Part 10 (1/2)

That name was instantly repeated,--but so low, that he might have fancied it the tremulous echo of his own voice, but for the startling sigh which accompanied it, and struck him with almost superst.i.tious awe.

He turned to see if any one was near, and met the eyes of father Gilbert, fixed on him with a gaze of earnest, yet melancholy, enquiry.

The cowl, which generally shaded his brow, was thrown back, and his cheeks, furrowed by early and habitual grief, were blanched to even unusual paleness. He grasped a crucifix in his folded hands, and his cold, stern features, were softened by an expression of deep sorrow, which touched the heart of Stanhope. He bent respectfully before the holy man, but remained silent, and uncertain how to address him.

”You have been unfortunate, young man,” said the priest, after a moment's pause; ”but, remember that the evils of life are not inflicted without design; and happy are they, who early profit by the lessons of adversity!”

”I have escaped unharmed, and with the lives of all my companions,”

returned Stanhope; ”I should, therefore, be ungrateful to repine at the slight evil which has befallen me; but you were more highly favored, to reach a safe harbor, before the tempest began to rage!”

”Storms and suns.h.i.+ne are alike to me,” he answered; ”for twenty years I have braved the wintry tempests, and endured the summer heats, often unsheltered in the savage desert; and still I follow, wherever the duties of my holy calling lead, imparting to others that consolation, which can never again cheer my wearied spirit. Leave me, now, young man,” he added, after a brief silence; ”your duty calls you hence; and why linger you here, and dream away those fleeting moments, which can never be recalled?”

”Perhaps I merit that reproof,” said Stanhope, coloring highly; ”but I have not been inattentive to my duty, and I am, even now, in readiness to depart.”

”Pardon me, my son, if I have spoken harshly,” returned the priest; ”but I would urge you to hasten your departure. La Tour, ere this, has reached Pen.o.bscot; he is too rash and impetuous to delay his purpose, and one hour may turn the scale to victory or defeat.”

Stanhope answered only by a gesture of respect, as he turned away from him; and he proceeded directly to the beach, where his vessel lay, reflecting, as he went along, on the singularity of father Gilbert's sudden appearance, and wondering why he should have repeated the name of Lucie, and with such evident emotion. The agitation he had betrayed, on meeting her in the garden at St. John's, was not forgotten; and Arthur had longed, yet dared not, to ask some questions which might lead to an elucidation of the seeming mystery.

The sun had scarcely risen, when Stanhope left the island of St. Croix; the wind was fair and steady, and the sea retained no traces of its recent turbulence, except some fragments of the wreck, which floated around. Their vessel was but a poor subst.i.tute for the one which they had lost, but it sailed well, and answered the purpose of their short voyage; and the crew were stout in heart and spirits, notwithstanding their late disasters. Stanhope particularly regretted the loss of their fire-arms and ammunition, though he had fortunately obtained a small supply from the people at the island. Early in the afternoon they entered the bay of Pen.o.bscot, and Stanhope directed his course immediately towards the fort; he ventured, at no great distance, to reconnoitre, and was surprised that he had, as yet, seen nothing of La Tour. The sun at length declined behind the western hills, leaving a flood of golden light upon the waveless deep. The extensive line of coast, indented by numerous bays, adorned with a thousand isles of every form and size, presented a rich and boundless prospect; and, graced with the charms of summer, and reposing in the calm of that glowing twilight, it seemed almost like a region of enchantment.

The serenity and beauty of such a scene was more deeply enjoyed, from the contrast which it presented to the turbulence of the preceding day; and Stanhope lingered around the coast, till warned by the gathering gloom that it was time to seek a harbor, where they might repose in security through the night. Trusting to the experience of his pilot, he entered what is called Frenchman's Bay, and anch.o.r.ed to the eastward of Mount Desert island. Night seemed to approach reluctantly, and gemmed with her starry train, she threw a softer veil around the lovely scenes, which had shone so brightly beneath the light of day. The wild solitudes of nature uttered no sound; the breeze had ceased its sighing, and the waves broke gently on the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.e. The moon rode high in the heavens, pouring her young light on sea and land; and the summit of the Blue Hills was radiant with her silver beams.

CHAPTER XII.

_Mar._ I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker.

_Auf._ We hate alike; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy.

SHAKSPEARE.

La Tour, in the darkness of the night succeeding his departure from St.

John's, had found it impossible to communicate with Stanhope; and, prudently consulting his own safety in view of the approaching storm, he crowded sail, hoping to reach 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. Perfectly familiar, himself, with a course which he frequently traversed,--in an excellent s.h.i.+p, and a.s.sisted by experienced seamen,--he was enabled to steer, with comparative safety, through the almost tangible darkness; and, early on the following morning, he entered the smoother waters of Pen.o.bscot Bay, and anch.o.r.ed securely in one of the numerous harbors which it embraces.

The day pa.s.sed away, and brought no tidings from Stanhope; and De Valette, though their friends.h.i.+p had of late been interrupted by coldness and distrust, had too much generosity to feel insensible to his probable danger. But La Tour expressed 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 tempestuous to venture abroad for intelligence, De Valette was obliged to rest contented with hoping for the best.

La Tour wis.h.i.+ng to obtain more minute information respecting the situation of D'Aulney, intended to proceed, first, to Pemaquid; and, should Stanhope, from any cause, fail of joining him, he might probably receive a.s.sistance from the English 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 busied in preparation, on the day succeeding the storm, and repairing the slight damage which his vessel had sustained, the report of some fishermen entirely changed the plan and destiny of the expedition. La Tour learned from them, that D'Aulney was at that time absent from his fort, having left it, two or three days before, with a small party, to go on a hunting excursion up the river Pen.o.bscot. His garrison, they added, had been recently reduced, by fitting out a vessel for France, to return with ammunition, and other supplies, in which he was extremely deficient.

This information determined La Tour to attack the fort without delay.

Every thing seemed to favor his wishes, and hold out a prospect of success. Though small in numbers, he placed perfect confidence 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 engaged.

Impetuous to a fault, and brave even to rashness, he had, as yet, been generally 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 Bagaduce point, on which the fort was situated.

He intended to make his 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 a.s.sault; or, if he had been in any respect deceived, that it would be easy to secure a safe retreat to the boats from which 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 garlands 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 pa.s.sed on, and disturbed the solitude of the peaceful retreat.