With the dawning of the second day of the defence of Castle Dangerous, the spirits of all rose, all, that is, except one, and this was Dame Marguerite, the wife of Sieur Fontaine. She, poor soul, had but lately come from Paris, and was yet a stranger to the difficulties and dangers of life in the wilderness.
Her complaints were unceasing, and she gave her husband no rest, constantly imploring him to carry her to another fort. Her selfish thought was for herself alone, and she cried,—
“Save me, Pierre, save me. Was it to expose me to such horrible danger that you sent for me to come from Paris, where I was safe and happy?”
“I sent for you and our children, that we might all be together and make a home in this new free land. But methinks that perhaps it had been best to let thee remain where thou wast, and where there was nothing to disturb thy ease.”
“It is in my heart to wish well that I was there again, Pierre, and had never seen this hateful wilderness. Oh, wilt thou not take me to some place of safety ere I die with fright?”
“Peace, woman, and shame me no further by thy childish plaint, for the very children are more brave than thou. As for Mademoiselle Madelon, she has the courage of a man, though she is but a girl, nor will I ever leave this fort while she is here to defend it.”
After this the woman subsided into a peevish quiet, which was at least easier to bear than her complaints. All the others, even those who had lost fathers, husbands, or brothers, put aside their griefs, and united in an effort to compass their common safety. The meals were served out as usual, the work inside the fort progressed as it did each day, since each one felt that the best way to keep grief at bay was to occupy one’s self in helping others. During the middle of the afternoon all the people were called together by Madelon, so that their situation could be discussed. The soldiers, poor creatures, knew not what to counsel, and sought only to stay in the blockhouse, the safest spot. Small account was taken of them, though they were the very ones to whom the others should have looked for protection.
Sieur Fontaine, the old man, and the two boys were of course for staying, and not endeavouring to escape by night down the river. Encouraged by them, Madelon made a little speech to the garrison and the women and children under their charge.
“Dear friends,” said she, “never willingly will I give up the fort. Rather would I die than that the enemy should gain it. Hear what my father said to me, that it was of the greatest importance that the Iroquois should never gain possession of any French fort, since, if they gained one, soon they would grow more bold, and think they could get others, and after that all safety would be at an end.”
“What you say is true enough,” said the Sieur Fontaine, rising in his turn to encourage the people. “Nor may any of us complain, if a girl be brave enough to stay on the bastions for a day and a night without rest or repose, and who ever carries before us a cheerful face. I, for one, cry, ‘Viva, viva! Long live brave Madelon!’”
“Viva, viva!” they cried, one and all; and the feeble garrison returned to their posts, reanimated and hopeful that relief would come to save them.
For a weary week they were in constant alarm. Each day showed them the enemy lurking about, and each night made them fearful that the attack which had not come during the light would be attempted during the darkness. But every night dragged itself away at last, and each morning brought, if not the help so eagerly expected, at least courage to wait for it. On the eighth night poor weary Madelon was dozing in the fort, with her head pillowed on a table, and her gun beside her, when she heard the sentinel on watch call,—
“Qui vive?”
She sprang to her feet, and with her gun in her hand ran up on to the bastion.
“Why called you?”
“Listen, Mademoiselle! Dost thou not hear a sound on the river like the splashing of oars?”
“Surely yes; there are voices too. Canst thou tell if they be French or Indian?”
“No; they breathe so low, Mademoiselle.”
Madelon put her hands to her mouth, and called low but clear,—
“Who are you?”
The answer came back in the loved French accents,—
“We are Frenchmen. It is La Monnerie, who comes from down the river to bring you aid.”
The gate was flung open wide, but even yet Madelon’s caution did not desert her, for she placed a sentinel on guard, and then alone, as she had gone before, she marched down to the landing-place to meet the soldiers. When she came face to face with Lieutenant La Monnerie, she saluted, and—
“Monsieur,” said she, “I surrender my arms to you.”
Being a gallant Frenchman, and as yet hardly understanding the situation, knowing that there were soldiers within the fort, he answered,—
“I HAVE COMMANDED THIS FORT, MONSIEUR, DURING THE ABSENCE OF MY FATHER.”
“Mademoiselle, they are in good hands”; but he smiled as he said it, looking on the girlish form before him, with its soldier cap and heavy gun. Madelon saw the smile, and who can blame her that she answered,—
“In better hands than you think. Will Monsieur come and inspect the fort?”
The Lieutenant and his forty men followed her up to the fort, found everything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. He turned with a look of surprise to Madelon, and asked,—
“Why does not the commandant of this fort come to receive me?”
“I have commanded this fort, Monsieur, during the absence of my father, since there was none other either willing or able to do it. Will Monsieur give me his orders?”
The surprised lieutenant, after looking again about him, turned and bowed.
“What commands does Mademoiselle wish me to give? For my part, there seems nothing for me to alter.”
“If Monsieur will relieve the garrison, it would be well, since none of us have been off the bastions for a week.”
We can well imagine that there were deep and peaceful slumbers in Castle Dangerous that night, and let us hope that the cowardly soldiers had to take their turn at last at bastion duty. I cannot find in the history that they did, however.
Think of the pride and pleasure that Madelon’s father and mother felt in their daughter when the news of her bravery reached them!
What they said to her when she told them all about it, history does not say either; but the facts of the defence were written down as Madelon herself told them, in obedience to the commands of the Marquis de Beauharnais, Governor of Canada.
Even in those dangerous times, when one never knew what peril the next moment would bring forth, and women as well as men took their share in guarding homes and firesides, such wonderful bravery and determination in a girl of fourteen did not pass unnoticed. Through the efforts of those in power, Madelon was highly commended at the great French court over seas, and was granted a pension by the King, to be paid to her each year as long as she should live.
In another encounter with Indians many years later, she saved the life of a French gentleman whom she afterward married. All her life was passed in the midst of peril, and on no occasion when bravery was demanded was Madelon ever found wanting.
