unspeakable, and her lips grew ashen in the first light of the
dawn.

Late on the following day the band drew up their canoes on the banks of
the Shubenacadie, where its waters began to redden with the tide, and
struck through the woods by a dark trail. The next day the captives were
tortured by the sight of a white steeple in the distance, belonging to
an Acadian settlement. Crewe judged this to be the village of
Beaubassin. The surmise was confirmed when, a few hours later, after a
wide detour to avoid the settlement, the flag of France was seen waving
over the foliage that clothed a long line of heights. By this time the
band was traversing a vast expanse of salt marshes, and after crossing a
little tidal stream near its head, they turned sharply southwestward
toward the sea. Presently the raw red earthworks of Beausejour rose into
view some seven or eight miles distant across the marshes. There, among
his bitter enemies, Crewe knew he might find sure succor, if only the
gallant Frenchmen could be made aware of what was passing so near them.
He saw Margaret's eyes fixed with terrible appeal upon the hostile
works, wherein for her and for her lover lay safety; and agonized to
feel his utter helplessness, he raised a long and ringing shout which,
as it seemed to him, must reach the very souls of those behind the
ramparts. Margaret's heart leaped with hope, which flickered out as she
saw the Indians laugh grimly at the foolish effort. To be within sight
of help, and yet so infinitely helpless! For the first time the girl
yielded to complete despair, and her head sank upon her breast. In the
Journal of the Sieur Carre, at this time a lieutenant at Beausejour,
occurs this entry, under date of September 20, 1749:--

"Noted this morning a small party of natives moving down the shores of
the river Tintamarre. Too far off to distinguish whether it was a war
party or not, but this their order of march seemed to suggest."

After skirting for perhaps an hour a red and all but empty channel,
which Crewe recognized by hearsay as the bed of the Tantramar (or
_Tintamarre_, "water of hubbub"), the savages suddenly led their
captives down the steep, gleaming abyss of mud to the edge of the
shallow current, which now, at low tide, clattered shrilly seaward over
clods of blue clay and small stones rolled down from the uplands.

Margaret awoke from her despair enough to shudder disdainfully, as her
feet sank more than ankle deep in t