Читать книгу There Go the Ships - Archibald McKellar MacMechan - Страница 6

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The seven men were saved from the sea; their feet were on dry land; but their fate was still uncertain. They did not know where they were. All they could see was an uninhabited wilderness. Captain Knowles had a vague idea that they were somewhere in the territories of Louisbourg; and the event proved that he was correct. In virtue of his character and experience, Saint-Luc now took command of the party, a born leader in difficulties and dangers. To remain where they were was unthinkable. They must find some settlement. Saint-Luc advised them to take eight days provisions from the casks they found on the beach—flour, biscuit, pork. The sailor and the two servants listened to reason by the mouth of the experienced Saint-Luc, but the three soldiers knew better; they fancied themselves nearer aid than they were; they would take only three days provisions in their packs and, soldierlike, loaded themselves with valuables which in a few days they were forced to throw away in the forest. At last, a start was made vaguely to the westward on November 17th.

For four days they marched at random not knowing where they were, but of necessity keeping along the coast. They clambered over steep rocks, forded swift Cape Breton rivers, and worked their way through the terrifying, gloomy spruce woods. They were “rebuffed” by the mountains, but somehow they found their way over the heights of Enfumé. Then, on the 21st, to complete their afflictions, the snow began to fall. Winter had set in. In spite of Saint-Luc’s husbandry, their provisions were running low. Three of the party were so worn out and discouraged that they wanted to die where they were rather than continue their march. Saint-Luc coaxed and argued and persuaded and promised; and at last they were induced to continue their march. On the 25th, they reached the second great bight in the eastern coast, the majestic harbour of Ingonish. It had taken them eight days to make a stretch of some fifteen miles in a straight line. No doubt they had wandered three or four times that distance. At Ingonish they met an ill omen. They found some small abandoned huts, and in them two dead men.

Here the servant Etienne fell sick of pleurisy. Saint-Luc turned doctor, and, in accordance with the best medical practice of the time, bled him and sweated him. In the one night, he opened the vein six times with the point of his knife, and sweated him three times. There was some relief for the stabbing pains and horrible difficulty of breathing. But he had to be left behind. Corporal Monier volunteered to stay with the sick man. He himself was not so ill, but he was at least as exhausted and discouraged. Next morning, after assuring them that he would infallibly send help from the first settlement he reached, Saint-Luc and the four resumed their march. With the sick men he left about four pounds of flour, two cooked chickens, about a pound and a half of pork and half a pound of broken biscuit. He could not spare a cooking pot, but he gave them a silver goblet.

In the night, five or six inches of snow had fallen. Finding the huts at Ingonish raised the hopes of the castaways. Settlements might be near; but the snow blotted out all tracks and trails. None the less they had the heart to press on. Now their greatest hardship was fording the swift and swollen brooks which empty into Ingonish harbour. No one would venture in, until Saint-Luc had crossed. Often he had to go back and hunt up their packs in order to induce them to follow. Only the English sailor was entirely loyal, having, says Saint-Luc, “no will but mine.” He recognized his master. The Frenchmen swore a thousand times that they would rather die than keep up. Only Saint-Luc’s indomitable will kept them moving. They were so discouraged that Saint-Luc had to make moccasins for them and often fasten on their packs.

It was December 3rd when they reached the third great deep inlet on the east coast, the grand fiord now called St. Ann’s Bay. On both sides the steep wooded cliffs towered a thousand feet above their heads. Here another gleam of hope cheered them, for they found on the long narrow sandspit, which nearly closes its mouth, an abandoned boat. They were less cheerful, when they discovered that it was almost rotten and lacked three strakes. There was nothing to do but try to make repairs.

Now, Knowles the sailor was of the greatest service. Working hard all day, he succeeded in patching up the boat, so that with luck she might possibly carry them over the narrow strait of only two hundred fathoms which separated them from the western shore. Then, a blizzard from the north-east overwhelmed the worn-out, starving men and filled the boat with snow. They were now reduced to an ounce and a half of poor food per day and, like the castaways of the St. Lawrence, twenty years later, in the same circumstances, eked out their miserable ration with hawthorn berries and kelp. Still they “camped” on this sandspit; which means they were able to keep up some sort of wretched fire all night with a few barrel staves they found. The snow was always putting it out; but, somehow or other, they survived the snow-storm and the night.

