# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/Brother and Sister in Battle

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BROTHER AND SISTER IN BATTLE
BRAVE as the French were, and skilled in war, B they forgot much in this country, and in various decisive conflicts with the English were overmastered in strategy and strength, if not in courage. It may be that the imagined remoteness of the military works on our frontiers, no matter of whose holding, lulled their garrisons into a false sense of security, for it is sure that in our day such an assault as that of Ethan Allen on Ticonderoga or that of Wolfe on Quebec would be out of the question. And it was the lack of a guard that led to the capture of St. John by the English. The attack was made early in the morning, while most of the French behind the walls were sound asleep. Alarmed by shouts and firing, the soldiers tumbled out of their bunks, grasped their sabres and matchlocks, and had made a sortie before they realized that they were undressed, or knew how large a force they were to meet. The neglect to post guards enough was a fatal one, and no heroism could redeem it.
Among those who served at the guns of the fort with furious energy was a woman, and an Englishwoman at that. Two years before she had wedded a French officer while on a visit to relatives in Paris, and when he was ordered to Acadia she elected to follow and share in the hardships of a soldier's life in a new land. The rebukes of her ​relatives, the appeals of friends not to side against her own country in the impending war, even the warnings of her husband that her step involved difficulty, if not danger, were of no weight with her. Personal love outweighed all else.
One of the first to fall in the attack on St. John was the young French officer, her husband. She grieved only for a moment. Rage succeeded regret. She went from one man to another, shrieking encouragement and orders, sighting and firing the cannon whenever a rift in the sulphur clouds showed the red flag of England or the scarlet coats of its defenders, and crying for revenge,—a spirit of war incarnate. Loud cries, increased firing, and a hurry of men told her that the besiegers had forced an entrance. The fight was to be hand to hand. Wrenching a sabre from the grasp of a fallen officer, she pushed her way into the front of the band, and, as the storming party appeared, carved and slashed lustily. In the smoke and din and pressure the invaders hardly knew or heeded that she was a woman until one of their lieutenants ran forward and grasped the arm of a stalwart trooper who was about to lunge at her with his bayonet. "Stop, for God's sake, man! Spare my sister!" commanded the officer. At these words the woman's arm fell, her sword clanged to the pavement, and her face turned white. "Brother!" she murmured, and sank, half fainting, into his arms, while the red-coats, with a yell of triumph, passed through ​the gate and over the walls. Down came the lilies of France, and up went the cross of St. George. The day was won, and the defender of St. John was a woman once more. Neither she nor her brother had known that the other was in the battle. Her appeals in behalf of her husband's soldiers were heeded, and when the soreness in her heart had healed she was married again, to an English officer, and became the revered great-grandmother of several Blue-Nose families.