alive before the fort was reached, so they stopped in their headlong pursuit, and began firing, To the terrified girl, with the bullets singing around her ears, the way seemed very long, and that her flying feet scarcely moved.
“Father in heaven, save me—save us all!” she prayed, and at last reached the gate of the fort.
Her two brothers, with grave, anxious faces, ran to meet her.
“Oh, Madeleine, thou art safe! We thought thou would’st be killed. Oh, if Father were here! Tell us, Sister, what shall we do?”
“We will hold the fort for the king as Father would,” she said bravely. “Listen well, boys, to what I say. Father says a French fort must never fall into the hands of the Iroquois, for if they capture one, they will think that they can take all; and it will make them more bold, and insolent, and daring. Now you must each take a gun, and I will take one too, and we shall be such brave soldiers that the enemy will think we are many in the garrison, instead of so few.”
“TO THE PETRIFIED GIRL, WITH THE BULLETS SINGING AROUND HER EARS, THE WAY SEEMED VERY LONG.”
“But, Madeleine, Alexandre cannot have a gun!” Louis exclaimed, all the jealousy of the elder brother aroused, “Father said, when he had La Bonté teach him to shoot, that he was quite too young to be trusted with a gun alone.”
“Listen, Louis,” Madeleine suid, so gravely that the boy's petty resentment died away, “Alexandre may be too young to use a gun for sport, but this is not sport. It is a matter of life and death, and her face paled as she remembered that neither her girlhood, nor the youth of the brave lads facing her, would protect them if they fell into the enemy’s hands. “Remember that Father has always taught you that gentlemen are born to shed their blood for the service of God and the king.”
During this time, the savages had withdrawn, One would almost have thought the sudden, sharp onset had been some evil dream; that the only reality was the clear, crisp morning with its floods of sunshine, and that all danger was over. But none of the Canadian pioneers were to be deceived by such seeming security. Too well they knew the Iroquois habits, and that such retreat was but the lull before a fiercer storm. Child though she was, Madeleine Verchères seized this respite to do what could be done to prepare for a fiercer attack.
Hurrying on with the boys to the block-house, she found women and children who had rushed thither from their cottages for safety, huddled together, some of them rocking to and fro in a silent agony of grief, but most of them crying and screaming at the top of their lungs, in a panic of fear.
“Hush, oh, hush!" she begged; “be still! Your clamor can be heard afar, and if the Iroquois should hear, they would know by your crying how frightened you are, and that would make them more bold. They are always afraid to attack a fort they think well defended, and we must make them believe we have a hundred soldiers.” Then, flashing upon them a smile, which from her babyhood had won all hearts to do her bidding, she added, more gently, “We must all be brave together. You must pray, and my brothers and I will fight like men, and help will soon come.”
Then she left them, aud went below to the place where the ammunition was stored. Here she found the two soldiers left behind by the hunting party, one hiding in a corner, the other with a lighted match in his hand, making his way toward where the powder was stored.
“Gachet!"" she called so suddenly that he dropped the match, “what are you going to do?"
“Light the powder, and blow us al] up out of the hands of those heathen,” he answered.
“You miserable coward!” she cried, stamping her foot on the match until the spark was quenched. “Are you a fool? Think you that I, the daughter of the seignior of Verchères, will give up this fort while one of us remains to defend it? You are cowards, both of you. Come out of here, and help me do what must he done.”
Followed by them, she made the rounds of the stockade, finding several places where the ten-foot posts had fallen on the ground, leaving breaches by which the enemy could enter without hindrance.
Tugging at the posts herself, helping to lift them with her brothers’ aid, while the men dug new holes, settled the posts, and “tamped” them firmly into place, Madeleine at last felt that all had been done that could be to make the outer defenses secure.
Laviolette. who had mounted the bastion near the gate, and was keeping a close watch on field and river, now reported a canoe coming rapidly toward the landing, containing the Fontaine family, seeking refuge in the fort. Madeleine called the two soldiers, and asked one of them to go to meet the little party of refuges but both held back, making the excuse that it was their duty to stay within the fort, and not leave it without military protection.
“Cowards again!” flashed forth Madeleine. “Then I shall go myself.”
“No, no, M’m’selle,” hastily interposed old Laviolette, “let me go. I cannot see my seigniar’s daughter go unprotected.”
“Not so, my good Laviolette.” she answered. “We can spare but one from our small force in case anything happens, and you are far more valuable here than I, for you have a cool head to direct them, and have stood a siege before. The others are but frightened sheep.”
Then, as her little brothers clung to her, begging her not to go, she said cheerily:
“There is n’t as much danger as you think, dear boys. If the savages see the gate of the fort opened, and one from within going calmly to meet the new-comers, they will feel that our numbers are strong, and that it is a ruse to tempt them to come over to attack us, and that while they are rushing upon us, a force from the fort will come out and destroy them.”
Laviolette nodded his head gravely.
“M’m’selle has read the mind of the Iroquois. That is what they will think,” he agreed, “else would I never suffer her to go alone.”