Next morning, the storm was over; morning broke dazzling, but their boat was full of snow. By dint of great exertion, they emptied her and shoved her down into the water. Then a new complication arose. The much-enduring Knowles was at the end of his tether, and broke down. His legs were all torn (déchirées) and covered with ulcers, and he was in a high fever. He declared he would go no farther; and the three Frenchmen applauded his resolution. They were in almost as bad a case. Saint-Luc was in a quandary. For the first time in this adventure he was without a plan. He could not abandon his fellow sufferers now; but to remain with them meant certain death. In this extremity, he lit his pipe.

He was, he declares, awaiting Providence. He was certainly taking counsel of My Lady Nicotine, and gazing across the narrow waterway to the tall cliff beyond, when he heard cries of joy, and turned to see the Frenchmen running towards two Indians coming down the point from where they had left the shelter of the woods. The Frenchmen were sobbing hysterically and could hardly get out the words, “Have pity on us!”

Saint-Luc continued calmly smoking his pipe and watching the scene. The Frenchmen told their rescuers who Saint-Luc was and how he had led them so far. The Indians then came up and shook hands with him, but so wasted was his face and so overgrown with hair that it was some time before they recognized him. He had been able to do these eastern tribes favours on several occasions, and he was welcomed accordingly. Now he learned where he was, about thirty leagues from Louisbourg, for three years in the hands of the British; but the Indians would guide him to St. Peter’s at the western extremity of the island. That morning they had seen the strange sight of smoke rising faintly above the distant tree-tops, and had come to see what it might mean. From the edge of the wood, they had watched the five strange men in the strange place, and when they were sure that there was no danger, they came forward.

Saint-Luc caused his four companions to be ferried over to the farther shore. He had a good fire made, with plenty of wood at hand, and gave them what remained of the pork and flour, enough for one scanty meal. It was cold comfort, but little worse than what awaited Saint-Luc himself. With his two friends he set out to their camp three leagues away. There he was kindly received. The Indians understood French and were zealous Catholics. A squaw seemed to have the headship of the little band. She was greatly affected by Saint-Luc’s story, and retold it to Ensign Prenties of the 82nd Foot twenty years later. The savages had no food except dried meat; but they gave their unexpected guest sufficient for two days.

Next day, December 5th, he and the two Indians set out in two small birch canoes and picked up the four men they had left behind. Perilously overloaded, the two canoes succeeded in doubling Cape Ann in a heavy blow from the northeast and getting into the Bras d’Or. Here they were “cashiered” says Saint-Luc in his army slang, by a storm of rain and snow which lasted two days and a half. As soon as it was over, they pushed on resolutely and reached the eastern side of the isthmus at St. Peter’s, at midnight on December 8th.

Here they found five Acadian huts and ten men. There must have been some sort of store or trading-post also; for Saint-Luc immediately dispatched his two Indian friends to Ingonish to rescue, if possible, Etienne and Corporal Monier of the regiment Béarn. They carried in their canoes twenty-five pounds of flour, fifty pounds of pork, tobacco, powder and shot, a silver cup and many other things; and to speed them on their way, Saint-Luc gave them twenty-five louis d’or. It is hardly possible that they found the Frenchmen alive. The huts at Ingonish held four dead men instead of two. And now they are out of the saga.

At St. Peter’s, the five adventurers took a needful rest of two days and a half. Saint-Luc decided to send Knowles and the two soldiers to Louisbourg, since 1758 in British hands, and push on with the servant Pierre for Canada. Knowles, the British sailor and Saint-Luc, the French fur-trader had become like brothers in distress. Knowles urged him with all his powers of persuasion to give up his mad project of a journey of eight hundred miles through an uninhabited wilderness in the depth of winter. Louisbourg was less than twenty leagues distant, two or three days paddle along the coast. There lay an English garrison; that meant food, shelter, security, and, probably, the opportunity before long of a vessel to Halifax. But Saint-Luc was like a rock. He took an affectionate farewell of Knowles, gave him nine guineas, the last of his English money, and a letter to the commandant at Louisbourg, containing a brief account of the shipwreck and telling of his intention to go back to Canada. Knowles made his way safely to Louisbourg and thence to Oporto, whence he reported the loss of the Auguste in a letter to the King of France. And now he is out of the saga.

