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Updated: June 13, 2025
She was a convert whose penances were usually worked out afoot, for Father Petit knew better than to shut her up. Saint-Castin had never dreamed there were such women. She was like a nymph out of a tree, without human responsiveness, yet with round arms and waist and rosy column of neck, made to be helplessly adored. He remembered the lonesome moods of his early youth.
The second party, under the command of François Hertel, destroyed the small settlement of Salmon Falls on the Piscataqua, and later formed a junction with the third party, led by Portneuf of Quebec, and with a number of Abenakis under Baron de Saint-Castin. The cruelties practised by the Indian allies invested these raids with additional terrors.
The chapel of saplings and bark which first sheltered Father Petit's altar had been abandoned when Saint-Castin built a substantial one of stone and timber within the fortress walls, and hung in its little tower a bell, which the most reluctant Abenaqui must hear at mass time.
This, indeed, seems to have been his chief occupation; and, as Saint-Castin was his principal rival, they were never on good terms. Saint-Castin complained to Denonville. "Monsieur Petit," he writes, "will tell you every thing.
She had no blemish of sunken temples or shrunk features, or the glaring aspect of a devotee. Saint-Castin was a good Catholic, but he did not like fanatics. It was as if the choicest tree in the forest had been flung open, and a perfect woman had stepped out, whom no other man's eye had seen.
My thoughts are different." Saint-Castin gave her the pail, and looked her in the eyes. "Perhaps you will some time understand," he said. "I lived many wild years before I did." She was so glad to leave him behind that her escape was like a backward blow, and he did not make enough allowance for the natural antagonism of a young girl. Her beautiful free motion was something to watch.
She lifted the loose slab of the platform, and tried to thrust him into the earthen-floored box. "Hide yourself first," whispered Saint-Castin. They could hear feet running on the flinty approach. The chase was so close that the English might have seen them enter the chapel. "Get in, get in!" begged the Abenaqui girl. "They will not hurt me." "Hide!" said Saint-Castin, thrusting her fiercely in.
During the night, mortars and heavy ships' guns were landed, and by great exertion were got into position, the two priests working lustily with the rest. They opened fire at three o'clock on the next day. Saint-Castin had just before sent Chubb a letter, telling him that, if the garrison were obstinate, they would get no quarter, and would be butchered by the Indians.
The girl had just finished her dipping when she looked up and met the steady gaze of Saint-Castin. He was in an anguish of dread that she would run. But her startled eyes held his image while three changes passed over her, terror and recognition and disapproval. He stepped more into view, a white-and-gold apparition, which scattered the Abenaqui children to their mothers' camp-fires.
She drew her blanket about him with a strength of compression that made it a ligature, and tied the corners in a knot. "Is it deep, sagamore?" "Not deep enough," said Saint-Castin. "It will glue me to my buckskins with a little blood, but it will not let me out of my troubles. I wonder why I ran such a race from the English? They might have had me, since they want me, and no one else does."
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