“Stand here at the gate, little brothers, with guns cocked, and Laviolette will keep good watch from the bastion; and when we reach that white stone just there, open the gate, that there may be no delay in our entering, Au revoir,” and slipping through the gate, she walked down the path and met the refugees near the river-hank, and they walked back to the fort as calmly and boldly as they could, not daring to run, Although no shots were fired at them, they felt that they were watched by far-seeing, cruel, unfriendly eyes, and once again, as Madeleine said in later days, “The time seemed very long.” It was with thankful hearts that they passed within the stockade gate and the heavy beams which barred it were swung into place after them.
That afternoon the respite continued, but when the early autumn twilight settled down, the weather changed suddenly; the wind rose, and, mingled with its wailings, came the sound of shots from the forest, while the anxious watchers, peering through the fast-gathering darkness, saw shadowy forms flitting from tree to tree, drawing nearer the fort.
An anxious little group assembled within the block-house for a hurried council of war.
“They are drawing nearer and nearer,” Madeleine said. “You think that they plan to attack us to-night, Monsieur Fontaine?”
“I fear so, M’m’selle Madeleine,” he answered anxiously, while old Laviolette nodded his head in assent. “It is their way, you know,” he continued, “to slip up by degrees, and with shrieks and yells, that help by terrifying the besieged, storm the walls, and capture the stockade, if possible. Then Heaven help those whom they capture, or who surrender.”
“I know,” Madeleine said gravely, “but they fear to attack a place they think well defended. Our hope lies in making them think we are many. Even it they took the fort, the block-house could be held until help came. Therefore it is there that you strong men are most needed to guard the helpless women and children, whatever befalls us others. Do you, Monsieur Fontaine, with La Bonté and Gachet, guard well that place, and oh, do not give it up, even if I am taken before your eyes.”
“Heaven forbid, M’m’selle!” cricd Fontaine, fervently; but Laviolette nodded gravely.
“M’m’selle has the mind of a general. She has well planned,” he said.
They parted, Fontaine and the two soldiers going to the block-house, while the old man, the little maid, and the two lads took their places in the bastions on the stockade; and at frequent and regular intervals the call, “All ’s well,” sounded from point to point. Pierre Fontaine had a clever trick of throwing his voice from one place to another, and such variety did this lend to their signals that Madeleine joyfully said to herself, “The place seems full of soldiers.”
The wind increased in fierceness as night drew on; an icy rain fell, changing later to snow, which soon whitened the ground. This was an advantage, for it made it possible to see, in what would otherwise have been impenetrable darkness, a black mass of moving creatures approaching the fort. Madeleine was straining her eyes to see if this was some new scheme of the Indians to approach the fort unchallenged, when a comfortable, every-day “Moo-o-o” sounding from the mass made her laugh aloud, so great was the relief from the tension.
At the same moment, she heard a low whistle from Laviolette, the signal agreed upon to call the four to any given point, When she reached his bastion, he said in a low tone:
“M’m’selle, here come our poor cattle which escaped from the savages this afternoon. The Iroquois have feasted well on some of the beasts this night. Shall I open the gate, and let our poor creatures in?”
“Oh, I am afraid?” she cried; “the savages may he there.”
“Oh, nonsense, Madeleine,” interposed her brother Louis, “I know that was our Barbe mooing.”
“Even so, Louis,” returned Madeleine, fearfully, “but thou knowest not all the tricks of the savages, They may be crowding in among the cattle to slip within our walls.”
“I think we may safely venture, M’m’selle,” said the cautious Laviolctte. “The savages have had a great feast to-night. They have held some kind of a council, too, I think, from the shouts and songs I have heard, and I can still sec gleams of their council-fire afar off among those trees, I think, as their wont is at such times, they have gorged until they can eat no more, and must sleep awhile.”
So, most cautiously, while the two boys held their guns cocked, Madeleine opened the gate just enough to allow one cow at a time to slip through. When the last of the animals had entered, and the gate was again barred, they went back, each to his bastion, leaving the cows to find such shelter as they could under the rude sheds built here and there within the inclosure,
This incident broke the monotony of the long vigil for the boys, and brought some comfort to Madeleine, for she knew that now there would be plenty of milk for the little children crowded within the block-house, and even fresh meat for the older ones, should the siege be prolonged enough to make it necessary
When morning dawned, all the terrors of the night seemed to flee away. There are few things in the world that look quite as black in morning sunshine as in midnight gloom. A great sorrow or a great shame may seem perchance to cast a deeper shadow when the sun shines, but not the physical terrors which walk in darkness.
Madeleine sent the two little hoys to bed after the weary watch they had kept so faithfully; but she herself, borne up by a nervous excitement, seemed to feel no fatigue, and was here, there, and everywhere, her laugh and smile so contagious that even the sad-faced women took courage, all save Madame Fontaine, who threw herself into her husband's arms, begging him to take her away, back to France, to another fort, anywhere, to leave this horrible place.
“Never!” Picrre Fontaine replied. “Never will I desert this fort unless Mademoiselle Madeleine surrenders it.”
“That will I never do!” she cried, “for my father says that one French fort surrendered is one broken link in the glorious chain that holds this country for our beloved king.”