Saint-Luc’s design of paddling over thirty miles of open water, round Isle Madame to the main land terrified the two Acadians to whom he proposed it; he had to offer them twenty-five louis d’or before they agreed. They crossed the half-mile isthmus now known as Haulover and slept at the house of one Abraham on the night of the 12th. The man of great experience waited till the wind fell and the sea went down, and in the night of the 13th, Pierre, and the two guides paddled over to Chedabucto in their old patched canoe. They landed at a hamlet of Acadian huts, where they stopped with Joseph Maurice. As soon as possible, Saint-Luc and Pierre made their way to the head of the bay, where Guysboro’ now stands. Here was another Indian camp. They made snow-shoes and on the 15th set out with Indian guides over the trail westward. Following the valley of the Guysboro’ river, and then the valley of the Black river, they reached Pomquet in three days hard marching. Here they found five Acadian cabins and stopped with Jacques Côté. Snowshoeing was too hard for Pierre. He had to be left behind. Now he is out of the saga, and Saint-Luc pushes on alone.

Next day he reached Artigogné, now Antigonish, a march of twelve miles in bitter frost. Here was an Indian camp of five wigwams; the savages were dying of hunger. Saint-Luc hired two guides and set out for Pictou, which it took them three days to reach. At Pictou also the Indians were starving.

“Here,” says Saint-Luc with grim humour, “we found no better hosts. They were all fasting together.”

In three days more, following the coast he reached Tatamagouche in a state of utter exhaustion on Christmas Eve. And here he halted for a fortnight to recover his strength.

On January 5th, 1762, he sent two runners to the commandant at Fort Cumberland, with a letter explaining his situation, and asking for sufficient provisions to enable him to reach the post; and he followed in their trail. On the 6th, they had the luck to shoot a fox and picked him to the bones. On the next day, rescue came. His couriers brought word of his plight to an English sergeant holding a block-house at Baie Verte with a dozen men. The honest fellow sent back at once a bottle of brandy, cooked pork and bread. Strengthened by this timely aid, Saint-Luc reached the block-house about noon of the 7th, where he was received with every kindness and courtesy. About two in the afternoon this indomitable man set out for Fort Cumberland five leagues away; but the commandant, Benoni Danks of “Danks’ Rangers” had sent off a sleigh for his use, with food and drink; so he made this stage of his long journey in comfort. Instead of covering the whole distance of five leagues in one stretch, Saint-Luc camped that night in the woods and reached the English post next day. He was worn out with hunger and want of sleep.

“I was flattered,” writes Saint-Luc, “at the welcome I received. The commandant, his officers, the traders, and the merchants expressed their sympathy for me in the losses I had suffered by the wreck, and manifested their delight that I had been saved.”

The adventurer had a moving tale to tell, and the garrison had something to talk about. Nothing that would tend to his comfort was left undone. For the first time since leaving Quebec, he had a proper room to sleep in. His troubles were now practically over. He left Fort Cumberland on the 14th and reached Haute Paques on the St. John River on the 29th. Here he found an old family friend, Father Germain the Jesuit missionary, who with Le Loutre had so long incited the Acadians and Indians against the English. Father Germain had been with his elder brother the Chevalier at Beaubassin when Lawrence rushed it in April, 1750, and had accompanied the troops in their winter march on Grand Pré and the bloody night attack on Noble.

On February 2nd, he quitted the hospitable presbytery at Haute Paques, taking as provision two bushels of Indian corn, which was the only kind of food Father Germain possessed. With his two Acadian guides, he snow-shoed up the old Indian road of the frozen St. John to Lake Temiscouata. Here at the portage, he left his worn-out guides, and pressed on to Kamouraska, whence he sent back a sleigh to fetch them to the settlement. Now they are out of the story.

On February 23rd, seventeen weeks after his departure, Saint-Luc was back in Quebec and made his bow to Governor Murray in Castle St. Louis. He reported the wreck of the Auguste and hurried on to Montreal which he reached on the 24th, and made a second official report to General Gage.

Thenceforth he lived in Montreal. He was involved in the exciting affair of Mr. Walker’s ear, he became one of the earliest senators of Quebec, and he led a force of French and Indians in Burgoyne’s luckless expedition. His trials by sea and his journey by land form only one recorded chapter in a long life of adventure. He may have been a profiteer, and he may have deserved Burgoyne’s denunciation as a traitor; but he was certainly a man.