So the days passed on, no hour without its need for constant watchfulness, no night without its weary vigil; many the alarms and attempted attacks, the scattered shots from fort and forest, yet through it all, this brave little maid of New France bore herself most courageously, and never for one moment did those who seemed dependent upon her and who had learncd to lean upon her, see anything but a brave smile, or hear anything but words of cheer, But discouraged moments came to her, nevertheless. A siege of moderate length she knew they were prepared to stand; most of the winter provisions were stored in the block-house, and a fair supply of ammunition, although the boat which had: carried her mother to Montreal was expected to bring back more powder, as well as cloth for the winter's use.
But gradually, as day followed day, Madeleine's heart sank within her. Had the hunting party of soldiers been wholly destroyed? Had not even one escaped to make his way to Quebec and bring back help? Especially as the days drew nearer to the time her mother had set for her return did a wild terror seize her, lest the beloved mother should return all unknowing, and be slain before her eyes. She had gone to her father's house, to be alone there for a few minutes, and to wrestle with the terror and discouragement which had laid hold upon her. In the room where she and her mother had talked less than two weeks before, she laid her gun upon the table, and, throwing her arms across it, bowed her head upon them, and gave way to the heavy sobs which shook her from head to foot.
“O dear Father in heaven, if my earthly father knew the danger his little girl was in, he would send help most speedily,” she prayed; “hold Thou my dear mother safe; guard her and guide her, Keep her from coming back until all is safe again. Oh, do Thou, Who knowest all and Who lovest more than an earthly father, send deliverance, I pray Thee, for we are sore beset.”
There came upon the tired child suddenly a great calm; a wave of peace seemed to pass over her, and she was not afraid nor anxious any more; and the heavy burdens she had been carrying seemed to roll away.
For the first time in days, she slept a deep, quiet sleep, whether for moments or hours she could not tell. Suddenly, as often happens when some slight unusual noise occurs, she roused, conscious that the sentinels’ regular, “All ’s well,” had changed to the quick “Qui vive?” of challenge.
A moment later, Louis de Verchères, whom Madeleine had charged to summon her if the slightest change occurred, came to her, calling, “Madeleine, Madeleine, come quickly! Help has come at last!”
Even in this supreme moment, her girlish love of fun showed itself, for she snatched an old military hat of her father’s, and placed it on her dark, curling hair. Then she ran lightly across the inclosure and up into the bastion, where faithful old Laviolette stood shaking and trembling with eagerness.
“We must make quite sure, Laviolette, that this is no ruse, [t would not do, to make a mistake now. Whence did the sound come?”
“From the river, M’m’selle.”
Then she sent her clear young voice ringing out into the night, just merging into the dim light of dawn:
“Qui vive? qui vive?”
And in answer came the call:
“It is La Monnerie, come to bring you aid.”
Oh, the welcome sound of the French tongue and the well-known name!
Posting Laviolctte as sentinel at the gate, she herself went down to meet the lieutenant with his company of forty men. A brave, quaint little figure she was, walking with stately step, her girlish face half hidden by the military chapeau. Removing the hat with a stately, sweeping bow, she said, as she met them:
“Verchères welcomes you and your men, Monsieur de La Monnerie.”
“What mummery is this?” cried the officer. “I expect to see the commander of the fort, and there comes to meet me a girl, pranked out as for a masquerade!”
“Even so, Monsienr,” she said, with quiet dignity. “The commander of the fort, it is I! Will you come with me?”
Recalling with a thrill of gratitude the different circumstances under which she had traversed this path within ten days, she walked confidently over it now, by the side of Monsieur de La Monnerie, the tramp of soldiers’ feet surrounding them on all sides.
As they reached the white stone in the path, the gate of the fort swung open, showing old Laviolette and little ten-year-old Alexandre standing as sentinels on either side.
“Our oldest soldier and our youngest one, Monsieur,” said Madeleine, as they presented arms, “Will it please you lo inspect the fort?”
Making the rounds with her, La Monnerie found all in due military order, despite the pitifully small garrison. As they ended their rounds in the great-room of the block-house, where the children crowded eagerly around to see the gold lace and brave uniforms, La Monnerie burst out enthusiastically:
“It is wonderful, M’m’selle, wonderful! Tell me now, how can we help you most?”
“Post new sentinels at once, Monsieur,” she replied. “We have been on duty day and night for a week.”
“It shall be done immediately, but first—”
He gave a low-toned order to his men, at which they formed in ranks; then, with his hand upon his heart, he bowed low before Madeleine, saying:
“Great thanks and great glory are due to you, Mademoiselle de Verchères, for this most gallant defense.”
Then turning to his men, he cried, in ringing tones:
“Present arms!”
The sensitive color rushed over the girl’s face at this tribute, but she answered simply, raising her large dark eyes to La Monnerie’s face:
“’T is naught, Monsieur, I only did my duty. All thanks are due to le bon Dieu, and the glory is our king's.”
“HE CRIED IN RINGING TONES: ‘PRESENT ARMS!’”